by Hart, Lane
Last night, when I got home from work, I couldn’t sleep, so I put together the crib I got from a consignment shop. Guess I must have pulled a muscle in the process.
The ache does stop, temporarily, before it comes right back just as strong or maybe even worse than before.
And finally, after half an hour of the on-again, off-again pain does the realization of what’s going on finally hit me.
I think I’m in labor.
Pulling a wad of toilet paper from the roll, I sob like a baby into it because I’m not ready for this! My due date is still two weeks away. I thought I would have more time to prepare for the baby, emotionally and physically. Other than the crib and a few outfits, I haven’t even bought bottles or diapers!
I’m already a horrible mother, and my daughter hasn’t even come into the world yet.
The bathroom door opens, so I try to quiet down my bawling.
“Naomi?” Nancy asks. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah?” I respond, but it comes out sounding like more of a question than a statement.
“You don’t sound okay, and you’ve been in here for almost an hour!” she calls back. “Don’t you dare have that baby in one of our toilets!”
“I won’t. I’m not,” I promise her.
The restroom door slowly swings in since I didn’t lock it, and then Nancy, the one person I can always count on to be a ballbuster, offering no pity to anyone, looks at me with a frown. Our eyes meet right as another pain hits. This one is so brutal I have to reach out and squeeze the roll of toilet paper, my nails digging into the tissue until the worst passes.
“You’re having contractions, aren’t you?” Nancy asks.
“No. Yes. I’m not sure,” I lie, peeling off some tissue to blot at my tear and snot-soaked face once the worst passes.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get you to the hospital.”
“No! I can’t!” I tell her with a shake of my head. “I’m not ready to do this. Maybe-maybe it’s false-labor, you know, like Braxton Hicks contractions or something.”
“Does it feel like your body is about to be ripped in half from your spine?”
“Sort of,” I nod my agreement.
“Then you’re in labor. That baby is coming any second now, so it would be great if you didn’t make a mess for me to clean up in the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her as I start sobbing again.
“Don’t apologize. Just get your ass up and in my car!”
“I can’t!”
“Well, what the hell are you waiting for?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and sighing heavily when another teeth-clenching contraction hits me. That’s right. I’m finally able to admit to myself that perhaps I am having contractions.
Once I’m able to breathe easily again without the agony, I clutch my belly and tell Nancy, “I’m not sure if I can do this.”
“Not much of a choice now, girl. The baby’s coming, and being in denial isn’t going to stop it.”
“I’m not ready!” I yell at her, like it’s her fault that an asshole biker knocked me up and then tossed me aside like rotten leftovers he had found lurking in the fridge. “I can’t…I don’t know how to be a mother!”
“None of us do until the doctor puts the baby in our arms and says congratulations,” Nancy tells me. “A more appropriate saying from the doc would be good fucking luck, because being a mother is not easy. Most of the time it’s pretty damn hard, but the fact is anyone can do it. All it takes is one little skill.”
“What’s that?” I hiccup.
“Do you love her?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You already love this child who kicks you all night and has been leeching off of your body, your energy, your soul for almost nine months?”
“Yes,” I answer again. I already care about this tiny person I’ve never met, more than myself. Loving her has never even been a question. If anything, I feel like I’ve let her down, not being the mother she deserves, one who could figure out how to keep her father around so that she wouldn’t be raised like I was.
At least I was lucky enough to have my grandparents. This little girl only has me. No matter what it takes, I’ll find a way to love her enough for the family she’s missing.
“Then that’s it!” Nancy says. “Loving her is all it takes for you to be a good mother. All you can do is keep loving your kid no matter what happens, and you’ll figure it out. That’s all this baby really needs from you.”
“Okay,” I say, trusting that she’s right about this. “I think…I think I’m ready to go to the hospital.”
“Finally! I thought I was going to have to knock you out and drag you in,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Malcolm
* * *
Greg’s ringing up a customer when I waltz into the store, so I grab a pack of chewing gum from the shelf, tear the package open and pop a piece into my mouth before I take up my usual position in front of the second window.
By the time Greg finishes the transaction and joins me, I still haven’t spotted Naomi. Her car’s in the parking lot, so she must be in the kitchen or in the bathroom.
“How’s it going?” Greg asks.
A grunt is my response as I keep my eyes on the diner.
“She’s not there,” he tells me.
“What are you talking about?” I turn to ask him. “Her piece of shit car is right there,” I tell him, pointing my finger at the old Chevy.
“She left. That other waitress, Nancy, peeled out of there with her about two hours ago. They were in a hell of a hurry to get somewhere.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I exclaim in his face. “Why didn’t you call and tell me?’
“Dude, I don’t have your phone number! And it’s not like you go more than a day without stopping in to check on her.”
“Fuck,” I say, dropping the pack of gum on the floor as I jog to the door.
“Think she’s having the baby?” Greg calls out. I flip him off on the way outside to my bike.
Why didn’t I give the kid my phone number so he could call me if something happened? I guess I thought Naomi had more time before she popped the kid out, but maybe not.
I ride by the farmhouse and knock on the door just to make sure Nancy didn’t drop her off at home, but the place is empty.
There’s only one other place Naomi could’ve gone.
I roar down the gravel driveway, taking off toward the hospital, breaking every moving violation known to man to get there within five minutes. Since it’s a small town, the entire medical center, emergency room and all, is only about a hundred rooms on two floors. The second is where the labor and delivery is located; so once I’m on the elevator, I push the button frantically to get up there.
As soon as the elevator doors open, I can hear her screams. Halfway down the hallway I finally hear her voice after months.
“Please!” she begs. “Give me something, anything to make it stop!”
I’m standing just outside the door when a man’s voice tells her, “I’m sorry, Naomi, but it’s too late for an epidural. The baby’s coming. Just a few more pushes and you’ll get to see your little girl.”
A girl.
I’m about to have a daughter.
The thought blows my mind. The faceless kid in my head now has Naomi’s blonde hair and blue eyes, and she’s wearing a bunch of pink shit. She’s beautiful like her mother...
I hold on to that image in my mind for the next half an hour as I stand there listening to nothing but Naomi’s pleas and screams that have me ready to strangle the doctor’s throat. He said a few more pushes, which was obviously bullshit!
The only reason I don’t kill him is because I sure as fuck don’t know anything about birthing a baby, and I’m not sure if anyone else in this whole hospital does either, not the nurse in the room or the other woman who looks vaguely familiar. She’s an older lady I finally realize I’ve seen lots
of times in the diner. For all I know, this doc could be the only one in the entire city who can do this.
“Keep breathing. You’re doing great,” he tells Naomi calmly, like her face isn’t a shade of red bordering on purple and there’s not a gallon of sweat dripping down her forehead.
“Time to push,” the nurse says. “Come on, you can do better than that. Push!”
“If I ever see…Malcolm Hyde again… I’m going to… KILL HIM!” Naomi yells before her words turn into an agonized scream.
She’s right. I did this even though I put all the blame on her. What woman would willingly do this to her body, though? I don’t think there’s any amount of money in the world worth this kind of pain.
Suddenly, there’s silence in the room, followed by the small cries of a baby.
“You did it!” the doctor says. “Congratulations! Here’s your perfect and healthy baby girl.”
Knowing it’s over, that the pain is over for Naomi and that our daughter is healthy has my back sagging against the closest wall and saying a prayer to a god I’m not even sure I believe in.
I remain in the same spot, unmoving until the doctor walks out of the room, giving me a double-take with the nurse right behind him.
The next time I sneak a peek into the room, the baby’s wrapped in a blanket in Naomi’s arms. Tears are running down her cheeks, but she’s also…smiling.
How the hell can she be happy about this when she was just screaming in pain?
“So, what do you think? Was she worth the nine months of discomfort and hours of spine-snapping pain?” the other woman asks Naomi as she leans over to brush her knuckle over the baby’s cheek.
“She’s…amazing,” Naomi responds with a sniffle. “I can’t believe she’s finally here.”
“Still love her?”
“So much my heart feels like it may explode,” she replies, making me feel like the biggest idiot in the world.
Naomi
* * *
I have a daughter.
I’m a mother.
While just hours ago those two things seemed like the scariest ideas in the world, now I know I can do this. I knew it as soon as I stared down at the pair of blue eyes that are gazing up at me in wonder.
“I’ll give you two a little time together before they come get her for her bath,” Nancy says.
“Thank you,” I tell her, barely looking away from my little girl for more than a second. “For everything.”
“No problem,” she says as she walks out.
“Well, it’s just you and me, baby girl,” I tell her aloud. It doesn’t even feel strange talking to her like she can understand me. She hears me, and soon she’ll recognize my voice as her mother, if she can’t already. “But don’t worry. We’ve got this. I promise you we do, no matter what.”
Before, I worried that a baby would be an extra expense and stress I didn’t need. But holding her, she makes all my worries disappear because she’s mine and I’m hers. It’s us against the world; and while I wish she could grow up with a father, I’ll keep telling myself we’re better off without him.
And maybe one day I’ll actually believe that statement is true.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Malcolm
* * *
As soon as Naomi and the baby go home from the hospital, I keep an eye on the farmhouse, stopping once in the morning in my truck and then at night after the boat docks when I stop by on my bike. Most of the time I don’t even get a glimpse of them, but sometimes I do. For a few seconds, when I see her in the window, it’s worth the hassle.
I keep waiting for a letter to come from an attorney, demanding a DNA sample to prove I’m the baby’s father so Naomi can start collecting child support.
But I still haven’t heard a single word.
And it blows my mind when I spot Naomi’s car at the diner less than two weeks after she gave birth – and then Greg confirms that she’s been there for hours, working a goddamn shift.
“Is she insane or something?” I ask him as we stand shoulder to shoulder at the window staring across the street. “Why would she leave the baby already? She’s still tiny and needs her mama.”
“If I had to guess,” Greg starts, pausing to throw some M&Ms in his mouth. “The fact is that the bills don’t give a shit about how little your kid is. They still have to be paid.”
“I don’t like it,” I tell him.
“Then do something about it!”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Don’t ask me, dude. I’m not the one who goes around knocking up poor women and then kicking them to the curb.”
“That’s not what I did,” I say even though it sort of is. “We had a two-week deal. That’s all it was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen…”
“Plans change, shit happens. You’ve got to suck it up and roll with it, dude.”
“Wait,” I say as a thought hits me. “If Naomi’s here, then who’s watching the kid?”
“Like I would know?” Greg chuckles.
“Right. See ya,” I tell him as I head out on my bike, riding to the farmhouse where there are no cars parked in the driveway. I kill the engine on my bike and stroll up to the rundown front porch as I begin to worry that Naomi left the baby home alone.
She wouldn’t do that, would she?
Before I can peek into the living room, the front door opens and out strolls a young redheaded girl with earbuds in her ears and a full trash bag in her hand. I freeze, hoping she won’t see me lurking behind the waist-high bushes beside the porch. And while it does take her a few seconds to notice me, eventually she startles, nearly jumping back a foot on the sidewalk as she shrieks and pulls her earbuds out.
“Who the hell are you?” she asks.
“Nobody,” I answer quickly. “Who are you?”
“I’m not telling you, so just spit it out. What do you want? If you’re thinking about robbing the place, there’s nothing of value inside.”
While that may be true materially, I can’t help but admire her for trying to deter me from the baby I’m certain must be inside.
“I’m not here to rob you,” I assure her.
“Okay, well, either stop acting like a creepy bastard or I’m going to call the police,” she drops the bag of trash and jogs back up the porch steps toward the front door while simultaneously reaching for her cell phone from the front pocket of her hoodie.
“Wait!” I tell her. “No need to call the police.” Pulling out my wallet, I take out all the cash I have on me, a little over two-hundred dollars and hold it out to her. “Will you just take this and hide it in the house someplace Naomi will find it?”
“How do you…are you a friend of Naomi’s or something?” she asks as she takes a hesitant step in my direction. She pauses, not coming close enough to grab the cash.
“Not exactly,” I mutter. “You the babysitter?”
She eyes me up and down and then looks back toward the house. “Oh! I bet you’re Honey’s daddy!”
“The baby’s name is Honey?” I ask in surprise.
“Answer my question, and then I’ll answer yours,” she huffs.
“Fine. Maybe I’m her dad,” I tell her.
“Gotta be more than a maybe if you’re hanging around stalking her from the shadows.”
“So her name is Honey?” I ask again, ignoring her observation.
“Yes.”
Is it a coincidence that Naomi named her after the nickname I always called her? I highly doubt it. Does that mean she’s forgiven me for getting her pregnant and putting her through a hellish labor? The last I heard at the hospital, she hated me and wanted me dead.
“What’s her last name?” I inquire. I go over to pick up the bag of trash to take it the rest of the way to the can at the end of the sidewalk. Before grabbing it, I toss the cash in my hand down on the closest step. And holy hell, the garbage smells like something horrible rotted to death inside.
“Huh?” the girl asks in confusion.
“What’s the baby’s last name?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s Dawson, like Naomi’s,” she responds. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say when I turn to leave with the abomination in a bag. The words have barely left my mouth before I hear the snap of a camera. Looking back over my shoulder, I find the girl with her phone raised in front of her face and then it snaps again.
“I bet Naomi will recognize you. I’ll just send it to her at work…”
“Don’t!” I exclaim.
“Why not?” she asks with her eyebrow lifted in question.
“Because…I need to talk to her first,” I hedge.
“Are you going to talk to her right now?”
“Yeah, fine. I’ll go right now,” I say, giving in to a teenage girl’s demands because I’ve waited around long enough. It’s time to man up and set shit right, even if it’s going to be an uphill battle, and even if it means finally letting go of my pride.
Naomi
* * *
“Can I get y’all anything else?” I ask my last table, four high school or college kids who finished eating an hour ago but have stuck around talking and laughing.
Oh, to be young again. I get it, I do, but my feet hurt, and I really want to get home to my baby girl. If I hurry, I may get to see her before she goes down for the night. Not that she’ll sleep for more than three hours, but still. I was supposed to be on the nightshift, but Nancy is giving me shorter hours during the day because of all the late-night feedings.
“Nah, we’re good,” one of the guys at the table says.
While I wait them out, I go back behind the counter to start filling up ketchup bottles until I get to leave. Only, as soon as the kids stand up to go, another customer comes in – one with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair, wearing jeans and a leather jacket.
