"My sweet Abby," she murmurs, brushing my hair out of my face and wiping my tears. "I wish you wouldn't cause yourself more pain. I think life has done that enough already, don't you?"
"What do you mean?" I whisper.
"You have been been dealt an unimaginable hand," she continues, still softly stroking my face. "It's enough just to survive it. It's unfair to punish yourself because you think you aren't measuring up to some arbitrary standard for how a person should grieve."
"But it feels like this is how I should feel," I say. "My husband died, and I'm having our baby on my own. Shouldn't I be this miserable all the time?"
"If anything happened to Griffin, and I found a way to get through it, would you ever even consider telling me that I'm doing it wrong?"
"Of course not," I say, propping up on my elbow and resting my cheek in my hand. "The last thing I'd ever want is for you to be sad forever."
"So why can't you do that for yourself?" she asks. "Because the last thing I, or Jack, or Aaron, would want is for you to feel this way permanently. Please be as kind to yourself as you are to others."
"I'm not always kind," I say in a small voice. "I certainly wasn't kind to Jack."
"I don't think you were being unkind, angel," she says reassuringly. "I think you were trying to hurt someone elsebefore they had a chance to hurt you. But he wouldn't, you know."
I look at her questioningly, tilting my head and waiting for her to continue.
"Jack," she says patiently. "He wouldn't hurt you."
"I know," I sigh, sinking back into my pillow. "But I hurt him. I don't know if there's any hope of fixing that."
The truth is, even if there is a way to fix it, I'm too much of a coward to do it. I'm ashamed and embarrassed, and scared to death of fucking up with Little One. All I have in me right now is to focus on her, and how to be the best mom I can.
I feel like I've already ruined everything and she's not even here yet.
"Oh, hush," she admonishes playfully. "You know if you called him he'd be over here in a heartbeat, no questions asked."
I nod, dropping my head forward onto her shoulder. I know he would. And I know he wouldn't even be mad at me. And Iknoweverything would feel so much better.
***
Ellie and Griffin have practically moved in now that we're on official round-the-clock baby watch. Having them here has been the biggest relief, even if I was only by myself for two (long, miserable)nights.
Someone stops by every day, no matter what—David, who has a present for his "new best friend" in hand every time he comes through the door, Dad and Nate, who act like a pair of mother hens whenever they're around, and Alan and Andrea, who are almost as excited for Little One to get here as I am.
The hustle and bustle has been a welcome distraction. Every day feels like a lifetime as I slow crawl to the finish line of carrying my baby girl. The air is practically buzzing from all theanticipation, so much so that I can't help but grin as my horde of caretakers flit around anxiously while we all wait for Little One to make her appearance.
But despite what Ellie said, and what I know is true, no matter how many times I pick my phone up, I can't bring myself to call the one person missing from our little hodge-podge family—the one person I desperately want to be here with me.
Chapter 34
Abby
The Birth
“What are we at now?”
“This last one was forty five seconds long, seven minutes after the previous,” Ellie mutters, checking her watch against the timer on her phone and jotting the data down on the notepad in front of her on the kitchen table.
I exhale slowly through my mouth, forcing my breathing to remain steady as I pace back and forth, grounded by the cool tile under my feet. I woke up this morning to a dull ache in my lower back, which was soon accompanied by what feels like period cramps. Assuming they were more Braxton Hicks, I called Ellie to come over so we could go for a walk.
As the day went on, the cramps kept coming, and no amount of walking or resting or changing positions did anything to alleviate them. After several hours of denial, I finally conceded the reality of the situation.
At thirty nine weeks and five days pregnant, the abstract “L” word is officially here–Labor.
“Okay,” I say in a strained voice. “Okay. So we aren’t there yet. That’s fine. No need to panic.”
