“I guess so; I don’t know. She wouldn’t let me call you for the longest time. She said she didn’t want to disturb your photo session, which I thought sounded totally lame, but she told me you’re making a shit ton of money so I guess I shouldn’t give you any grief. But yeah. She said this photo shoot was like the most important thing ever right now.”
My girl, my wife, the mother of my about-to-be-born child, drives me absolutely frickin’ nuts sometimes. The most important thing is her and the baby. “How long has she been in labor?”
“You’re gonna kill me,” Owen says.
“Tell me, Owen.”
“Since this morning.” He pauses. “Before you even left, she said.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this. You know it.”
Jesus. “And when did you get her to the hospital?”
“A couple of hours ago. About an hour or so after you left.”
She’s been laboring all morning. We were told at the birthing class that first babies tended to take a long time to get here. “Let me talk to her.”
“She’s gonna be pissed that I called you.”
“Does she expect to keep me in the dark about all of this? What’s the matter with her?” I shake my head as I head outside, thankful when I see the hired car that brought me here is still waiting by the curb. The driver slides out and comes around, opening the door for me before I get a chance to do it for myself. I climb into the backseat, the phone still clutched to my ear.
“Did she want to have the baby on her own without me there? Give me a break. Tell her I called you. Now get her on the phone.” I’m clutching the phone tight, gazing through the window and watching the giant industrial buildings pass by but not really seeing them. I don’t care about anything but Fable and the baby and that they’re all right. Nothing else matters, nothing’s important. All I can focus on is Fable and the fact that she’s about to have our baby.
And she wasn’t going to tell me? Really?
“Hello?” I hear her breathless voice and my knees wobble, thankful I’m already sitting down. I feel like a dumbass but I don’t care.
“Fable.” I blow out a harsh exhale and close my eyes. “Tell me everything’s fine.”
“Everything’s fine.” Her voice drops. “I’m in labor.”
“I know that, baby,” I say wryly. “And why didn’t you call me when this started?”
“It started before you left but I didn’t want to ruin your day. Plus, at first I thought it was bad indigestion. I don’t know. This photo shoot was important today. You said so yourself. I didn’t want to disturb you.” She pauses. “Did Owen call you?”
“No, I called Owen because I’ve been thinking about you.” The little lie isn’t a big deal, not when her safety is of the utmost importance to me. Besides, I had been thinking of her. I’m always thinking of her.
“You have?” She sounds so far away, and my arms ache to hold her and whisper encouraging words in her ear as she starts to push our child into the world.
“When am I not? And I’m headed to the airport so I can get back on the plane and come right to you.” I hope like hell they have a seat available on one of the bazillion airlines that fly out of LAX. She’s an hour away, flight-wise, and as every minute passes, I could be losing my opportunity to see my baby being born. I’ve got to find a flight somewhere.
“Finish your photos fir—” An agonized groan comes out of her and my heart leaps into my throat, nearly choking me.
“Fable.” She says nothing, just pants little breaths into the phone, and then another low moan sounds from her. Holy shit. She sounds like she’s dying. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“It’s just …” Another breathless pant, another little grunt. Both sounds are like a punch to the gut. “A contraction.”
“Baby, I’ll be there as fast as I can, I promise. You can count on me.” I end the call before she can protest or say another word. I clutch the phone tight and keep my gaze focused on the window, my brain going at a million miles a minute as all the worry and trepidation and fear is coursing through my body.
I’m about to become a father. Sure hope like hell I don’t miss the actual birth of my daughter.
Fable
The pain is agonizing; I’m not going to lie. Anyone who glamorizes birth and what a lovely and miraculous thing it is is a flat-out liar. This sucks. I can’t get comfortable, I’m pretty sure I’m as big as a house, and my nervous little brother is making me even more nervous. Oh yeah, and irritated. So much I asked him to stay away from me because he’s driving me nuts.
I woke up with a contraction before Drew even left for Los Angeles. I thought it was just a twinge. I’d been having them lately—nothing too severe, just enough for me to pause in whatever I’m doing and breathe through it.
But these little twinges of pain wouldn’t stop. They soon became more and more frequent. I sent Drew to Los Angeles, clutching my contracting belly as I watched him drive off to the airport. I talked to Owen and ate breakfast with him. I took a shower, I cleaned our bedroom, and then I started packing my bag, the contractions coming faster now, and even closer together.
This is exactly how Owen found me minutes later, shoving ten nightgowns into my suitcase along with five nursing bras and an extra pair of flip-flops because I can’t wear real shoes anymore, my toes are so swollen. Everything about me is swollen, especially my boobs.