Unexpected Daddy - The Forbidden Fu

Felicity sees my look of agony and pushes her iron gray hair over her shoulder before bestowing me with a kind smile.

“You ready?”

I nod. Felicity drops a few stress balls into the water, and I take my favorite, a yellow pineapple that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand, and squeeze a few times. Oh god, I wish Sam were here. I wish he were here to stroke my hair, to whisper encouragement in my ear, and most of all, to be with me while our child is born. But instead, I’m alone, and the disappointment makes my heart drop in pain. After all, life hasn’t turned out the way I expected, but sometimes a girl’s got to make do.

13

Jessa

* * *

I have no idea how much time has passed, but it feels like I’ve been in this pool of water for days now. Weeks even. I don’t even want to glance at the clock above my door because I’m afraid of what I might see. Every once in a while, Felicity has me get out and walk around before sitting back down in the pool. The clear water has turned a brassy yellow color, but my baby still isn’t here.

Every time I sit down and nothing’s changed, Felicity’s hazel eyes darken until now, they’re a deep, concerned brown. The midwife keeps a straight face, but I can tell she’s worried. Then, another contraction takes me, and I try to roll with it, but nothing happens. I’m left panting, a baby stuck in my birth canal, nowhere closer to being born. The pineapple stress ball floats uselessly past my arm.

“Felicity,” I cry out, exhausted. “What’s wrong? Is my baby okay?”

She places her hand on my shoulder. “You sit tight, sweetie. I’m going to make a call.”

I don’t know who she could be calling at this moment, but for some reason, I’m sure it’s her husband. Maybe she’s reaching out to him for comfort or guidance. God knows this is difficult, and I’m jealous. I don’t want my parents or my friends here with me, but I do wish I had Sam.

Oh no. I guess I’m thinking about him again. I sink deeper into the water and lean my head back against the side of the pool, trying to work out a crick in my neck. Above me, my ceiling fan turns lazily. It’s slightly off-kilter, and the motion begins to make me dizzy. I close my eyes and start to sing Saint Honesty by Sara Bareilles softly to myself.

As I hum, I remember when Sam and I met for the first time and how my embarrassment turned to flirtatious confidence. I remember his laughing blue eyes, and the softness of his hair running through my fingers. I remember late night cuddles and conversations that lasted until the sun came up the next morning.

What happened? How did I lose my way? It’s true, I pushed him away that night at the bar. I hated him then, and I hated that trio of girls too, but after nine months of pretending Sam doesn’t exist, now he’s all I think about. I miss him so much I can literally feel the weight of my sadness crushing my chest, like a five hundred pound gorilla making it hard to breathe.

Still, would it be so bad to imagine that he’s here with me now? It might give me some comfort, even if it’s just in my head. I try hard to remember him, but all that happens is that I get is a headache. Felicity curses. I turn to look at her. At some point, she kicked her teacup over, spilling red rooibos across the wood. Then she lets out another curse, staring at her phone. Her husband or whomever she called must have put her on hold. I wave her over.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she apologizes. “I haven’t gotten through to anyone in my unit. If things keep going this way, I’m going to have to call for back-up.”

I inwardly cringe at the idea of a stranger coming in and seeing me like this, but it’s no longer up to me. If another person can help my baby, I’ll do whatever they suggest.

“Okay,” I say. “Whatever you think is best because I’m hurting here. In the meantime, can you do me a favor?”

She nods. “Anything, sweetie.”

“There’s a blue t-shirt buried under my blouses in the top drawer of my dresser. Could you bring it to me?”

“Sure, hon.” She nestles her phone between her shoulder and her ear and goes to find it. She’s gone for only a few seconds before she returns with the ragged garment.

“Thanks, Felicity.” I take it from her. This is pathetic, but it’s one of Sam’s old t-shirts. I keep it in the bottom of that drawer because I don’t have the heart to throw it out, and now, I’m hoping it can help me through this.