“I hate basketball,” she says, her bottom lip quivering.
“I been trying to tell you,” I joke. “Took labor for you to hear your girl.”
Her mouth twitches the tiniest bit.
“He’s really almost here?” she asks again for the one hundredth time.
“He is. The team landed a little while ago and he called from the airport.”
It’s pre-season, and the Waves had a game in Toronto. Iris wasn’t due for another few days.
“First thing I’m gonna do when little man gets here,” I say, giving her a smile, “is tell him to synch his schedule. Got all of us thrown off.”
I wasn’t supposed to fly out to San Diego until the weekend, and was planning to spend a few days in Hawaii with JP. Fortunately, I got the call before we left for the airport and was able to change my flight.
The upside is that I’ll get to see my boyfriend before the team leaves for China in two days. When Kenan said his schedule would be brutal, I didn’t think he was lying, but even the pre-season is intense.
“Ahhhh!” Iris bellows. Rivulets of sweat sluice her forehead, making the fine hairs at her temples curl.
“How’s Sarai?” she pants once the pain passes.
“Good. I got an update from your friend a few minutes ago. She says Sarai’s playing with dolls.”
Iris smiles, her eyes shifting past my shoulder. “Dr. Matthews, hi.”
“Hi, Mrs. West,” Iris’s obstetrician, Dr. Matthews, says from the door. Her voice is calm, but carries a hint of urgency. “We need to talk. You’ve been in labor for eight hours and have stalled at five centimeters dilated. I’d like to do a scalp test.”
Iris has been given some drugs for pain, though she didn’t want an epidural. I know she hasn’t been sleeping much for weeks. Dark shadows rest beneath her eyes. Between contractions, her lids droop drowsily. She’s exhausted. I need to be alert on her behalf.
“What’s a scalp test?” I ask.
The doctor looks at me questioningly and then to Iris, whose head has lolled to the side.
“I asked you a question,” I remind the doctor with soft firmness. “What does the test involve, and why do you need to do it?”
“Tell her,” Iris whispers. “She’s my only family.”
Technically not true. We both have mothers alive and well in New Orleans. Neither of us have seen them since MiMi’s funeral. I haven’t spoken to mine since I was twelve years old.
“And Mr. West?” Dr. Matthews asks, brows up.
“En route,” I reply, my stare unwavering. “The test?”
“We place a plastic cone in the vagina and against the baby’s scalp,” she explains. “We take a small blood sample, which will be analyzed, and tell us in minutes if he’s getting enough oxygen.”
“You okay with that, Bo?” I ask. “Did you hear the doctor?”
Iris nods weakly and licks over the teeth marks on her lips. “Okay,” she says. “Do it.”
They get Iris in stirrups and conduct the test quickly.
“I was afraid of this,” Dr. Matthews says when she comes back a few minutes later. “We need to get that baby out. We should start discussing other options. Possibly a C-section.”
“No, I don’t want . . .” Tears course down Iris’s cheeks. “We wanted to do it naturally.” She looks at me, distress and panic flooding her eyes. “Where is he, Lo?”
My phone rings and it’s August. Thank God.
“It’s him!” I laugh and hold up the phone before answering. “Dude, how close are you?”