Epilogue
September 12th
Henry
“It won’t be long now,” Alex says.
I’m lying on a row of chairs in the hospital waiting room, looking up at the ceiling as I talk to him on my phone. It’s just gone eleven p.m., and I’ve been up since three a.m., which is when Juliette’s contractions started, so I’m pretty exhausted.
“The midwife says it might still be a few hours,” I point out.
“Eh,” he says, “I have a feeling it’s going to happen this side of midnight. It wants to be born on my birthday.”
I chuckle, glad I gave him his present of a framed photo of him and his family yesterday. “Maybe.”
“I’m guessing you’re tired,” he says.
“I’m considering taping my eyelids to my forehead to keep them open.”
“Couldn’t you get a few hours’ kip now?”
“I’ll sleep when she does,” I tell him.
“You old softie.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sigh. “Anyway, you said on your text you wanted to talk to me about something?”
“It could have waited, bro.”
“Yeah, but Juliette sent me out while the midwife does an internal, so I’m at a loose end. What’s going on?”
He hesitates. Then he says, “Oh, I guess I might as well tell you now. Missie’s pregnant.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise, and my lips curve up in a big smile. “Alex! That’s wonderful news.” He and Missie had a double marriage with me and Juliette back in April. It was a lot of fun, and the girls have grown to be good friends and are a great support for one another.
“Thanks, yeah, we’re pretty stoked.”
“How far along is she?”
“Only three months. I’ve been itching to tell the world, but she made me wait.”
I grin. “Luckily I didn’t have that problem.” Because we were so thrilled that I ended up being the father of Juliette’s baby, we blurted it out to everyone as soon we got back from Wellington. “How’s Finn taking it?”
“Ah, he’s a good lad, he’s thrilled.”
I’m not surprised—Finn idolizes Alex and calls him Dad.
“Mr. West?”
I sit up as someone says my name and see the midwife standing in the doorway. She smiles. “Juliette’s ready to push now. Baby’s coming soon!”
“Thank you, I’ll be right there.” I get to my feet. “I’ve got to go,” I tell Alex, “she’s ready to push.”
“Good luck,” he says, “let us know as soon as it’s over!”
“Will do. Thanks.” I end the call and jog down the corridor.
The rest of the hospital is relatively quiet, the main lights all dimmed as it’s so late, but when I go into the delivery room, I find it bright and bustling. Two midwives are moving around, bringing over trolleys full of alarming instruments, while another nurse brings Juliette a cup of ice chips and makes her comfortable.
“Hey, babe,” I say to my wife as I walk over to her. “How’s it going?”
“I feel like I’m sitting on its head,” she says. “I think it wants to come out now.” She smiles, but her eyes hold a glint of fear, and her forehead glistens with sweat. “I’m not sure I can do this.” She trembles, reaching out for my hand.
“She’s in transition,” Pam, one of the midwives, says, “it’s normal to feel overwhelmed at this point.” She gives Juliette a reassuring smile. “Deep breaths, love. You’re doing great.”
I grip Juliette’s hand and sit on the stool by her side. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her firmly. “We’ll do this together, okay?”
She nods and swallows hard, then winces as another contraction starts.
The next half an hour is the most difficult of my life. I told her we’ll do it together, but of course that’s ridiculous, because I’m completely useless and have no way of helping her through it. I wish with all my being I could take her pain onto myself, but I can’t, and even if I could, I doubt I could bear it the way she does. She breathes through her contractions, even though they’re powerful enough to make her groan, and she even gives me brief, reassuring smiles in between them, which makes me want to cry. Once again, I’m impotent, unable to do anything other than kiss her fingers and repeatedly tell her she’s so strong, so incredibly amazing, and I love her more than anything in the world.
And then the midwife says she can see the top of the baby’s head, and I move to watch my baby being born, which is the most magnificent, messy, miraculous thing I’ve ever seen. Through all the blood and pain, a tiny person emerges from Juliette, and tears pour down my face as the midwife gathers the baby up and gives it a quick check. Its wail cuts through the air, and she picks it up and places it straight onto Juliette’s tummy.
Juliette’s eyes fill with tears. “It’s a boy,” she squeaks.
I stare at the baby boy, unable to speak, completely overwhelmed, as Pam dries him, then wraps him and Juliette in warm blankets.
“You have a son, Henry,” the midwife says with a smile.
I blink at her. I have a son?
I watch Juliette examine his fingers and toes, then check out his face, his button nose and screwed-up eyes. He squirms in her arms, and that shocks me—for some reason I’d pictured the baby like a doll, and it’s a surprise to watch him moving, breathing, and crying. He’s a real, live person, with his whole life stretching out in front of him. Completely innocent and free of sin, full of hope and potential.
“Let’s latch him on,” Pam says, and she helps Juliette to put him to the breast, where he immediately starts sucking. “That’ll help deliver the placenta,” Pam explains.
I wipe my face and bend over Juliette to kiss her. “You were absolutely amazing,” I tell her. “I can’t believe you did it. I wish I could have helped you.”
“You did,” Pam reassures me. “You encouraged her and comforted her. That means a lot, doesn’t it?”
Juliette nods. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
I know that’s not true, but it’s nice to be told, anyway.
I look at my phone—it’s two minutes to twelve. Alex was right! The baby was born on his birthday. I send him a quick text to tell him, smiling as I type the words for the first time: It’s a boy!
After a while, Pam cuts the cord, then picks the baby up and leaves Juliette in the hands of the other midwife to deliver the placenta. I follow Pam over to the table where she weighs the baby—a healthy seven pounds two ounces—announces his Apgar score is nine, carries out a few checks, gives him a Vitamin K injection, puts a hospital band around his ankle, and cleans him up a little.
Then she wraps him in another blanket and smiles at me. “Ready to hold your son?”
I nod wordlessly, and she hands him to me, showing me how to hold him and support his head. “There you go,” she says. “I can see he’s going to be a Daddy’s boy.” She grins and begins to tidy up the table.
I glance over at Juliette. She’s sitting up in bed, and the nurse is bringing her a cup of tea and a biscuit. She looks tired but oh, so happy, and she gives me a big smile as I walk over to her.
“I’ve got a boy,” I say, and she laughs.
“Have you decided on a name?” the nurse asks, drawing a blanket over Juliette to keep her warm.
I look at Juliette, who nods. “Nikau,” she says. Although the last two vowels are supposed to be pronounced separately as ‘ah’ and ‘oo’, most people run them together, so it sounds like nik-oh.
“That’s a gorgeous name,” the nurse says, and she comes up to stroke my son’s head. “Hello, little Nikau!” She smiles and leaves us to help tidy up.
Juliette sinks back into the pillow and yawns. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s all over.”
“You are the most amazing woman who ever lived,” I tell her, and she laughs. I look down at the baby boy in my arms. “My boy,” I whisper.
“He’s all yours,” she says. “For better or for worse.” She yawns again.
Nikau opens his eyes and looks up at me, and I have to catch my breath. They’re the same color as mine—a bright blue—and he seems to stare right into my soul.
“He’s beautiful,” I say, my voice little more than a squeak. “Thank you so much.” I bend over and kiss her, then turn the baby and put him into her arms.
“He looks like you,” she whispers before kissing his forehead.
I stroke his cheek. “My life’s been a struggle at times, especially when I was young. But hopefully his won’t be.”
“It won’t,” she assures me. “He’ll be surrounded by people who support him, and we’ll do our best to give him all the love, care, and opportunities in the world so he can grow up big and strong and happy. And so he can be a good man. Just like his father.”
I swallow hard. It’s the nicest thing she could ever have said to me.
She looks up at me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” And I kiss my wife, then my baby boy, feeling happier than any man has the right to be.