Chapter 7 Dove #2
“Oh, you’re so kind, but I don’t need that kind of help. I’m not alone. I have friends and family who have been amazing,” I inform him, not wanting him to think I’m on the run. “Save your resources for those who truly need it. I’d hate to take someone’s spot.”
“No spots, little lady. Just help. You keep that card. Just in case. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
I press the card against my chest, giving my new acquaintance a gentle smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
The man to the left of me nudges my arm. “I think you should message him right now. If he chooses not to be part of your life, what are you losing? You’ll be left with what you have right now,” he states.
I don’t know why I never thought of that. He’s right. The worst that can happen is Winston tells me he isn’t interested in raising a child and we go our separate ways. I’ll have the life I have now.
It’s time I start improving my life instead of accepting the unhappiness I force myself to push through.
“You’re right,” I state, clicking the seat belt under my belly.
The plane begins to move fast down the airway, the engine whirling so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts. My fingernails dig into the armrest as the plane lifts into the air. I close my eyes as the plane shakes the higher we climb.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“I thought you were going to message him?” my new nosey window-seat friend reminds me.
“Not until I’m allowed. Cell phone interference.” I whirl my fingers in the air in a downward motion. “And I don’t want to plummet thirty thousand feet to the ground.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he laughs.
“Airplane mode exists for a reason,” I scold him lightly. “With how my luck has been going recently, I’m going to play it safe and wait until the captain announces it’s okay to use electronic devices.”
“Fine, but I’m invested and need closure by the time this plane lands.
Wake me when the time comes.” He closes the window panel, darkening our row.
Tugging an eye mask from his green backpack that’s nestled on the floor, he tugs the strap of the mask over his bald head, then yanks the silk material over his eyes.
He peels the corner back to reveal one eye.
“I’m serious. I live for drama. Wake me. ”
I snicker, my stomach moving up and down from the force. “I will. I promise.” A massive contraction tenses my stomach, and I hold my breath, doing my best not to make any noise so I don’t alert anyone.
These Braxton Hicks have been intense over the last few days. It’s why I went to the doctor, because I was sure I was in labor, but Dr. Leighton dismissed my concern. I wasn’t dilated. My water didn’t break. After the ultrasound, she found that I was fine.
I don’t feel fine right now.
Another contraction hits, stealing my ability to breathe. I lean forward, inhaling and exhaling through my nose and mouth.
“Are you okay?” the older biker man places his hand on my shoulder. “Do you need me to call for a flight attendant?
I shake my head, swallowing to coat my dry throat. “No, no. I’m fine. I promise. Just Braxton Hicks. It isn’t a big deal. I just need to push through it. It will pass.”
His lips form a firm line. “I don’t know if I believe you.”
I don’t know if I believe me either.
All the sounds around me become louder. My head swims with dizziness as a child begins to cry at the top of their lungs.
A person a few rows up coughs so loud and hard, I can hear the phlegm loosening in their chest. A rattle comes from the tray attached to the seat in front of me.
The screw that keeps the handle in place is loose.
Another person sneezes, sending germs through the air.
Bile works its way up my throat when all the noise becomes too much. I cup my hand over my ears, needing peace and quiet.
“I’m calling a flight attendant. I think you need some water,” my new biker friend says.
I don’t even know his name and yet I don’t have the energy to ask for it. The musical beat from him pressing the button scratches the inside of my skull in the worst way.
“Miss. Are you okay? Do you need anything?” the attendant asks.
“Just some ice-cold water. That sounds lovely. Thank you so much.” I lean back when the contraction eases, allowing me to breathe for the first time in a few minutes.
I’m exhausted.
“Here you are.”
I take the small plastic cup of ice water and take a small sip. The chill is such a relief. It’s exactly what I need.
“Thank you. I’m much better now.”
The attendant smiles. “Great. If you need anything else, let me know.”
She walks to the front of the plane, checking on another passenger. I continue to take small sips of water and dab my forehead with the napkin she gave me. I’m sweating.
“Little lady, I hate to tell you this, but I think you might be in labor.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Muffin is what my friends call me.”
“Muffin? That’s interesting.”
“Well, nickname never died when I was responsible for getting breakfast for the entire MC. I crashed my bike, and muffins were all over the damn interstate.”
“Muffin was born.” I finish the water, wishing I had more.
“And after having four kids of my own with my old lady, I’m telling ya, you’re in labor.”
“That’s impossible. I’d be too early, Muffin.”
“It isn’t impossible. My wife went into labor at thirty weeks. When that babe wants to come, nothing is going to stop him or her. Doesn’t matter that we’re in the air.”
A loud splash falls to the floor, and my seat becomes wet, soaking my pants.
“Oh my god,” I whisper in horror, staring at Muffin with big round eyes. “I think you’re right.”
My water just broke.