I’m grinning as we finish the piece that will be our finale. I’m not the only one. We all just start whooping and laughing. We sound good.
“Oh my god, you guys!” Evita says. She practically tackles Theo, knocking him off his chair.
“Watch the cello!” Theo says, but he’s laughing, too. He scoops Evita up from his lap, and pretty soon we’re all in a group hug.
“You guys are the best,” Alice says. “I’ve missed this.”
“We’ve missed you!” Evita says. “I can’t believe you let something as little as being pregnant stop you from going to school. There’re tons of pregnant girls there all the time, anyway.”
“I know. But I always judged them,” Alice said. “I didn’t want to be one.”
“So, how did that happen?” Evita asks, gesturing at her belly.
“Evita!” Theo and Janice and I all say at once.
“Sorry,” Evita says.
“Hey. I’m sorry,” Theo says, changing the subject for Alice’s sake. “I actually gotta jet for a bit.”
“Where can you possibly have to go at this hour?” Evita asks, even though we all know.
“I’ll be back soon. I’ll catch you later, Alice?” he says.
“Yeah. I have to head out anyway,” Alice says.
“I’ll walk you out,” Theo says.
“I let you guys play way too late,” Janice says. “But you sounded great. See you at breakfast.”
Then it’s just me and Evita. I help her organize the pages of notes and music, setting aside stuff that Alice and Bruno might need to look at.
“I’m thinking Bruno’s out if he can’t come tomorrow. We sounded good enough without him,” Evita says.
“Didn’t he help get us the gig?”
“Oh, it’s fine. Unless you want him in the band.”
“God. Evita. Let it rest.”
“Whatever. I just want you to practice what you preach.”
“That line is getting old.”
“You okay? You keep looking sort of…” Evita looks at me like I’m some puzzle to sort out. And I don’t want her sorting me out.
“Oh. Yeah. Just. You think Theo’s okay? I mean, you really chewed him out, didn’t you?” I ask.
“He can take it. What he can’t do is cross you like that ever again.”
“He just seemed, like…” I don’t want to sit here and talk about Theo, but the fear that it’ll be obvious how I feel about him is outweighed by my curiosity. “He was just really … you know how he’s sort of touchy-feely sometimes?”
She laughs. “He always is. It’s what defines him. Touchy-feely, nice ass, serious cello skills, and … nope … that’s pretty much it. Oh, good hair.”
“Right. He isn’t, like, touchier than normal or something?”
“No?” There she goes, looking like she’s solving a puzzle.
“Just wondering if there was more going on with him.”
“More than a douchey dad, a clingy girlfriend, and us being awesome?”
“No. I guess that accounts for all of it,” I say.
“All right then! We totally rocked, right? I’m not just imagining it?” Evita asks as she turns the lights off.
“Not imagining it.”
She starts humming one of our songs, and I hum the strings part along with her as we get into our pajamas. We’re laughing as she turns off the lights and we get into bed.
Evita snores. So I know she’s still sleeping when Theo sneaks back into the room and shoves Evita toward the middle of the queen-size bed.
I toss him a pillow. “Good night, Lacey,” he whispers as he slides next to Evita.
“Good night,” I say. “Everything good?”
“Meh. Not really. But it’ll be fine. I promise,” Theo says.
It only takes a few seconds for his breathing to change to the light snores that are nothing next to Evita’s. I’m suddenly too amped up to sleep, so I get out my phone and read doula blogs and try not to think about the rise and fall of Theo’s chest.
Thirteen
Sunday morning when the radio clicks on, I kick myself for staying up so late last night playing music. I drove home after midnight, because I promised my mom we’d drive to the hospital together. I hit my snooze button for the third time. It’s still so dark out, five thirty feels like the middle of the night.
“Fifteen-minute warning!” I hear from upstairs in the kitchen.
“Okay!” I yell back.
Dylan is already awake and cheerful, but Charlie looks as sleepy as I am as he hands Dylan over to me. I give my brother a quick snuggle. “I’m gonna go meet some new babies. But don’t worry, you’re still my number one,” I tell him, even though all he seems to want to do is grab fistfuls of my hair.
My mom throws a bottle of pumped milk in the fridge and looks at me with a dorky grin. “Let’s go!”
When we have our fancy coffee drinks and are on our way, she turns the heat up so much that I have to take off my jacket. “You have the heat on a little high for October.”
“This is so exciting! We might get to work together today,” she says, not making a move to turn down the temperature.
“That’d be cool,” I say, even though I’m super nervous. On one hand, it’d be great to have my mom’s support. But on the other, if I’m terrible at being a doula, no one will be as disappointed as my mom.
“So, how are you? It feels like ages since we got to talk. And I don’t know what you’re up to aside from making pamphlets and music. Does that make me sound like a bad mom? It does, doesn’t it?”
“You’re not a bad mom. Music and pamphlets is pretty much it. Oh, except we sent in our Berklee applications yesterday.”
“Exciting. Do I get to hear your audition piece?”
“Sure. And actually, my friend Alice that you met? She’s joining our group, too.”
“Oh, that’s so great. I’m sure she’s lucky to have a friend stick with her through that. How are Evita and Theo?”
“I don’t know. Good. Absolutely crazed about our gig,” I tell her.
“Any boys I should know about? Or girls, for that matter…”
“I’m still straight,” I inform her.
“You can always talk to me about anything. Really. Ever.”
“I know. Thanks.”
Commence awkward silence.
“So…?” She looks over at me at a stoplight, sipping her coffee with a grin.
“What?”
“There’s obviously a boy.”
“There is not. You’re full of shit,” I say.
“Lacey!”
“Can we please turn down the heat?” I beg.
“Maybe this is my interrogation method. I can make it hotter,” she threatens.
“Despite your insistence, you won’t get a word about anything out of me,” I tell her.
“Ha!” She laughs. “I knew there was something to tell.”
“I admit nothing.”
“Just as long as you’re safe.”
“I have still never been kissed, okay? And it’s mortifying.”
“It should not be mortifying to go at your own speed. So, what? Is it just a crush sort of situation? Or what?”
“Who said there’s a situation?” I ask. She will not let this go. And, I guess, in the past, I’ve told her about my crushes.
“Be a sport. I’ve got the butt warmers I can still turn on,” she presses. “Who is it? Do I know him? Or her?” she asks.
“Seriously? Mom! Are you that disappointed I’m not a lesbian?” I ask.
“You love who you love. I just know that sometimes same-sex crushes happen regardless of sexuality.”
I groan. Because, yes, I know this. When discussing sex and attraction and marriage and all that, my mother has always said “him or her.” It’s equal parts obnoxious and endearing that she’s so proudly progressive about such things.
“Won’t you tell me who it is? I promise not to look him up in the yearbook or anything,”
she begs.
“Yeah. Sure. I totally buy that,” I tease.
“Someday, I will get all the juicy details out of you and you will allow me to live vicariously through your love life because I’m an old married lady now.” She sighs as she makes the last turn into the hospital parking garage.
“Maybe someday. When I’m off at college and you don’t know any of my friends.” As soon as I say it, I know it’s a mistake.
“I know him?”
“No. Maybe peripherally,” I lie, my face getting hot. I bite my lip, hoping she doesn’t notice my sudden anxiety. If she does, she ignores it as she pulls out her badge and shows it to the parking attendant.
We walk into the hospital together and she looks at me with this wide grin, and I think I’m in for it. But she just says, “I’m proud of you, kid.”
“I’m pretty damn proud of you, too, you know,” I tell her. In my earliest memories, she’s playing with me though she has a textbook in her lap or singing me to sleep even though I know she stayed up studying for hours.
“We’re just a good team, aren’t we?” she asks.
We enter the elevator, and since we’re the only ones in here, she gives me a huge hug. For a moment I want to spill everything about Theo. Because having a crush on him is possibly the worst thing ever. Except I don’t want to acknowledge my feelings any more than I already have. Maybe if I never mention them, they’ll go away.
When the doors open and we’ve reached the fourth floor, we let each other go. “Let’s go meet some babies.” It’s basically impossible not to catch a little bit of her enthusiasm.
Kelly is waiting for me on the floor when we get there. “Do you have the paperwork for me?” she asks.
I reach into my bag and hand her the forms that my counselor, the librarian, my mom, and I have all signed. She looks over them. They must be in order, because she looks up at me and smiles. “Ready to dive in?”
“Oh.” I thought maybe I’d just resume my old duties and Kelly would call me into a birth if someone came in who needed more help than the nurses could give her. “Yeah.”
“Because I have a mom here whose partner isn’t coming,” Kelly says.
My mom gives my shoulder a squeeze and leaves me there with Kelly. I take a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Okay, drop your bag off at the nurses’ station and I’ll introduce you. She’s a first-time mom. Really lovely.”
I follow Kelly down the hall and will my heart to slow down. It’s inconveniently racing. I’m supposed to be the calm one in this situation. If this is a big day for me, it’s a much, much bigger day for the mom I’m going to help.
“Shana, this is the doula I was telling you about,” Kelly says as we enter a standard labor and delivery room. “This is Lacey. I’ll let you guys meet each other.”
And just like that, I’m left alone. I feel awkward and inept. But Shana smiles warmly at me, as if it’s her job to make me feel comfortable and not the other way around. I don’t know whether to give her a bit of space or just go right up next to her bed. I try to think about what I’d want if the roles were reversed. But that’s the thing: I’ve never been in labor, I’ve never been pregnant, I’ve never had sex, or even kissed anyone.
I’ve never even been in the hospital as a patient. The closest I can think of to what it must be like to be nervous in a medical setting is when I needed to have a cavity filled a couple years ago. I was practically sick with nerves, and this one hygienist just sat right next to me and chatted with me while I waited for the anesthetic to take effect. It helped a lot.
I pull up the chair that partners normally use. “So, how are feeling?”
“Tired. I was up all night.” Shana starts breathing deeply, and I realize she’s having a contraction. She’s sitting up in the hospital bed, and she puts her arms on either side of her body and sort of braces herself as she closes her eyes and keeps breathing deeply. I can tell it’s getting more and more intense as her face scrunches up and she whimpers. Before I can overanalyze everything I’m doing, I reach for her arm and rub it slowly.
“You’re doing great,” I tell her quietly. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Her eyes flutter back open when the contraction ends.
“That was a good one,” I say. I said the exact same thing when my mom was in labor with Dylan. Every time she had a strong contraction we agreed that it was a “good one.”
“They’re still not that close together,” she says. “I sort of wish it’d hurry up.”
“Well, if they’re far apart maybe you can rest a little in between. Go ahead and close your eyes. You want anything to get comfortable?” I ask. With each question, I feel less awkward.
“Can I lie on my side?” she asks.
“Yes! Of course! However you want. Do you have an epidural?” I ask. In the workshop I took over the summer, we learned that having an epidural meant it was harder to move, since the mom can’t feel her legs very reliably.
“No. Starting to regret that decision, though,” she says.
“I’m sure there’s still time to change your mind, but you seem like you’re doing fine without it. Do you have a birth plan or anything?” I ask.
“I just want to do things naturally,” she admits. “Is that stupid? I know it’s going to be painful.”
“It’s up to you. But I think you’re doing great. Let’s get you comfortable.”
I help her onto her side and get her some pillows for between her knees and behind her back. She tries to doze between contractions, and we develop this rhythm of mostly quiet resting and sometimes making small talk. A nurse named Jamie comes in and out every few contractions and asks about her pain and checks her monitors and stuff.
Hours pass like this. I can tell things are intensifying. Shana no longer wants to lie down, and she doesn’t get very long between contractions. She’s shaky and flushed, and I know that means she’s probably getting close to being able to push. Kelly comes in to check on her.
“How are you guys doing?”
Shana doesn’t even answer. She’s concentrating too hard on what’s going on inside of her.
“Might be having some transitional contractions,” I say quietly.
“That’s great!” Kelly says. “If you start to feel like pushing, let me know.”
Shana nods. It’s the only outward sign that she even knows we’re here. Kelly smiles at me and leaves just as Shana begins having another contraction.
After only a few more contractions, Shana looks at me and quietly says, “I think I might feel it.”
“Oh.” I hop up. “I’ll get Kelly.”
I wave her down in the hallway. Kelly and Jamie come in. “Do you check to see if she’s at ten centimeters?” I ask Kelly.
“Nope. If she feels like pushing, then she probably is,” Kelly says. “If you need to take a five-minute break, this is probably a good time. We’ll stay in here for a bit.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Shana. Truth is, I’m dying for the bathroom. After I wash my hands, I check my phone, which has been totally silenced. I’m surprised that it’s already almost five in the evening. I send a quick text message to Evita, telling her I’ll be at her house to rehearse as soon as possible. But I know there’s no way I’m leaving Shana until this baby is here.
I get back to the room just as Shana is starting to push. Jamie is sitting in the chair, and the way she’s sitting at Shana’s bedside, so relaxed, I get the idea she doesn’t think this baby is going to be born anytime soon. It’s not always like it is in the movies. There isn’t a doctor swooping in saying, “It’s time to push. Give it all you’ve got.” There’s no screaming. The lights are calm and dim. I offer Shana ice chips in between pushes. It doesn’t seem like she’s getting anywhere. I know first-time moms can push for hours. And she must be so tired from being in labor for so long. I just stay upbeat and offer different positions to try, but nothing seems to help her.
Jamie comes over to where Shan
a is sitting on a large exercise ball and fiddles with one of the belts for the monitors.
“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” she says to Shana. She gives me a little pat on the back. Shana looks at the clock and groans.
“This is taking forever,” she says. She’s despairing and tired.
It’s no surprise when Kelly comes in. She checks the baby’s progress through the birth canal and tells Shana that hardly any progress has been made.
“And the baby’s in a little bit of distress. Nothing dire. The heart rate’s just dipping a hair more than we want. If it continues, I’m going to bring in an obstetrician to discuss other options,” Kelly says gently.
Shana bursts into tears but nods. I want to cry, too. She has tried so hard. She read up on natural birth. She has come this far without meds. I don’t know all the particulars of her situation, but I know she’s here, delivering a baby in a hospital, and she doesn’t have family with her. I give her a hug and let her cry on my shoulder.
Jamie stands over her and comforts her as well.
“Can I just keep pushing for a little while longer?” she asks. “Will the baby be okay?”
“We’re watching the baby, honey. Nothing’s an emergency yet. You just keep trying. Give it all you’ve got and even if you have a C-section, you know you’ve done amazing,” the nurse says.
“I just don’t feel like the pushing is working. I am trying and nothing’s happening.”
I have a lightbulb moment. “We could try something!” I help Shana sit up on the bed. I grab an extra sheet from the closet and twist it around so it makes a kind of rope. “We’ll play tug-of-war. I’ll pull on one end while you push, and you pull on the other. We’ll pull on each other during your contractions. I’ve heard it can help focus the pushing. It’s worth a try, right?” I ask. I read about this recently on a doula blog, and I’d wondered if it would work.
“It’s worth a try,” Jamie agrees.
When Shana has a contraction and begins pushing, I’m surprised at the strength of her pulling on the sheet. I have to brace myself to pull against her. She groans. Her face turns bright red, but when the contraction ends and she relaxes, she sort of smiles.
“I think I might have felt the baby move or something,” she says.
The Birds, the Bees, and You and Me Page 8
