Izzy As Is

by Tracie Banister

  “He’s not perfect if you don’t love him,” my sister counters. “And money isn’t everything.”

  “Says the woman who’s married to a rich doctor, lives in a million-dollar house, and drives a Volvo,” I snark.

  “I would’ve fallen for Ford even if he didn’t have a cent to—” Pilar’s face suddenly contorts with pain, and she starts doing the heavy breathing thing again. This contraction seems to go on and on and on . . .

  ¡Ay, Dios mío, this is torture! How could something as awesome as sex result in this agony? I can’t believe Ana went through this four times! That’s it. I’m swearing off the horizontal mambo for life. I can’t take any chances that I might end up in the position Pilar is right now, with a watermelon-sized human trying to forcefully bust its way out of my— Nope. ¡Ni hablar! Henceforth, my private parts are going to be closed for business, which will solve my Eduardo vs. Zane problem. I’ll just join a nunnery or something. A really liberal nunnery that lets you wear red thongs under your habit.

  “The contractions are coming a minute and forty-five seconds apart now,” Pilar reports, looking scared for the first time.

  “We’re almost to the Dolphin Expressway. Just hang in there.” I will the cars in front of me to pick up the pace. “Hey, what name did you and Ford finally decide on for this bebita?” I ask, trying to keep us both from thinking about our predicament.

  “Nothing’s set in stone until we see her, but we’ve got our options narrowed down to Elena and Claudia.”

  “Those are both pre—”

  Pilar cuts me off with a moan of pain as another contraction takes hold of her.

  “That was not a minute and forty-five seconds!” I shout accusingly.

  “I know! We need to get to the hospital now!” She punctuates the exclamation with an even louder moan, and I break out into a flop sweat.

  “Okay, okay, we’re almost there. Look,” I point out the windshield, “we’re getting on the expressway and traffic’s easing up.”

  “Hurry!” my sister urges.

  I lay on the horn and start weaving from lane to lane, doing everything I can to get us to the 12th Avenue exit as fast as possible.

  “I don’t want my baby born in a car!” Pilar wails as I veer right onto the road that will take us to Jackson.

  “She won’t be. Just keep doing your breaths.” I start expelling puffs of air along with her to show my solidarity.

  When I see the tan, multi-floored hospital up ahead on the right, I almost weep with relief. I follow the red Emergency signs at a breakneck speed, skidding into the loading and unloading zone outside the ER and slamming on my brakes when the SUV jumps the curb, almost taking out an elderly couple who are hobbling down the walkway.

  Leaving the Volvo running, I throw open the door and hop down to the pavement, then frantically run around the front of the car.

  “Oh, don’t glare at me, old man. I didn’t hit you, did I?” I snap at the prune-faced codger who’s giving me the evil eye while his wife picks up the papers that went flying when I almost mowed them down.

  I open the passenger side of the car to find Pilar doubled over, her body wracked with pain. No way can she make it inside like this. “I’ll get a wheelchair,” I tell her, but she clamps a hand onto my arm before I can leave.

  “No time,” she grunts the words with effort. “Help me.”

  So, I do my best to get her out of the car, then wrap my arm around her hunched form and slowly walk her toward the entrance to the ER, saying encouraging things like, “You can do it! Just think how much better you’re going to feel when you get this baby out!” We barely make it through the sliding glass doors, where we’re hit with a blast of A/C and that hideous, antiseptic smell that comes with all hospitals, when Pilar lets loose her worst scream yet and her knees buckle so that she slides out of my arms, down to the floor.

  Oh shit, this must be it!

  CHAPTER 35

  Still holding her hand, I kneel down next to Pilar on the floor, yelling to anyone who can hear, “Lady having a baby! We need a doctor stat!” That’s what they always say on Grey’s Anatomy, isn’t it? Ooooo, I hope that whichever white coat comes running looks like McSteamy, or I wouldn’t mind McDreamy either.

  Alas, the doc who races over to help is more along the lines of Doogie Howser. I’m not kidding. He looks really young, like I can’t be sure he has his driver’s license much less his medical one. Doogie drops down on his knees in front of Pilar. “This is exciting, isn’t it?” he poses the cheerful question while pulling some latex gloves from the pocket of his lab coat. “Mind if I take a look?” He inclines his head toward the baby-expelling part of her anatomy.

  She nods her assent, and he waves over some nurses who stand behind him, forming a surgical scrub-adorned wall that will block the view of any voyeurs in the ER, then he peeks his head under her skirt to see what’s going on. A few seconds later, he pops up between Pilar’s legs to announce, “Baby’s crowning, so it looks like we’ll be doing this right here.” Turning to the nurses, he reels off a list of supplies and equipment he’ll need to deliver the baby.

  I can see Pilar’s lower lip trembling and I don’t blame her. This is really scary. She’s going to have to give birth to this baby, without benefit of drugs, on the grody floor of this ER where God knows what disgusting bodily fluids have been. “It’ll be all right,” I assure her (and myself). “You’re in good hands here with Dr. _____?” I prompt him.

  “Pepper,” he supplies as the nurses return with a tray full of medical instruments and a blanket to drape over Pilar’s lower half.

  I guffaw. “No way! That’s hilarious. Did you hear that, Pilar? Your baby’s being delivered by Dr. Pepper. You should keep the theme going and name your daughter Fanta or Sprite.”

  “Not . . . funny,” she pants the words as she squinches up her face and bears down.

  “That’s great, Pilar. Keep pushing, hard as you can,” Dr. Pepper (hee!) urges.

  “I can’t believe . . . Ford . . . is missing this.” Tears spill from Pilar’s eyes down onto her flushed cheeks.

  “Yeah, that sucks.” Poor Ford was ten minutes behind us and stuck in the same traffic jam on I-95. “Oh, I know!” With my free hand (the one that’s not being squeezed so hard it’s lost all feeling), I reach into the pocket of my dress and extract my cell. “We can shoot a video of the birth on my phone so that Ford won’t miss one, gory, disgusting minute.”

  I’m about to pass the device to one of the nurses who doesn’t appear to be doing anything important when Pilar smacks it out of my hand, making the iPhone fly a couple of feet, then clatter to the ground. “Okay, so that’s a ‘no’ on the home movie then.”

  Pilar groans in response, too busy pushing to speak.

  “The head’s out!” Dr. Pepper announces gleefully, which makes me queasy. I wish he’d keep the play-by-play to himself unless he’s got something really interesting to report like the baby’s got stripes, or an ear in the middle of her forehead.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh!” The glass-shattering pitch of Pilar’s scream raises goose pimples on my arms. I think she missed her calling. She should have bagged the whole psychology thing and become an actress in slasher films.

  “I’m here! I’m here!” A breathless, wild-eyed Ford comes rushing through the ER’s automatic doors, and I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life. If he weren’t my sister’s husband and the father of this about-to-be-born baby, I’d French kiss him to show my gratitude.

  He’s instantly on his knees, next to Pilar, kissing her face and hands, telling her how brave she’s being, and how proud he is of her, blah, blah, blah, lots of sweet, loving crap.

  “Okay, cool, now that Ford’s here. I’ll just pop out and park your Volvo so that it doesn’t get towed.” I start to rise to my feet, anxious to get the hell out of Jackson before my niece makes her blood and slime-covered appearance. I can meet her later when she’s all cleaned up and pretty.

  “Noo
ooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” My sister tugs me back down, tightening her grip on my hand so that it feels like she’s crushing the bones. “I need both of you.”

  “We’re almost there. One more big push, Pilar!” Dr. Pepper (still funny!) commands.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and pray that the newest member of the Alvarez/Fordham clan comes out healthy, with the right number of fingers and toes, as well as a luxurious head of hair. (Bald babies creep me out!) I also pray that there’s a liquor store nearby because I am going to need a good, stiff drink when this is all over.

  I hear a final groan of effort from Pilar followed by a baby’s cry. Hooray! I open my eyes, but don’t dare to look anywhere but at my sister. I might hurl if I see a just-born baby with its umbilical cord still attached.

  “Do you think I can have what’s left of my hand back now?” I ask the new mom.

  Pilar chuckles through her tears. “Sure.” She releases my hand, and I shake it a few times, trying to get the blood flowing again.

  “Thank you for everything, Izzy. I couldn’t have done this without you.” Pilar lifts her arms in the air, and the nurse places the baby, who’s now swaddled in a white blanket, in them. Pilar cuddles the child close, staring down at her adoringly while she strokes the baby’s chubby cheek with the side of her finger. A beaming Ford lowers his head to place a sweet kiss on his daughter’s forehead. It’s clear that they’re both already besotted with this child and I’m sure there’s plenty of spoiling in her future. I think the three of them could use some alone time to bond, so I make myself scarce, telling them I’m going to run Pilar’s SUV back to their house and check on the kids. I promise Pilar I’ll return in a couple of hours with the bag she had packed for the hospital.

  I take side streets to Pilar’s house because I can’t bear the thought of getting back on the freeway after what I’ve just been through. Although it was a harrowing ordeal, it’s also a damn good story, full of drama, poignancy, unexpected obstacles, and an incredible, last minute save by the heroine (that would be me!) whose skills behind the wheel are on par with Danica Patrick’s. I’m dying to call someone and tell them what happened, but the person I think will most appreciate the story since he’s crazy about his own niece is probably at the drugstore, buying a jumbo pack of condoms so that he’ll be ready for his date with Miss Tea-and-Crumpets.

  Okay, that’s not fair. I shouldn’t be casting aspersions on Z’s character. I know that he’d never have sex with someone on a first date. He likes to court a woman and make sure there’s a real connection before he takes her to bed. I’ve always poked fun at him about that, scoffing at his sappy, romantic ways, but maybe he was onto something because sex with him really did feel different, and I can only attribute that to our pre-existing bond and how well we know each other. I think about the word Pilar used earlier when asking about my history with Z. She wanted to know if we’d been “intimate” before. That word does accurately describe my experience at the crap shack the other night. I may have gotten naked with plenty of guys over the years and thoroughly enjoyed those interludes for the amount of time they lasted, but I didn’t feel close to any of them and there was no connection aside from the physical one. Unfortunately, with Zane, my heart somehow managed to get involved. Thanks a lot, heart. You picked a hell of a time to start working. I thought we had a deal. You were never supposed to love anyone but me. Now look at the mess you’ve gotten us into!

  The question is: what am I going to do? Should I stay the course and marry Eduardo despite having all these mushy feelings about Zane? Or do I give up this five-star lifestyle I’ve worked so hard to get so that I can be with the man I’ve unwittingly fallen for? Zane is so talented and he followed his bliss with his career, which is laudable, but let’s be real . . . photographers generally don’t make a lot of money. So, being with him means an eternity of living in a crap shack and eating a lot of Top Ramen and hot dogs, which will get old really fast no matter how good the sex is. I’m really not a fan of either of those options.

  I’m set upon by Gabi and Nate the minute I enter their house from the garage, where I parked Pilar’s SUV. Although Ford already called them to report that their sibling had arrived, they want assurances that mother and baby are both doing well. Gabi proclaims she will love and look after her little sister just like her mamá has always done with me, and I get momentarily choked up thinking about the circle of life. The sisterly bond is something special, and I’m glad Gabi will get to experience that.

  I leave my niece in the kitchen so that she can “assist” the nanny with preparing dinner while Nate accompanies me up to the nursery. I know how important it is for Pilar to bring her daughter home to the beautiful space she envisioned, and the baby is going to need sheets and a comforter on her bed, so I dig into the bags from Apple of My Eye. I assign Nate the task of assembling and installing the musical mobile while I make up the crib and we chat about him helping me with another project (a binder may once again be necessary).

  As promised, I return to the hospital with all of Pilar’s essentials a few hours later and find her room filled with the other members of our immediate family. My parents, along with Ana and Raymond, are all crowded around her bed, fawning over the new addition, saying how gorgeous she is and how she looks just like her abuela, which pleases my mother to no end.

  “I brought your stuff,” I tell Pilar, holding up her Michael Kors weekender bag, then dropping it down on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  “Finally, you’re here!” Mamá exclaims, preempting Pilar who had just opened her mouth to thank me. “We’ve all been waiting.”

  “Why?” I’m confused. Is there something in Pilar’s bag they needed for this celebration? Bubble gum cigars? Pink champagne? A DNA test to prove the kid is definitely part Alvarez? My mother has been overly concerned about baby-switching at hospitals ever since that happened to the heroine on her favorite telenovela.

  “Your stubborn sister has been refusing to tell us mi nieta’s name until you returned.”

  “I just thought it would be nice if everyone heard our big announcement at the same time,” Pilar offers as her defense.

  “Well?” Ana prompts. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

  Pilar looks up at Ford who’s wedged in next to her and the baby on the twin-sized hospital bed and smiles. The corners of his mouth turn upward, and he clasps her hand with both of his.

  Turning back to us, Pilar says, “As an homage to this feisty, little girl’s aunt and godmother, Ford and I have decided . . .”

  Oh, God, no, she’s naming the baby after Ana? Not that it’s a bad name, I just can’t abide the person attached to it. And this tribute is going to make her even more unbearable than usual. She’s already grinning from ear to ear, looking so smug I want to smack her.

  “ . . . to name the baby Isobel.”

  There are several audible gasps in the room. I think mine is one of them!

  “You can’t be serious!” Ana protests. “Why would you make her,” she stabs an irate finger at me, “this poor, innocent child’s godmother? She can’t take care of anyone, including herself.”

  “You’re wrong,” Pilar tells our sister in her most firm, this-is-not-negotiable tone. “Izzy has proven herself to be very capable throughout my pregnancy. She organized and threw that wonderful birthday party for Gabi when I couldn’t, and she was this baby’s guardian angel today, getting her to the hospital in time to be born under circumstances that were incredibly challenging and stressful. I was scared to death, but she kept a cool head and did her best to reassure and distract me. And she stayed with me through the birth even though I know she was totally grossed out by the whole thing,” Pilar teases me, with a smirk.

  “Yeah, I think I’m going to need some intensive therapy to get over the horrors I witnessed today,” I parry back, and the two of us chuckle. “I really am honored that you want me to be little Izzy’s godmother.”

  “We thought we’d call her by her full name,
” Ford tells me.

  Pilar nods in agreement. “There can be only one Izzy in this family. We just hope Isobel will grow up to be as much of an original as the woman she’s named after.”

  “If she’s anything like Isidora—,” Mamá starts to say.

  “Good luck!” Ana finishes, and everyone laughs.

  Oh, Ana, when will you learn that taking swipes at me always backfires on you?

  “Speaking of children behaving badly, how is George’s suspension from school going?” I query in a dulce de leche sweet voice.

  My sister’s face falls and Raymond’s jaw drops while my shocked parents shout, “What????”

  “Was there a meeting with the principal before disciplinary action was taken?” Papá goes into lawyer mode. “What was the reason for George’s suspension?”

  “It was nothing,” Ana dismisses his questions with a wave of her hand. “Just a harmless prank. You know, boys will be boys.”

  “He set off homemade firecrackers in the bathroom at the middle school,” I supply all the dirty deets, which earns me an incendiary glare from Ana.

  “¡Ay!” Mamá throws her hands up in the air. “I knew that boy’s fascination with fire would get him into trouble one day. And you said he would grow out of it!” She tosses the accusation at Pilar.

  “He still could; he’s only thirteen,” Pilar tries to placate her.

  “And he’s already a serial arsonist!” Mamá declares, referencing all the other things George has torched over the years, including her expensive couch which was set aflame during her “fiftieth” (she wasn’t kidding anyone; it was her fifty-fourth) birthday party. “He’s setting a bad example for the rest of your children,” she tells Ana and Raymond. “You should send him off to military school.”

  “I am not sending my son anywhere!” Ana states defiantly as a splotchy redness climbs from her neck up to her face. I wonder if the top of her head will blow off when it reaches her hairline. That would be fun!