Them (Him #3)

by Carey Heywood

  I knock lightly before peeking my head in. “Hi.”

  “Come on in,” Brian says, walking over to open the door more.

  Christine is in a hospital gown, a sheet and blanket pulled up to her chest. She lifts her hand in greeting, her pretty face strained.

  I hurry over to her after hugging Brian to kiss her cheek. “How are you doing?”

  She grimaces and Brain answers for her. “Her water broke. So far, she’s already dilated to four centimeters. We’re waiting on the anesthesiologist to give her an epidural. The contractions are coming pretty fast.”

  He points out a machine next to her bed. “They’re monitoring the intensity of them on this. When these red dots go up this thing, it means she’s having one and the higher they go, the stronger it is.”

  “Oh, honey,” I coo, reaching out for her hand.

  “I’m doing okay, I swear,” she replies. “It’s only hard to talk during them.”

  I’ll bet.

  “Who has Calvin?” I ask Brian.

  “Dad’s watching him. Our mom and Christine’s mom are on their way. If the baby comes before little dude’s bedtime, Dad is going to swing by with him.”

  “Have they given you any idea of how long it might be?”

  Christine runs her hand over her belly, “I went fast with Cal and they say babies after the first come even faster, but honestly we don’t know.”

  I nod. “Is there anything I can get either of you?”

  Christine lifts a Styrofoam cup from her bedside table. “I can only have ice chips from this point on.”

  I turn to face Brian. “Do you want anything?”

  He drags a hand through his hair and glances softly in Christine’s direction. “I’m too nervous to eat anything. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  My phone chirps from my purse and I pull it out to see a text from Will, wondering what room Christine is in.

  I hadn’t even looked at the door when I walked in, so I step out in the hall so I can answer him. A return text isn’t needed, though, when I see him standing at the end of the hall.

  “Will,” I whisper-yell, and his eyes meet mine.

  I stand rooted, watching his expression warm and him approach me.

  “Hey, darling,” he murmurs against my temple as he presses his lips to my skin.

  “Hi.” I squeeze him tightly and lead him into the room.

  He’s given the same updates as to Christine’s condition as I was. Not long after we arrive, we’re sent to the waiting room so the anesthesiologist can give Christine her epidural.

  “Does Logan know to take the bus home?” I ask, glancing back toward Christine’s room.

  “I called my mom. She’s going to pick him up and take him to her house.”

  “That makes way more sense than him being all by himself at the house,” I murmur, my brows furrowing.

  “You’re lucky I have more than my good looks to get me by,” Will teases.

  “Sarah, Will,” my mom calls out.

  Will leaves me sitting and walks over to hug her.

  “How is she? Why are you two out here? Is she already pushing?”

  Will glances at me, biting back a grin at my mom’s rapid-fire questions.

  I pat the seat next to me and reply as she sits. “She’s fine. She’s getting her epidural. She isn’t pushing yet.”

  “Oh, whew.” Mom leans back into her chair. “I was scared I missed it.”

  “If you missed it, we’d all be in her room meeting the new baby,” I joke.

  She frowns. “Well, you make a good point.”

  The nurses are cool with us hanging out in her room until it’s time for her to push. Once that happens, we’ll go back in the waiting room while only Brian stays with her for the delivery, depending on how late it is. Will has school tomorrow, and I have no desire to stay up all night. If she hasn’t had the baby by eleven, we’re going home and to bed.

  Since it’s her second baby, everyone is convinced it will be here long before that. I’m tired, so honestly, I’m just doing what I’m told. Sit here, Sarah—sure. Drink this, Sarah—okay. Relax, Sarah—I’m all over that. For me, my second trimester can also be called my zombie time. I’m committed to going with the flow, especially now that I can eat without throwing up every time.

  I may be a zombie, but I’m an observant one. Christine may not realize it, but I’m mentally taking notes as to how she’s handling her labor. For example, before the epidural, she was not a happy camper but after, she took a catnap, with us in the room and everything. I watched the machine thingy next to her bed; she was still having contractions the entire time and slept right through them.

  Before now, I hadn’t put a lot of thought into whether I wanted an epidural or not. The concept of natural childbirth had its appeals, and I figured if my ancestors could do it, why couldn’t I? After seeing Christine sleep through a portion of her labor, I was second-guessing not considering it big-time. Seriously, my ancestors went to the bathroom outside. Why would I purposefully do something as painful as labor is, the hard way?

  An epidural just moved to the top of my to-do list labor-wise. Making that decision alone relaxed me. Now there are only a million other things for me to worry over or plan between now and then. Since we’ve decided not to find out the sex of the baby, we’ve somewhat limited ourselves color-wise to gender-neutral hues. Although, pink and purple were historically male colors, and Will is open-minded to the point that I doubt he’d care if our son slept in a pink room or our daughter in a blue one.

  The idea of having to correct every stranger we’d pass in the wrong-colored stroller is what’s keeping me from making a decision. I could always go with slate and then use any color I wanted as an accent. I pull out my phone. Whether it’s the pregnancy or something else, I have lost all ability to remember anything these days.

  I can stand up in the living room, walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water and by the time I’m there, I’ve forgotten what I came into the kitchen for in the first place. Because I forget everything, I send Will random texts of things I want to remember. That way, he can remind me or I can check my sent text history and remind myself.

  Luckily, the influx of texts hasn’t driven him crazy. If I was in his shoes I wouldn’t be as patient. Good news for me is he thinks I’m cute.

  The nurses come to check on Christine every thirty minutes or so. It’s barely past dinner time when our mom’s decide we should try and eat now since Christine hasn’t started pushing yet, and the cafeteria is still open. Agreeing with them, we head there to grab a quick bite so our growling stomachs won’t scare my new niece when we finally get to meet her.

  We eat quickly, none of us wanting to hang out in a hospital cafeteria and potentially miss a few minutes meeting the new baby. While the food isn’t the most appetizing, since the majority of my all-day, every-day sickness has gone away I wolf down a turkey sandwich.

  As fast as I ate, though, my mom and Christine’s mom finished way faster. They hurry back to the Labor and Delivery wing and don’t bother holding the elevator for Will and me.

  “Rude much?” I ask the closed elevator doors when we reach them.

  Will chuckles next to me.

  “What?” I snap, more annoyed than I need to be. “You don’t think it’s rude they couldn’t wait for us?” I don’t wait for his response; I’m hormonal and on a roll. “I mean, geez, it’s not like I’m pregnant or anything. Did they expect me to speed-walk along next to them?”

  He crosses his arms over his chest, his lips sealed because we both know I’m not done.

  “Did they think you were going to abandon me, your pregnant wife?”

  He lifts his eyebrows.

  “God, and what’s up with these elevators? I’m slow-moving these days, but we probably could have walked up the stairs at this point.”

  Uncrossing his arms, Will drops them to my biceps, gives me a squeeze and leans forward to kiss my forehead. After a beat, he straighten
s and drops one hand to press the up button on the wall.

  I blush. “Oh, probably should have pressed the button before I got all pissed off at it.”

  He shrugs. “You’re cute when you’re pissed.”

  “You’re lucky I like you,” I grumble as the doors open.

  “Like me.” He clutches his chest as if my words wounded him.

  “Don’t act funny. I’m still annoyed,” I huff, marching into the elevator once the doors open.

  He follows me, his hand warm on my back, even through my sweater. If I look at him now, I’ll laugh and all of my annoyance will evaporate like a morning mist against the rising sun. I want to hold onto my anger; I still haven’t had a chance to let my mom have it.

  With gentle pressure on my shoulders, he tries to turn me to face him. I refuse. Part of me expects him to be annoyed in return, but instead, he holds my back to his front and crosses his arms over my chest, hugging me to him. I stand there stiffly, pissed off at everyone and everything for the silliest of reasons, until I notice the slight shake of his body against mine and the muffled chuckle he attempts to suppress.

  All at once, my body softens. I melt into him and lift my hands to rest on his arms.

  “I’m being ridiculous,” I confess, relieved we’re alone so I only have to be embarrassed in front of him.

  The doors open and he stops me before we can continue on to Christine’s room. This time, when he turns me to face him, I don’t resist. Cupping my face in his hands, he presses a kiss to my forehead.

  “You are never ridiculous,” he quietly argues.

  “But—” I begin.

  He shakes his head and I stop.

  “You’re exhausted, excited, nervous, and all of those things are affecting you.”

  “How are you so calm?” I ask.

  One side of his mouth tips up. “All a façade. I’m as freaked as you are. This is going to be us in four months.”

  “You don’t seem freaked,” I grumble and he laughs.

  “As long as I have you near me, I’m fine.”

  My brows furrow, my lips pinching tightly as tears sting my eyes. Furiously, I blink them away, cursing my hormones and over-emotional state at the moment. Tucking my face to his neck, Will doesn’t say anything as I pull myself together. There is nothing worse than crying in public.

  After the threat has passed and I sniffle a few times, I lift my head to look up at my husband. “How did I get so lucky?”

  He shakes his head, clasping my hand in his and bringing our joined hands up to his lips. “Trust me; I’m the lucky one here.”

  Part of me wants to smack him for making the tears threaten again. Instead, I face-plant into his chest and hug him tightly. All too soon, we pull apart and quietly make our way to Christine’s room.

  “What took you two so long?” my mom asks as soon as she sees us.

  I open my mouth to let her have it, but Will squeezes my arm and quickly answers for the both of us. “The elevator took forever.”

  She shrugs and turns back to her conversation with Christine’s mom. I glare at her until I hear a giggle from Christine’s bed. I blush and walk over to her, guilty she caught me.

  “What’d she do?” she whispers once I’m near her.

  “It’s silly,” I return.

  “So what,” she replies, her slender hands stroking her belly. “I still want to know.”

  Will pushes a chair up closer to her bed for me to sit comfortably.

  “She didn’t hold the elevator.”

  Christine covers her mouth to muffle her laugh and I roll my eyes at myself. “I know. I’m not sure why it bugged me as much as it did.”

  She moves one of her hands from her stomach to mine. As soon as I started showing, I was amazed by how comfortable people felt touching me. With Christine, it’s cool; random strangers at the grocery store, less so.

  “Maybe Baby Price will grow up to be a runner, and he or she was upset your mom got a head-start.”

  I cover her hand with mine, imagining a little brown-haired boy or girl chasing after Will and gulp.

  “I like that.”

  She laughs. “We’ll see if you still say that after chasing that baby around all day.”

  She’s probably right. I’ll probably be exhausted and annoyed, just like I am now. Will’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I look up to see Brian standing next to him, his expression adoring as he looks down at Christine. It strikes me then that the look Will’s giving me is no less so.

  With my other hand, I cover his. No matter what the future has in store for us, as long as I have my family I’ll be fine. The lack of chatter from the other side of the room sinks in and I turn to look toward my mom. Both she and Christine’s mom sit quietly as they watch the four of us. My mom is two seconds away from crying; it’s written all over her face.

  It’s good to remember where I got my emotional side from. If I end up being half the mom she was to our baby, I’ll be happy. I guess being emotional isn’t a bad thing. I never had to guess that she loved me with all of her heart when I was growing up. She had so much love within her that she gave the same love to Brian and then to Will.

  Being pregnant has made me more reflective of my own childhood. My family didn’t have a lot while I was growing up, but we never wanted for anything either. Will and I will probably never be millionaires on a teacher’s salary and what I make. That doesn’t mean that our family will be lacking on any of the essentials: love, laughter, and the faith that we’ll always have each other.

  I drop my hand from Will’s to brush a tear from my eye, my mother a mirror image of me as she wipes at her face, as well.

  Once it’s time for Christine to push, Brian is the only one who stays in the room with her while the rest of us go to the waiting room, across the hall from the nursery. Leaning against Will, I zone out as I stare at the little beds holding all of those precious little babies. My mom tries a couple times to get my attention but gives up and talks with Christine’s mom instead.

  My mind is with Christine and, as my hand lightly coasts over my protruding stomach, on hopes for my own delivery.

  Brian hurries into the waiting room not long after, grinning from ear to ear. We all stand and circle him.

  “The baby?” my mom asks, her hands clasped in front of her.

  He lifts his arm to rest on her shoulder. “Both she and Christine are doing great. Come and meet her.”

  He doesn’t need to ask twice.

  Christine looks exhausted and yet somehow too serene considering she just gave birth. Nestled in her arms is my new niece, wrapped snuggly in a striped pastel blanket and sporting a pale pink hat. Christine’s mom is the first to reach for her while my mom practically shakes next to her as she waits for her turn.

  “What’s her name?” Will asks Christine as he stands behind me.

  “Reilly Jane Miller,” she replies.

  Brian takes pity on her after snapping a couple of pictures for Christine’s mom, so he passes the baby to our mom. I’m next. I’m next.

  My mother is a notorious baby hog.

  After what seems like twice as long as Christine’s mom held Reilly, I finally grumble, “Let someone else have a turn, Mom.”

  She relents, frowning as she eases my new niece into my arms. Will’s arms wrap around me as he looks down at her over my shoulder. I lift her little body to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, inhaling her sweet new baby scent.

  “She’s beautiful,” Will whispers, and my throat swells as I nod and look up at Brian and Christine.

  I can’t wait until it’s our turn.

  Will

  “We’re home,” I call out into the house, shutting the front door behind me.

  “I’m in the kitchen,” Sarah replies.

  Logan grins up at me. “That can only mean trouble.”

  I smirk back my agreement. The good news was Sarah hadn’t had a bout with morning sickness in weeks, but the bad news was she was now eating the weirde
st shit you could think of.

  “Let’s see what she’s created today,” I murmur, following him toward the kitchen.

  Sarah’s back is toward us and she grins over her shoulder at me as I approach. From the back, she doesn’t even look pregnant, not until she turns to the side and her basketball-shaped belly becomes visible. I mold my front to her back and peer over her shoulder to see what she’s making.

  I breathe easy when I see it’s just a sundae, piled high with syrup, toppings, whipped cream and cherries.

  “Looks good,” I murmur, turning my face to kiss her neck.

  She whimpers, tilting her head to give me better access to her soft skin. I send telepathic pleas for Logan to suddenly get the idea to go play outside. I don’t know what it is with Sarah these days, but we’ve both become insatiable in the bedroom.

  She turns her head back toward my face, until her lips are at my ear. “After my sundae.”

  I bark out a laugh. I guess she wants her sundae more than my cock at the moment. She’s lucky it looks good.

  I lift my chin in its direction. “Gimme a bite.”

  She smirks. “Please?”

  I shift my hips against her backside so she can feel how turned on I am and give me a break. “Please.”

  Her sigh makes me wonder whether it’s the loss of a bite of her sundae she’s mourning or the fact that given our audience, now isn’t the right time to take her upstairs and have my way with her.

  She dips the spoon into the ice cream, making sure to get me a good-sized bite, and lifts it to my parted lips. The cool ice cream melts on my tongue, the whipped cream dissolving into a delicious pool in my mouth. It’s at that moment an unexpected flavor assaults my senses.

  Doing my best to speak around the bite in my mouth, while avoiding it slipping down my throat, I ask, “Sarah, what’s in this?”

  She doesn’t reply immediately; instead, she takes a bite of her own, moaning as she eats it.

  It’s then she turns her soft brown eyes to mine and innocently replies, “Bacon bits.”