by A. M. Wilson
He’ll convince himself that I was it for him and that anything else is a betrayal.
I’m here to tell you it’s not.
He shouldn’t sacrifice his one life on this earth just because mine was cut short.
This sounds like I’ve made some elaborate setup for the two of you to fall in love. Unfortunately, this isn’t a romance movie, and I’m just not that creative. I’ve found that writing during the hours of the night when I couldn’t sleep to be therapeutic. His instructions for this letter were as basic as they come: You’ll know when she should read it.
I’m hoping he’s made the right call, and you’re reading this while the two of you are madly in love, or just got engaged, or are about to walk down the aisle. And if he made a mistake and gave it to you at random, I’m sorry. I’m sorry because this is the part where I’m going to beg you to try to love him anyway.
Love him when he makes that little breathy snore at night that might keep you awake.
Love him when he’s intense during an argument because his passion is one of the best things about him.
Love him when he loses a patient and wants nothing more than to be left alone—that’s when he needs you the most.
Love the little surprises he does for you. His thoughtfulness is unmatched.
Love him when you’re fighting.
Love him when you’re in a lull.
Just love him.
And Kiersten? If that means as a friend, I’ll still be as grateful as ever that he has you, because you’re a good friend. This isn’t a letter to guilt you into being with him.
But if there’s something more between you two, I want you to know unequivocally that you both have my blessing.
Be the wild to his calm.
-Janessa
The letter flutters to the ground. Fast blinks chase away the sting of tears. I shouldn’t have read it. That wasn’t my place to open that letter, even if it was addressed to me.
Why did I? Why does it hurt me and warm me at the same time?
Glancing at the box in my lap, another letter sits just on top. This one is partially folded in a scribble I do recognize.
The first few lines jump out at me:
Janessa,
It’s October of 2019 and I’m finally writing you back at the request of my new therapist. Yeah, I started therapy, but it isn’t because of you. It’s because of Kiersten. I don’t know how to put this into words, but I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to your face. She’s pregnant with my baby
“There you are. What are you doing?”
Nathan’s voice startles me so bad that I knock the box of letters out of my lap, and they cascade to the floor.
“Crap. I’m so sorry.” I start to move to the floor, but because I’m the size of a whale and stuck like I’m beached, I move at a snail’s pace. So slow Nathan has time to cross the room and grab my bicep before I’ve moved more than two inches.
“Leave them.” He shakes my arm to draw my attention. The problem is, I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want him to see the guilt on my face or the new knowledge from Janessa. Or his own letter. Therapy. I had no idea he’d begun seeing a therapist. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it, but I wish I’d known.
I tilt my face to his with reluctance. “Nathan…”
“What did you read?” He releases my arm and takes a step back. His backside leans against the front rail of the crib. Arms crossed over his chest, he flicks his eyes back and forth between the mess on the floor and my face.
His tone uneases me more than if he started yelling, and I find myself blank on the right words to say.
“Did you learn enough? Do you want to discuss what the letters from my dead wife say?” Dead wife sounds so raspy and painful as if those words claw their way through his throat from the deepest, darkest part of his soul, puncturing the vulnerable flesh with sharp nails.
“I know I shouldn’t have.”
“How about the therapy I started when I found out you were pregnant? Should we talk about that?”
“I completely understand that it’s private.”
“Do you now? Did you just learn the meaning of privacy in the past thirty seconds or did you understand that concept before you nosed your way into that box of letters?”
“I’m so sorry.”
Nathan rolls his tongue around his mouth, appearing to mull over what to say next. Yelling would be preferred to this composed quiet.
“If you’re so desperate for information, why not just ask?”
“It’s not like that!” I cry, not one for controlling my own emotions, and that brings me back to what Janessa said about being wild to his calm. She sure had us pegged there.
“When you told me you were pregnant, I was so sick. I couldn’t face myself.”
Well, that’s a stab in the gut if I’ve ever felt one. “I think I should go—”
“Not because of you! I couldn’t get the taste of you out of my mind for weeks. And I let that plague me.” His tortured voice stops my struggle to stand. “How could I have been as in love with Janessa as I thought if one night with you consumed me so much? That’s when I started therapy. To work through wanting you as much as I do. I missed your doctor appointments when I couldn’t get enough time off work for both because I couldn’t tell my boss where I was going.”
“You could have told me. Not that I’m trying to turn this on you because I shouldn’t have looked in the box. But you should know by now you can always tell me anything.”
He scrubs his palm over his downturned mouth. “It’s not like that. It’s not that simple.”
I furrow my brow. Confusion flitters through with every beat of my heart. “Of course it is! You’re one of my best friends.”
“And I’m madly in love with you!”
A hundred thoughts sift through my head at a rapid pace, but I can’t focus on one long enough to utter a response. Nathan doesn’t seem to need one because he keeps going.
“Have been for a long time. And I get it. I get your need for just friends and space, but I love you. Whatever needs to happen now is going to happen, but I can’t go another day without letting you know. I don’t want you to go through giving birth to my son without knowing that I’m so in love with you that there’s nobody I’d rather have a baby with.” He chuckles without humor and rubs his eyes. “God, if only you knew how much I had to pay someone to be able to utter those words out loud. It’s not even funny how screwed up I am.”
“You aren’t screwed up. But…” I blow out a deep breath, hoping this doesn’t kill the remainder of our friendship. I reinforce my spine with steel and will the tears from my eyes. “It doesn’t change what I want.”
He jabs a finger into his chest. “And what about what I want? If you’re afraid to start this with me because you think we’ll eventually break up, I’d tell you that I don’t have a crystal ball. What’s life without a little risk?”
The challenge in his voice encourages me to argue. I cradle my belly and inject myself with calm. “Why do we have to play with risks right now? Why can’t we wait until we’re more settled in this new life?”
“Because if life has taught me anything, it’s that we don’t always have time to wait. Even if we have all the time in the world, I don’t want to wait. I’ve waited for months now while I got my head on straight. I don’t want to waste any more time without you.”
The battle against my tears is lost, and one trickles down my cheek. I muster enough strength to propel myself to my feet and hold my arms out at my sides. My heart bangs against my ribs as if it’s trying to go to him. “You have me, Nathan. You’ve always had me, and I’m not going anywhere.”
His own eyes turn red at the edges, and he approaches with measured steps. Cupping both my arms at the elbows, he draws me nearer. “It’s not enough. I want all of you in every part of my life.”
“I- oh, god.”
“What is it?”
Another small gush soaks my underwe
ar.
“I think I’ve sprung a leak.”
We both look down our bodies in the space between us but can’t see anything with my clothes in the way.
Nathan gives my arms a gentle shake. “You go to the bathroom, and I’ll call the doctor.”
As I waddle away and Nathan rushes to his cell he left in the kitchen, I rub my belly and thank the little dude for the opportunity to table the conversation until I have time to think. Even if that means we’re about to have a baby we don’t seem all that prepared to have.
27
Kiersten
There’s nothing comparable to the relief I felt when I got to the bathroom and saw clear liquid instead of blood like the last time. It lasted a millisecond before I commenced a freak-out that I did indeed spring a leak. The doctor instructed Nathan to take me straight to the hospital, and after transferring my already packed bag from my car to his truck, off we went.
I expected my arrival to be more chaotic, and again, I ended up surprised at the calm demeanor of everyone around me. The doctor first performed some test to determine if it was amniotic fluid, and after a strong indication, I traded my clothes for a gown and got my own birth suite.
“How’re you doing, Kiersten?” Dr. Fischer returns and asks with a smile. “Ready to have a baby today?”
“This is for real? You can’t like, stick a cork up there and let me go about my life for another, I don’t know, four weeks?” Nervous energy races beneath my skin. This wasn’t on the docket for today.
She chuckles and snaps on some gloves. The sound fills me with unease. “Unfortunately not. Once your membrane has ruptured, you have about twenty-four hours before we start to worry about an infection. Your waters are leaking, so I’m going to break the bag and get things going.”
Nathan supports my back and helps me adjust my feet in the stirrups. “Isn’t it too soon?” he asks, a nervous thread in his tone.
“Thirty-six weeks is considered a little early, but more than likely, everything will be just fine.”
“Can I get an epidural? That’s a thing, right? I didn’t miss my chance?”
Dr. Fischer smiles again and pulls out some crochet hook-looking device. “Of course you can. We’ll get the anesthesiologist down here as soon as this is done. Now, you’re going to feel a big, warm gush.”
The oddest sensation as though I had a massive pee happens, soaking the bed pad below me. “Ugh, gross,” I mumble.
“Childbirth is a messy process. Don’t worry about it, though. It’s all natural.”
“Great.” Sarcasm threads my tone, and I drop my head back to stare at the ceiling. I don’t think I’m ready for this.
Three hours on the dot from our arrival, nurses swarm my room and kick Cami and Law to the waiting room. One breaks down my bed, which resembles a Transformer more than a piece of furniture. Another adjusts my numb legs into stirrups, displaying my naked cooter for the entire room to see. Nathan swipes a damp cloth across my forehead and drops a swift kiss in the center.
“I can’t believe it’s time. You’re going to do great.” His praise warms me, though he looks a bit pale.
“Do you need a chair? You look nauseous.” I soften the tease with a smile and grip his hand tight.
“I’m good. Or I will be when this is all over, and you and our baby are safe.”
“We’re going to be parents.” My smile stretches, and I bite my lip.
Dr. Fischer arrives again, gowning up head to toe, and wheels a stool between my spread legs. A light overhead clicks on, and a nurse directs the beam straight between my thighs. Why didn’t I request another doctor?
“All right, Kiersten. Let’s have this baby. You’re fully dilated, and your contractions are coming fast and strong.”
“Thank god for modern medicine.”
“Did you read the baby book?” she asks and pokes around my vaginal canal. I’m grateful she distracts me from the tugging sensation I feel. She could be practicing American Sign Language down there, and I wouldn’t know the difference. “I’m just doing some perineal massage to get you ready.”
Gag. “Goody. And no, I, uh, didn’t get around to it.”
“Oh. Winging it then?” Her tone clearly states she thinks I’m an idiot.
“Women have been having babies instinctually for ages. I figure he’ll find his way out eventually.”
“Great! Well, it goes like this. I’m going to tell you when to push, and when I do, I need you to bear down as hard as you can as if you have to push a large BM.”
Double gag. I attempt to wipe the sour look off my face while Nathan shakes with silent laughter beside me. “Got it. Pretend to poop, but don’t actually poop.”
“You might poop, but don’t even worry about it. We see it all the time.”
Is it too late to back out of this thing? I’d like to request a do-over.
A nurse steps up to my left. She takes my leg from the stirrup into her hand and instructs Nathan to do the same. Moments later, the doctor calls out, “Push!”
So I do. I curve my back and squeeze with all I have as the nurse beside me counts to ten. They release my thighs, and I lie back. A moment's rest before the next big contraction.
“Push!”
And again.
And again.
An hour elapses. I’m sweaty, exhausted, and my epidural begins to wear off, proven by the pain I now feel in my nether regions. I relax back after the latest ten count, the brief respite welcome.
“There’s fetal decels.”
I hear the nurse through the rush of blood in my ears, but I don’t know what she means. An oxygen mask clamps over my mouth and nose, and the sweet nurse beside me instructs me to breathe deep.
Another contraction comes, and I feel this one sharper than the previous ones.
“You got this, babe, you can do it,” Nathan coaxes as he helps me sit.
“Kiersten,” Dr. Fischer says sharply, all the soft smiles and light gone from her eyes. “I need you to listen to me. You have to get him out now. Do you understand? I need you to push as hard as you can. His heart rate is dropping with every contraction.”
An electrical current zaps through my system, shocking me into awareness. The seriousness in her voice sends fear slithering to my heart but also a hefty dose of determination. I lock eyes with her and nod.
“Push!”
I suck in a deep breath, rip the oxygen mask from my face, and bear down as hard as I can. As soon as the nurse hits ten, the doctor shouts at me to push again without a reprieve.
Limbs shaking, I moan loudly as I reach another ten and scramble behind me for the oxygen. The nurse holds it up to my face for me as I inhale greedy deep breaths and do as I’m told, feeling like this moment is life or death.
“Okay, stop pushing. Hold on, Momma, his head is out.”
Stopping the urge to push is as hard as it was to keep going, but I fight my instinct and hold steady.
“One more small push,” Dr. Fischer coaxes.
“You’re doing great, Kiersten. One more.” Nathan’s voice guides me to him for strength. The bottomless depths of his dark brown eyes reflect exactly what he attempted to convey earlier that I so selfishly snubbed and took for granted—a heck of a lot of love and admiration. I drop my head into his shoulder, which he immediately cradles in his arm. Within moments, a weight lands on my lower abdomen.
“Great job, Kiersten. Daddy, cut the cord.”
Nathan, ever the paramedic, doesn’t hesitate to take the medical scissors and give the cord a snip. I roll to my back to lay eyes on my son for the very first time, but he’s suddenly whisked away.
“Where’s he going? Why isn’t he crying?”
I struggle to maneuver myself while the doctor works between my legs, but my concern is over my newborn baby.
“They’re just going to check him over, okay? Hang tight, and let me get you cleaned up.”
Nathan returns and secures my hand. “He’s so beautiful, babe.”
I hear the words, but my attention is across the room on our son. The doctor over there says something to Dr. Fischer, and then they wheel him away.
“Hey!” The panic in my tone permeates the entire room, and several pairs of eyes swing my way.
“Kiersten,” Dr. Fischer calls, and my wide eyes shift to hers. “He’s having a little trouble breathing, so they’re going to take him to the NICU for oxygen. I don’t want you to worry. This is not uncommon for thirty-six weekers.”
Inhaling a long deep breath through my nose, I blow it out and nod. As I calm, she turns her attention to Nathan.
“Why don’t you follow and get a few pictures so she can see him?”
I turn my still-bobbling head to him. “Yeah. Please. I want to see him.”
“Will you be okay here alone?”
The nod I answer with is desperate. My son outweighs any concern for myself.
Nathan takes off after another kiss to my forehead, and I lie back on the bed. The riot of thoughts around my head are unpleasant. I close my eyes to quash them and listen to the nurses and doctor chatter.
It doesn’t help.
This evening started wild with my discovery at Nathan’s house, and the rest has been a whirlwind. It’s past ten p.m., I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I just birthed a baby in a matter of hours. Nobody bats an eye as I burst into loud, uncontrollable sobs.
Dr. Fischer pats my calf. “Let’s get her a light sedative,” she orders, and I don’t argue. That sounds good right about now. Something to take the edge off but keep me conscious in case I can see my baby.
We haven’t even discussed names yet. I’m already screwing up this parenting thing.
Moments later, a nurse pushes something into my IV, and I allow the relaxation to wash over me. My hormones calm marginally. I lie back without feeling the need to run out of the room and chase after the doctor who stole my son.
