That Was Then...

by Melody Carlson

  Also, I realize as I drive to church, it’s possible that. Ben could be there tonight. Okay, it’s not likely. But I saw Chloe today at the Paradiso, and she told me that Josh is keeping pretty close tabs on Ben, making sure that boy sticks to his rehab agreement as well as going to church regularly. Even so, I seriously doubt that Ben will be showing his face around youth group anytime soon.

  I’m surprised at how many cars are in the parking lot. And the party looks pretty packed. When I go in I notice some new faces, which I think might have to do with our clandestine outreach ministry at the Paradiso. Allie and I made sure to invite Marissa and Spencer tonight, although I would be shocked to see either of them. Redemption is going to do some music, and Spencer admitted that their little “girl band” is pretty impressive. So who knows?

  I mix and mingle with friends and am having a pretty good time, when my cell phone rings. I didn’t even know it was on. I answer it but can hardly hear over the noise. Finally, I go outside to hear better.

  “Kim!” Nat is screaming. “It’s time! I’m in labor! Get home now!”

  My hands are shaking, and I’m trying to think. “But that’ll take too long,” I say. “Why don’t I just meet you at the hospital?”

  “You want me to drive?” she yells.

  “Call your mom. Have her drive you.”

  Now the line is so quiet that I think I’ve lost my connection or maybe she’s passed out from the pain. “NAT! Are you there?”

  “I can’t call my mom,” she sobs. “You’re my coach, Kim. Please, I need you.”

  “Fine. Just be ready, okay. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Hopefully I won’t get a ticket. And—” I suddenly remember—“don’t forget to call your doctor.”

  “I already did. Drive fast, Kim.”

  But as soon as I hang up, I know this is totally crazy. Nat’s mom could easily get her to the hospital in fifteen minutes, and I could be there waiting for her. Otherwise it could take us nearly an hour by the time I go all the way home and then back to the hospital.

  I dial Nat’s home phone number, the first number besides my own that I ever memorized, and wait as it rings. I hope this isn’t a mistake.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. McCabe?” I say just as I approach the intersection where I’ll have to either go home or head for the hospital. “Natalie’s in labor. But she’s alone at my house. I just left the church and could meet her at the hospital if you could pick her up and bring—”

  “I’m heading out the door right now,” Mrs. McCabe yells into the phone. “Krissy, Micah, move it. Your sister’s having a baby!”

  “Meet you there,” I say, then hang up. Okay, Nat’s going to kill me. But hey, she’ll be so distracted giving birth that she’ll probably forget all about this.

  I get to the hospital and am just waiting at admittance when I see Mrs. McCabe pushing Nat in a wheelchair with Krissy and Micah trailing just a few feet behind. They have on their pajamas, but they’re grinning like this is as much fun as going to the circus. And it starts to feel like a circus once Nat’s in the hospital bed.

  Between the nurses, who are hooking Nat up to some kind of monitor and taking her temperature, and Krissy, who’s climbing on the bed and trying to “talk to” the baby, and Micah, who’s turned on the TV, and Nat’s mom, who keeps asking where the doctor is, I’m not sure who should be doing what. Finally, Natalie settles it.

  “Kim is my labor coach,” she tells her mom in a firm voice. “She’ll be in the room with me.”

  Mrs. McCabe looks hurt, but what can I do? It’s Nat who’s having this baby. She should call the shots.

  “Fine,” her mother says in a stiff tone. “We’ll be in the waiting room. That is, unless you’d prefer us to go home.”

  Nat is holding on to her stomach now. “I don’t care what you do! Can someone give me something to stop this pain?”

  I get some ice chips and try to remember how the breathing technique is supposed to work. Finally it feels like we get into some kind of a rhythm. I watch the monitor, which the nurse has explained to me, and when it starts to look like a contraction is coming, I tell Nat to start breathing. The only problem is that the contractions are kind of irregular. Some are five minutes apart and then Nat goes almost a half hour with nothing. Finally, it’s nearly midnight, and I’m exhausted while Nat’s actually asleep.

  “How are we doing?” the doctor comes in and asks.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “Well, I’m afraid Natalie’s experiencing some false labor.”

  Nat opens her eyes. “False labor?”

  He nods. “It’s fairly common.”

  “But the pain was real,” she protests. “How can it be false?”

  “It’s a bit like those Braxton Hicks you’ve been having. Nature’s way of getting you ready to give birth.”

  “But I am ready,” she insists.

  “But the baby isn’t.”

  “How can that be?”

  He smiles. “It’s just one of those mysteries of life, Natalie. The baby comes when the baby is ready. And the baby is not ready to come tonight.”

  “But when?” she demands with tears in her eyes. “I can’t stand to go on like this? When?”

  “Well, it could be as soon as tomorrow,” he tells her.

  “Then why don’t I just stay here?”

  “Or it could be on your due date,” he looks at her chart. “January 2.”

  She groans.

  “Or it could be even later than that.”

  She leans back into the pillow and closes her eyes.

  “I’ve told the nurses to release you, Natalie. You go home and get some good rest, and who knows? Maybe I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”

  Okay, as I go to tell Nat’s mom the news, I’m thinking that I’m with Nat. I want her to just have this baby and get it over with! I’m not sure I can do this all over again.

  “False labor?” Mrs. McCabe frowns. “I should’ve known.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, this is so like her. Always the drama queen. I don’t know why I fall for it.” She turns and looks over to where Krissy is asleep on a couch. “Micah,” she calls. “Tell your sister to wake up. We’re going home.”

  “What about the baby?” Krissy asks sleepily.

  “Not tonight,” I tell her.

  “You’ll get Nat home just fine, I’m sure,” Mrs. McCabe says to me.

  And, of course, I do. But to be perfectly honest, part of me is beginning to resent the role that’s being forced on me by Nat. And I am beginning to resent Nat’s mother too.

  “I’m sorry,” Nat says when we pull into the driveway. “You must be totally sick of me.”

  “No,” I tell her as I open the door. “But I am tired.”

  Even so, I go around and open her door and help her out of the Jeep. “Let’s just leave your bag in the Jeep,” I say as we go inside. “Just in case you go into real labor.”

  I’m relieved to see that Dad has gone to bed. I called him earlier to let him know what was up and then again when we found out it was a false alarm.

  “I’m afraid I won’t know the difference,” she says as we walk through the kitchen.

  “The difference?” I’m foggy now. What were we talking about?

  “Between real and false labor.”

  “Like your doctor told you,” I say. “The contractions need to be at least five minutes apart, consistently, for at least an hour.”

  “Or my water breaks.”

  “Yeah. And unless either of those things happens, don’t call me,” I tell her as I head for my room. “I’ll call you.”

  “Sorry,” she says again, standing in front of the guest room door.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Was my mom mad?”

  I consider this. I could lie to her and say, “No, she was just fine.” Instead I just nod.

  “It figures.” Then she sha
kes her finger at me. “I told you not to call her.”

  “Whatever…”

  “Sorry,” she says, looking down at her enormous belly. “I’m really thankful for you, Kim. You and your dad have been just like family.”

  Then I go over and give her a hug. “You are family, Nat. Now get some rest. Like the doc said, you could be having that baby tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I hope so!”

  I don’t tell her that I hope not. I’m not ready for a repeat of tonight just yet. I’m thinking I’d be just as happy to have her wait until January for the baby. Maybe it’ll even be late.

  Speaking of late, I really need to do another letter for my column.

  Dear Jamie,

  I am so depressed. I totally hate Christmastime. Nothing good ever comes out of it. I never get what I want. My family usually gets in a big old fight. It’s just such a complete waste of time and money. I wish that someone would just cancel it for good.

  Scrooge

  Dear Scrooge,

  I don’t think you really get Christmas. It’s not supposed to be about getting what you want or having good things happen to you. If you really want to have a good Christmas, why don’t you look into some ways to help others? Find someone who’s got it worse than you, and lend a hand. Maybe you’ll discover that it’s not about what you get, but what you give.

  Just Jamie

  Eleven

  Saturday, December 23

  Nat is in a black mood today. Really dark. I’ve tried to get her out of it. I baked cookies and put up some of Mom’s old Christmas decorations. I even played some Christmas music, some of the funky old vinyl albums that my mom used to love. I thought our house was actually feeling pretty festive too, but nothing seems to bring Nat out of her gloom. This morning I even made us waffles for breakfast, the kind you make with batter and a waffle iron. But do you think that cheered Nat up? Think again.

  “I’m going to be pregnant forever,” she complained as I cleaned up my waffle mess. “It’s God’s punishment on me.”

  “Yeah, right.” I put a bowl in the dishwasher. “That sounds like something God would do, Nat.”

  So then she pulled her sweatshirt up, revealing this enormous stomach with all these weird little purple lines running every which way, kind of like a road map. “Look at me, Kim! I’m gross and ugly and there’s no way my body will ever be the same again.”

  Okay, I’m pretty shocked at the size of her stomach, not to mention all those lines, which I assume are stretch marks because she’s been complaining about that a lot. And I guess I can almost believe her. I mean, how is it possible that her body ever will be the same? But for her sake, I tried to act like it’s no big deal. “Look at the bright side. If God really is punishing you and you really are going to be pregnant for the rest of your life, you’ll probably become famous. You’ll be written up in the ‘Guinness Book of World Records.’ I’ll bet Oprah will even want you on her show.”

  That’s when Nat threw a potholder at me. Oh well.

  And I’m not stupid. I’m well aware that she has plenty to be miserable about. I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if I was her. I think I might rather be dead. And I know I should be more compassionate and kind, but after attempting to humor her all day yesterday and then again this morning, I needed a break.

  “I need to do some Christmas shopping,” I told her, knowing full well that nothing short of going into labor would tear her away from this house. I also knew that the mall would be packed and that I totally hate fighting the crowds. But I felt like it was simply the lesser of two evils. My mom used to say that.

  “But, Kim—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have my cell phone with me and turned on, and if you have even just one contraction, you can call me. Remember what the doctor said—it’ll take an hour of contractions that are five minutes apart. And the mall’s only twenty minutes from here. You’ll be fine, Nat.”

  Of course, she didn’t look fine when I left the house. She looked like she wanted to kill me. But seriously, what good would it do for me to stick around? I think we both need a little space right now. And the idea of going through my entire Christmas break with Nat acting like this—well, it’s a little overwhelming.

  The sad thing was, after I finished my fairly minimal Christmas shopping, which only included getting something for Dad and Nat, I still didn’t want to go home. I double-checked my phone to see if perhaps I’d missed a call, but everything looked fine. So I decided to go over to the Paradiso, wishing I was scheduled to work and hoping that perhaps they’d be crunched and I could just step in and stay busy.

  But it was pretty quiet over there, just a few customers, and Cesar was working behind the counter. “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

  “Helping out,” he told me.

  “Where’s Chloe?”

  “Didn’t you hear?”

  “What?”

  “Redemption has to do a Christmas concert in Nashville tonight. All the guys in Iron Cross came down with the flu, so the recording studio had the girls flown out last night. Very last minute.”

  I sat on a stool at the counter and sighed. “What a cool life.”

  He laughed. “They weren’t that pleased.”

  “Can you imagine?” I said to Cesar as he wiped the counter in front of me. “How awesome would it be to get on a plane, fly first class, get picked up at the airport by a limo, be taken to a really great hotel, and then you put on some glamorous costume to go out on a stage and perform in front of thousands of adoring fans?”

  “Maybe you should ask the girls to give you the real story, Kim. I don’t think it’s quite as glamorous as you think.”

  “More glamorous than taking your best friend to the hospital and then finding out that she’s not really in labor.”

  He gave me a sympathetic look. “I heard about that. If it makes you feel any better, Pastor Tony had us all pray for you.”

  “That’s nice. It was about three in the morning when we finally got to bed.” I held up my cell phone. “This is like our umbilical cord now.”

  “So, what can I get you?” he asked. “Something to calm your nerves? A nice gentle green tea, perhaps?”

  I kind of laughed. “No, I think I need the hard stuff. I’ll have a mocha with the works. And make it a triple shot.”

  His brows lifted. “Whoa, you really must be having a tough time.”

  I glanced around the coffeehouse, noticing that everyone was fairly far away from us and involved in their own conversations. And that’s when I decided to unload on him. And Cesar, being Cesar, was big enough to take it.

  “You’re going to get through this, Kim,” he said as he put my mocha in front of me. “And God is going to make you a bigger person because of it.”

  I frowned. “What if I don’t want to be bigger? What if I just want a break?”

  “Maybe we could help out,” he suggested. “Kids from the youth group could take turns coming to visit Nat.”

  “Like babysitting?”

  “More like an encouragement team. And a chance for you to have a break.”

  “So that maybe I could go snowboarding?” I said wistfully.

  “Yeah, why not? You should get to have some fun during Christmas break. In fact, I wouldn’t mind going myself.”

  “Maybe we could go together?” I said. “If someone else was willing to stay with Nat for a whole day.” Then I shook my head. “No, it’s not going to work.”

  “Why?”

  “Nat would never agree to something like this.”

  “Why not?”

  “She doesn’t want anyone to see her right now. That’s why she won’t go to youth group or church or anything. It’s like she’s in hiding. Right now, all she wants is to have the baby, get back into shape, and hopefully resume some kind of normal life. I think she’s hoping that everyone will just forget that any of this happened.”

  “But it would be good for her to be around other people,” he insisted. �
�It’d help her to see that we still care about her, that we don’t look down on her, and that she still has friends. You know?”

  “I know. And you know. But convincing Nat of this…well, trust me, it won’t be easy.”

  “That’s okay. It’s still worth a try. And you could use a break. Why don’t you let me see what we can do? I doubt that we can get much together before Christmas, but Josh and I meet Monday morning. I’ll mention this to him.”

  “Do you guys meet every Monday morning?”

  “Yeah. He’s kind of mentoring me. And then I’ll do the same thing with another guy.”

  “Cool.”

  He nodded. “Very cool. I heard Caitlin is going to start doing it too. You should talk to her.”

  Then some new customers came in, and feeling somewhat cheered, I decided it was probably time to go home and check on Natalie. But when I got here she was taking a nap. So I tiptoed into my room and decided to just enjoy the peace and quiet.

  Sunday, December 24

  Today was pretty quiet. Nat said she wasn’t feeling too well, so I went to church by myself. And she spent most of the day in her room. I’m sure it’s because she was depressed. I tried to give her space, keeping myself busy by going to the grocery store, then putting together some things I thought my dad might appreciate. But Nat’s laying low routine was starting to get to me. Finally I knocked on her door with a plan.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just peachy” She rolled her eyes and patted her huge belly. “For a beached whale, that is.”

  “I know it’s only Dad and you and me for Christmas Eve tonight,” I told her. “But I’m trying to fix things like my mom used to do. She always made lots of finger foods and desserts and stuff. And sometimes friends would drop in, although that won’t be the case tonight. Anyway, I thought it would be really simple to do this, but there’s a lot more work than I realized. Can you help me out a little? I mean, you can sit down while you do it, but I thought maybe you could peel and cut up the veggies.”

  She pulled herself to a seated position with a loud groan, then glanced down at her frumpy pajamas, which looked like they could use a serious laundering. “Give me a minute to put on some decent clothes—that is, if I can find anything that will fit me.”