Roomie Wars Box Set

“Okay, wait. You’ll like this one.” I veer right taking the exit and hightailing it on the straight road. “Babies recognize the music they hear in the womb for up to four months after the birth. So, all that rubbish you play, you might as well continue because it’ll probably soothe them.”

I check the mirror for a split second watching as she closes her eyes, practicing her breathing. “I’ve been listening to a lot of Billy Idol. I just don’t know if I want them jamming to that so early on. It’s punk rock, you know…”

I didn’t know. I have no clue what she’s going on about and will openly admit that I can’t name one single Billy Idol song.

Keeping our conversation going, and purposely derailing the topic of moving to Australia, which I’m certain will come back up, I raise the one thing that comes to mind. “You know, we haven’t really discussed baby names…”

“I have a few,” she responds with a quaky voice. “For a boy, I like Noah.”

My face tightens. This isn’t the time to get jealous, but I have no issues pointing out the obvious.

“Noah. As in the guy you slept with, Noah?”

“Oh… I forgot about that. I hate that you have a good memory,” she complains.

“Answer is no,” I state, rudely. “How about Hannah for a girl?”

“I once knew a Hannah in school. She was a bitch. Probably because people called her Hannah Banana.”

“Okay… I’ll take that as a no.” I know this conversation will frustrate the hell out of me. “Aurora, I had a lovely patient with that name.”

“Sounds like a brand of toilet paper. Oh, what about naming them after a place, like London?”

“We’re simple people, Zoey. We don’t do crazy things like name our kids London or Pineapple.”

“Gwyneth Paltrow named her daughter, Apple. Pineapple wouldn’t be so far-fetched.”

The bright lights of the city ease my nerves. The hospital is only a few miles away, and this conversation is going nowhere. We barely agree on anything so finding two baby names is proving impossible.

A moment later, I realize she’s trailing off.

“Zo,” I call out. “Zo, are you okay?”

My gaze fixates on the mirror as she nods her head, unable to speak with her eyes glazed over. The radio switches songs, playing one of her all-time classics.

“You love this song,” I remind her, the clock ticking over prompting her timely contraction.

“All the girls might be having fun, but I’m not. Remind me never to become pregnant again. I’m done. This is it. Two in one go. Even numbers. You take one, and I’ll take the other. You should probably get the snip tomorrow. You’ve got perks in that hospital, just walk in and say cut my dick off,” she growls.

A part of me—the part wanting to shut down any activity about cutting my dick off—warns me to shut up. I can’t be any more grateful to the man up above for getting us here in one piece as we pull into the entrance and stop at the main door. Frantically, I turn the engine off and race to her side of the car to help her out.

“I love you. I’m sorry,” she apologizes mid-cry, twisting her arm backward to alleviate the pressure on her back as she begins to walk. “Don’t cut your dick off.”

“I won’t,” I reassure her, happy to be here.

Walking through the automatic doors, I spot a colleague who often works the main desk. Knowing I can rely on her, I pass Zoey to her while I quickly move the car so it won’t block emergency vehicles.

Catching up, we make our way to the delivery ward. Trying my best to remain calm, I allow the nurses to get Zoey settled before Dr. Wheeler walks into the room. She isn’t our usual obstetrician, she’s young and new to the hospital. C’mon Drew… don’t judge her on her age. Been there, experienced that.

“Let’s get you checked out and see how far these babies are,” Dr. Wheeler says, placing her gloves on and spreading Zoey’s knees apart.

“Zoey, you’re in your active labor phase. You’ve already dilated six centimeters so not long to go before we meet your beautiful babies.”

I reach out grabbing Zoey’s hand allowing her to squeeze it tight.

“But, but…” The panic rattles her, words barely able to come out of her mouth. “We can’t be in active labor. We’re supposed to do the classes. I tried to book them in, but Drew’s schedule was too hectic. I don’t know how to push, and what about swaddling? I didn’t get a chance to practice swaddling.”

I plant a kiss on her forehead, willing her to relax and just breathe. “Deep breaths, in and out. And I’m sure we can learn to swaddle together. Doesn’t look that hard.”