“Nick!” I cry out.
He comes running from the bedroom like someone fired a gun. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?”
“My water broke.”
He stares.
“Like…broke, broke?”
“No, just kidding,” I deadpan.
“Fuck.”
He kisses me first and then scrambles for the hospital bag we packed, nearly trips over the coffee table, and somehow manages to help me to the car without having a heart attack.
It’s cute and a bit of a cliché. Mr. James Bond is flustered. Who would’ve thought?
By the time we get to the hospital, my contractions have started. Real ones that make me grab Nick’s shirt and threaten to rip it off him if he doesn’t stop asking me to breathe.
Hours blur.
Pain comes in waves.
Nurses come and go.
Nick never leaves my side.
He holds my hand through every contraction, wiping my forehead, murmuring that I’m the bravest woman alive.
I’m not brave. I have no choice but to do this.
When I scream, he doesn’t flinch.
When I cry, he cups my face.
When I tell him I can’t do it, he kisses my knuckles and says, “You already are.”
Cass is the first to arrive. She sages the room; brings out crystals that do absolutely nothing to help with pain management.
Daisy and Forest come three hours after my labor starts. They were in New York for some reason, and rushed over as soon as Nick told them the baby was on the way.
My sister-in-law, my new favorite person in the world, kisses my forehead. “How are you holding up, baby mama?”
“This hurts like a motherfucker.”
“Epidural?” she asks.
“Not gonna take it.”
I want to do this old school. I know, I know, it hurts like hell, but I just can’t have someone poke a needle into my spine.
Forest follows behind her with two coffees and the calm energy of a man used to Daisy. “I come bearing caffeine.”
I groan. “I miss coffee.”
“Baby, as soon as you have the baby, I’ll get you as many cups of coffee as you want,” Nick promises.
“Dude, she’s going to give birth, and you’ll get her coffee? That’s lame,” Forest says.
