Chapter 6
I gave the paint two days to dry. Everybody except Quentin told me that I should wait until the weekend to move in.
It seemed like he and I were the only ones who understood how badly I was struggling.
Not to be dramatic, but I wasn’t sure I could make it any longer at Kobey and Asia’s place.
Constantly dealing with high anxiety coupled with the lack of sleep was taking a real toll on me.
I needed peace. I felt like I could find it at Quentin’s.
Since I wasn’t on the schedule at the birthing center on Wednesday, I chose that day to start moving my stuff in.
I definitely would’ve had more help if I’d chosen to move on the weekend, but I didn’t have all that much.
Most of my belongings went into storage when I moved in with my brother.
It was mainly clothing, shoes, and personals.
I bought cozy, soft new bedding, luxurious curtains for the windows, and calming artwork for the walls.
I pulled out almost every vase I owned and filled them with white flowers of all different varieties.
I strung some fairy lights and put out candles because ambient lighting soothed my nervous system.
Quentin went to work on the day I moved in, but he brought home Mexican food because he figured neither of us would be up to cooking. Before we sat down to eat, I gave him a tour of the now-decorated bedroom.
“Wow.” His jaw was slack. “Wow. This looks good, E. It looks like a place I want to lay down and take a nap in. And you got it smelling good as hell in here too. I might have you do something around the entire house.”
I grinned, pleased with myself that he liked it. “Thank you.”
He gave me a side hug, with his arm around my shoulder. “I hope it proves to be as calming and comfortable as it looks.”
“Aww. You’re sweet, Quentin.” I buried my face in his chest for a moment. I genuinely appreciated him being so concerned about my welfare.
After we broke the embrace, I followed him to the kitchen where we laid the food out and started to eat.
“You had a long day, huh?” I questioned, biting into my fish taco.
“Yeah. I stopped through the clubhouse for what was supposed to be a quick meeting.”
“A meeting on Wednesday? I thought church was on Thursday.”
Church was how we referred to club meetings. “It is. This wasn’t church.”
“Oh yeah. Kobey mentioned having a meeting. Something about the Juneteenth/Father’s Day Friends and Family Barbecue.”
He nodded his head. “You going?”
I chewed my food thoughtfully. “I want to go, but big crowds . . .” I let my thoughts trail off, before sighing. “Ugh! I wish fear and anxiety would give me my life back already.”
His eyes were so soft when he trained them on me. “I’m sure you do.”
I shrugged. “I know it takes time, but how freaking long? It’s been over two years. I’m over it.”
“Be easy with yourself. You’ll get there. Don’t rush it, sweetheart.”
Our dinner and conversation was interrupted by a text alert from my phone. I pulled it from the pocket of the joggers I was wearing and read it. A smile quickly covered my face. “My patient thinks she’s in labor.”
His eyes ballooned. “Straight up?”
I nodded. “I need to call her.” I walked away from the table.
Once I confirmed the frequency, strength, and length of my patient, Andrea’s, contractions, I asked the other pertinent questions.
Was she able to walk or talk through the contractions, or did she find herself needing to stop and refocus her brain.
I asked about the location of the pain and if she noticed that changing positions helped.
Finally, I asked about pressure and vaginal discharge.
This was her third pregnancy, so I was almost positive that if she thought she was in labor, she probably was.
Once she’d answered the questions, I knew she was in labor.
Before I even ended the call, I was in my bedroom dressing in clean scrubs and throwing my hair into a bun.
Quentin threw up his hand at me as I walked toward the front door. “Good luck. Be safe,” he called as I left the house and headed for my truck.
While I was discouraged and disappointed in my ability to take back my pre-shooting life, one thing that was going well for me was work. God must’ve known that I needed a break on some front, because each of the moms I’d done my doula thing with were rockstars. Andrea’s baby had arrived quickly.
I got to her house around 9:00 p.m., and five hours later, she welcomed baby Jeremiah.
It had been a textbook birth with absolutely no concerns or complications.
Andrea was relatively aware of what would keep her the calmest and most relaxed during labor.
We did those things—the birthing ball, guided breathing, and light massage from her husband—and she had a relatively easy birth and recovery.
I was still grinning when I came through the front door of Quentin’s house. Well, I was grinning right up until I heard a voice. I jumped so high I could’ve hit my head on the ceiling.
“My bad. My bad.” He quickly disarmed the security system, which was also blaring.
My hand was over my heaving chest, and my breathing was labored. “Oh, wow. You scared the hell out of me.”
“My bad,” he repeated for a third time. “My bad.”
“What are you doing up?” I checked my watch. Yep, it was almost 3:00 a.m.
He shrugged and gave me a look that reminded me of a kid.
I wanted to laugh, but I was still holding my chest and trying to get my heart rate to return to normal.
“I didn’t want you to come into a dark house. I know you’re not really familiar with the spot quite yet.”
I finally released my chest. “Aww, that’s really thoughtful.” I felt like I kept saying that. Like I kept saying that the things he did without considering them were thoughtful. “Thanks.”
“So you were all smiles when you walked in, before I scared you.” We both chuckled a little. “It must’ve gone well.”
I nodded as I slipped out of my shoes. “It did. Classic, textbook birth. All gas, no brakes. Little Jeremiah was trying to get here, and his mom knew exactly what to do.”
“Must be cool getting to see the start of life. I’ve never seen birth.” His voice dropped. “Only death.” Before I could comment, he continued. “Say, my bad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take you there. I know you’ve seen more than your fair share of death too.”
I shrugged. “I’m a nurse. It comes with the territory.
I mean, now I’m a doula, but you know . .
. I’m a nurse.” I knew he was talking about the shooting, but I didn’t want to think about that.
I was feeling good. I wanted that feeling to last. I took a breath.
“You were with Teagan when she passed away?”
“Yeah. Held her in my arms. Shit.” He ran his hand down his face. “I’m simultaneously thankful and traumatized by those moments.”
“I think anybody would be. Sorry to throw you back to those moments.”
He sighed heavily. “You didn’t. You’re cool. Those moments are never far from me. Talk to me about life. Tell me about the birth.”
So I did.