I just want to go to bed. It’s been a very complex and tiring day, and I’m aching to crash. “The fuck?” I basically yell. “That cozy bed is screaming at us.”
Finally, he stops in his place, and I’m not sure how to define his look when he collapses on the bed and spits out, “Katrina is five months pregnant.”
I can’t breathe, but in the best way. It’s almost a minute later before I can speak through my smile, but only because he’s also smiling.
“So, things are good, yes? She’s okay? The baby is okay?” I rush toward him. “You’re telling me because they’re both okay, right?”
“Yes.” His eyes are all teary as he struggles to speak. “She and the baby are both healthy. But what if they both don’t stay that way? We can’t go through this shit again.” He sits on the edge of the bed. “It nearly destroyed both of us. Our marriage. More importantly, her.”
As much as I can, I get it. It’s the worst déjà vu all over again.
The last time he told me about a baby, it ended in the worst tragedy, so sharing this news is huge. Scary. Living through what’s supposed to be a beautiful experience that ended up being a horrifying trauma? It must be terrifying to enter back into that world.
Patrick shows me a 3D image from an ultrasound. It’s a beautiful picture, but neither of us can say anything. As though we might jinx this moment if we even mouth a word.
I kneel in front of him. “First of all, close your legs because I just saw way too much.”
He laughs and slams his knees together before I continue.
“Second? You’re here to rescue me. But I’ve got you if you need me. Anytime and always.”
Patrick smiles sweetly. “Anytime and always.”
Chapter 7
The near naps that I get are fitful, and I leave the bed for a bit so that at least David can get a break from my anxiety. But I catch him looking at me when I’m curled up on the patio chair or when I’m looking at my phone, waiting for updates. I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I can’t imagine I’m convincing him that I’m anything but a mess. When my phone finally dings, both Dave and I jolt. My hands are shaking so damn hard that I can’t even read the stream of texts that come through.
“Can you help me?” My voice is shaking as I hold out the phone.
I both want to see and don’t want to see what’s coming my way.
I confess what I’ve only confessed to myself before. “He’s my home base. My family. Like, the only family I have,” I sputter.
Dave rushes over and sits beside me as he scans the texts.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he says immediately, and his words make me almost collapse. “Patrick is fine. From RobBob.Patrick is doing great! Surgery went incredibly well. Longer than expected, but he’s in the ICU now. Still out of it, but Katrina and I are here with him. Will let you know when he wakes up. And from Katrina:Patrick powered through like a champ! The worst is over.”
My wild laugh-cry is one of relief. “Okay, that fucker. I knew he’d be okay.”
I mean, I didn’tknowhe’d be okay. At all. Honestly, I thought my best friend would be dead by the time I woke up after my half sleep.
I text with both of them for a few minutes.
With Dave’s help, I’m able to scoot back into bed and finally decompress. And absolutely pass out until late morning.
The curtains are gently drawn when I’m nudged awake.
“Thought you’d want to be up for this.”
“Breakfast?” I ask. “Too many good smells.”
“Yes. Overly stuffed omelets. Dowsed in hollandaise. And cappuccino.” Before I can even sit up and thank Dave for even thinking about room service, he holds up my phone. “How about something better than room service?”
I rub my eyes as I realize Dave has us on a video call with Patrick.
“Sorry, but I answered. Hope that’s okay.” He hands me a cappuccino.
Groggily, I take a sip before setting it down and then taking his hand. This is so,sookay.
