Paying Her Dues

CHAPTER11

Mike

Epilogue -40 Weeks Later

“Push, honey! Push!”hollers the doula, roaring it out like she’s screaming from the sidelines at the Super Bowl.

Jess bears down, digging her heels into the wall of the inflatable birthing pool. I’m right behind her in the warm water, and I feel her body press hard back against mine. I tighten my body to give her something to push back against. “Pushing!” she roars back.

Fuck, she’s a force of nature. But I’m so fucking nervous that I think I might pass out right here and now.

The room starts to spin, and I feel two familiar hands on my arms. On my left is Sam. And on my right, of all people, is Janet. “Woah there, big guy!” Janet says, smiling at me, all the ice in her voice from nine months ago gone now. “Breathe, Mike! Breathe!”

Now I’m doing fucking Lamaze because I don’t know what else to do. Blowing in, blowing out, I focus in on Janet to try to get my bearings. She nods at me encouragingly, doing the “hee-hee-hoo-HOO!” breath right along with me.

As I breathe in and out, in and out, the last nine months flash through my mind in still frames. Taking the pregnancy test, holding Jess in my arms. Our wedding, just a simple afternoon at city hall, followed a fantastic party, where she drank sparkling apple cider but nobody but us and the waiter knew it because it was too soon to share the news. Her baby shower, hosted by her mom. Ben and I painting the nursery. And every night, sleeping with my Jess, my wife, my universe, nestled in my arms.

The spinning starts to slow, and Janet grips my hand with a wink. At first, she fucking hated me. Hated. Me. But things started to change as soon as we found out Jess was pregnant. And now, things are so much fucking better it’s like a brand-new day.

“We can’t have you passing out, now can we?” Janet says. “Sam. Juice!”

Sam shoves the bendy straw from a Capri Sun in my mouth. “Drink, Dad. Keep your sugars up!”

I suck in the super sweet mango-guava-cooler-whatever and it helps a bit. In the background, I watch Ben pacing around with his hands in his pockets, unable to do anything but look at the carpet. I realize that all the guys in the room—me, Sam, and Ben—are all a fucking disaster. Sam can’t stop crying, I think I’m going to pass out, and Ben is literally going to pace a hole in the carpet.

Meanwhile, the doula, Janet, and Jess are rolling with it like pros.

Not a surprise. At all.

Jess slumps back after a contraction and the doula tidies her wet curls off to one side. “Just one more push, sweetie! And I think we’ll be in business!”

I hold Jess close, my bare chest pressed against her back, the soaking wet back of her exercise bra between us. I try to focus on the tangibles. Her scent, the shell of her ear, the beautiful pregnant plumpness of her gorgeous body. And it helps, a little.

But not much. Because until I know she and the baby are both safe and well, I’m going to be a fucking wreck.

I look at Janet, into her blue eyes, that used to be so icy but that are now so warm and kind. People can change, they can. If you give them a chance. “Tell me she’ll be alright.”

Janet looks at Jess, smiling. “She’ll be more than alright, Mike. They both will. I promise.”

I feel Jess start to brace for another contraction. I watch the solitaire necklace rise on her chest as she takes a big breath. “Here it comes,” she says, to the doula, and to me, and to everybody here who loves her so much.

All of us seem to suck in a big breath at once, right along with her. Of anticipation. Of excitement. And, in my case, of pure fucking terror. Because if anything happens to her, that’ll be the end of me. I can’t live without her. I won’t live without her ever again.

Jess’s roar starts low in her chest, like a lioness, and then louder, and louder, and louder, until we’re all roaring right along with her. Her body pushes with all its might against me, so much fucking power, so much fucking strength.

Then, silence. Jess grunts and relaxes back against me. Then the doula reaches down into the water.

And brings out a pink, screaming, wrinkly baby girl.

Holy mother of fucks. I hang on tight to Jess, but laser focused on her our daughter’s little body with her tiny little toes. And her fingers, holy fuck her little fingers.

The whole world blurs at the edges and everything that has ever mattered becomes clear. Jess. And our little girl, with her shock of red hair and her wailing cries.

The doula pinches off the cord and hands the baby to Jess, who cradles her in her arms, as I cradle Jess in mine.

“Are you okay?” I whisper against Jess’s ear.

She nods, her eyes fluttering. “Yeah. I am totally okay.”