Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
Jack
“Fuck!” Asia screamed.
I smiled down at her, and she looked like she wanted to throttle me.
“I don’t want that to be my son’s first word, Counselor,” I said.
“If you don’t leave me alone, it’s going to be your last word,” she said.
I smiled, kissing her sweaty forehead, which only made her that much more angry.
She looked at the doctor. “You didn’t tell me it was going to hurt this much.”
Miranda shrugged. “I’ve never had a baby.”
Asia looked riotous, but calmed at Miranda’s smile. “I promise you it’s going to be worth it at the end.”
“You say that like the end is going to come,” Asia said.
She pushed off the bed, then started to pace. Froze. Bent at the waist as another contraction ripped through her.
“It will come. You’re so close. Just keep walking and tell me how you feel,” Miranda coaxed.
“Same way I felt three hours ago. Like I want this to be over,” she said.
“You got this, Asia,” Miranda said.
Asia paced back and forth, back and forth, and I never felt more like an actual, literal fucking appendix than I did at that moment. I tried to keep it calm, keep it light, but I was losing my shit.
Miranda pointed at me. “You need to calm down.”
Asia was distracted, staring out the window, when she caught my eye. I stilled my leg, bouncing furiously, and gave her a curt nod. Yeah, the best thing I could do right now, the only thing I could do right now, was keep calm for her.
Kind of hard when I was anything but, but she had done the real work. I’d do my part.
“Should we be doing, like, some breathing exercises or something?” Asia looked at Miranda.
“I think we’re beyond that point. Just keep walking.”
“Fine.”
“Something feels different,” Asia said an hour later.
Miranda pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. “Different how?”
“Pressure, a lot of it,” she said between pants.
“You need to push?”
“Yeah,” Asia said.
I grabbed her hand, wrapping my arm around her back.
“Should she be lying down or something?” I asked.
Miranda pulled a paper mask over her face and pulled down a plastic shield. “No. She needs to be however she’s comfortable.”
Asia pushed away from me, leaning on the edge of the bed. Her knees were bent at an angle that looked torturous to me, but seemed to give her some relief.
“Oh God—”
Miranda was shockingly calm. “Just push with the sensation. Listen to your body and push with it.”
Asia did. Then pushed more, more.
“You’re almost there. He’s crowning,” the doctor said.
Asia squeezed my hand so tight I thought it would break, and then, on a final exhale, my son appeared.
He was screaming.
Angry.
Perfect.
Miranda wiped him furiously. “Strong cry.”
“That’s good, right?” I said, unable to tear my eyes from them but not having any idea what to actually do.
“It is,” she said, but she didn’t look at me. She was busy doing something to the baby.
“What are you doing to him?”
“Jack…” Asia said, her voice breathy but still exasperated.
But Miranda just smiled. “I’m giving him a good once-over, but I’m an OB not a pediatrician, so as soon as you cut the cord, I’ll hand him to Lourdes and check on Asia.”
“Cut the cord?” I said.
“Yes, unless you’d rather not,” she responded.
“These right?” I said, nodding towards the scissors on the tiny metal tray she had beside her.
“Yup,” she said as she handed me the scissors and pointed at a plastic clamp I’d somehow missed. “Cut right underneath.”
I cleared my throat and reached out, hand trembling, emotion so intense I didn’t feel like my body could contain it.
I snipped the cord, then looked at the baby’s face—my baby’s face—and couldn’t stop myself from smiling as he yawned, clearly over the whole affair.
Miranda nodded. “Good job.” Then she handed the baby to Lourdes. “Now go hold Asia’s hand. We’ve got a few more contractions to get through.”
Asia’s eyes were closed, her hair frizzed around her sweaty forehead.
I’d never loved her more.
Jack
“Isn’t he beautiful?”
“He is.” I looked at Asia, who stared at our son.
He stared back at her. His dark, dark eyes. Knowing. And it had only been minutes. But this was my birth as much as it was his. How fucking cliche. But one look at him and whoever I was, whoever I hoped to be, was gone. There was this now. Him. Us.
“What should I do?” I asked Miranda.
“We’ve taken care of the afterbirth, and there’s no tearing. It’s only been five to ten minutes, but he’ll want to eat soon,” she said.
“What should I do?” I repeated.
Miranda just smiled and patted me on the shoulder.
He started to squirm, and let out a tiny little cry. This one wasn’t as loud, as ferocious as the first, but I couldn’t help but stare at him, alarm coursing through me.
“It’s fine, Jack,” Asia said softly. She still smiled down at him. Then shifted. Started to feed him.
“You look like you know what you’re doing,” I said softly.
“I’m faking it,” she responded, not tearing her eyes off him.
“So what happens next?” I asked Miranda. I was still looking at Asia, but needed to know.
“Well, this should be about it. He’ll eat. It’ll take a couple of days for his first real stool, but we’ll watch for that. And once Asia’s done feeding him, I want her to try to get up and walk around.”
“Already?”
“Yeah.”
“And me?” I said, arching a brow at her.
“I’ll give you two some time alone,” she said. “Asia, Lourdes says he looks great. But let either of us know if you need anything.” She checked her watch, then looked back at Asia. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Make sure that there’s not too much bleeding.”
“She could be bleeding?” I asked.
“Yes. Some is normal, but I want to make sure it’s not excessive. I don’t think it is, but it’s better to check.”
“And what will you do if she is?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
But the urge to press was unavoidable. “But what if—”
She pursed her lips. “Jack, go be with your family.”
Family.
That word froze me in place. Set my gaze drifting back to Asia. And my son.
My son.
He stretched. Pulled away. She just shifted him and lay him on her shoulder. Rubbed his back until he burped.
“You really are a natural.”
“No. No, I’m not,” she said, her expression dreamy. “You ready to hold him?”
“No,” I said, but I still extended my hands.
She settled him in my hands, and I stared down at him. He had a little tuft of curly black hair. His eyes were barely open, but I could see they were dark, almost black. Just like Evan’s and just like my father’s were.
“How pissed are you going to be if I say he looks like a pug?”
“My son does not look like a pug,” Asia said.
“He kind of does. But he is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. I barely recognized my own voice through the awe and wonder in it as I stared down at him. “Hi, kid. I guess I’m your dad.”
“Guess,” Asia said.
I smiled. Kept my eyes on my son. “There isn’t anything in the world I wouldn’t do for you.” I looked at Asia. “For both of you.”