Chapter 9 #2
“No, I called Owen because I’ve been thinking about you.” The little lie isn’t a big deal, not when her safety is of the utmost importance to me. Besides, I had been thinking of her. I’m always thinking of her.
“You have?” She sounds so far away, and my arms ache to hold her and whisper encouraging words in her ear as she starts to push our child into the world.
“When am I not? And I’m headed to the airport so I can get back on the plane and come right to you.
” I hope like hell they have a seat available on one of the bazillion airlines that fly out of LAX.
She’s an hour away, flight-wise, and as every minute passes, I could be losing my opportunity to see my baby being born. I’ve got to find a flight somewhere.
“Finish your photos fir—” An agonized groan comes out of her and my heart leaps into my throat, nearly choking me.
“Fable.” She says nothing, just pants little breaths into the phone, and then another low moan sounds from her. Holy shit. She sounds like she’s dying. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“It’s just…” Another breathless pant, another little grunt. Both sounds are like a punch to the gut. “A contraction.”
“Baby, I’ll be there as fast as I can, I promise.
You can count on me.” I end the call before she can protest or say another word.
I clutch the phone tight and keep my gaze focused on the window, my brain going at a million miles a minute as all the worry and trepidation and fear is coursing through my body.
I’m about to become a father. Sure hope like hell I don’t miss the actual birth of my daughter.
Fable
The pain is agonizing; I’m not going to lie.
Anyone who glamorizes birth and what a lovely and miraculous thing it is is a flat-out liar.
This sucks. I can’t get comfortable, I’m pretty sure I’m as big as a house, and my nervous little brother is making me even more nervous.
Oh yeah, and irritated. So much I asked him to stay away from me because he’s driving me nuts.
I woke up with a contraction before Drew even left for Los Angeles. I thought it was just a twinge. I’d been having them lately—nothing too severe, just enough for me to pause in whatever I’m doing and breathe through it.
But these little twinges of pain wouldn’t stop.
They soon became more and more frequent.
I sent Drew to Los Angeles, clutching my contracting belly as I watched him drive off to the airport.
I talked to Owen and ate breakfast with him.
I took a shower, I cleaned our bedroom, and then I started packing my bag, the contractions coming faster now, and even closer together.
This is exactly how Owen found me minutes later, shoving ten nightgowns into my suitcase along with five nursing bras and an extra pair of flip-flops because I can’t wear real shoes anymore, my toes are so swollen. Everything about me is swollen, especially my boobs.
All the bras I packed are giant and utilitarian. Nothing cute and sexy. Not that I think my husband believes me cute and sexy anymore.
Fat and grumpy? Oh yeah. I am most definitely that.
Owen had immediately questioned why I was packing so much weird stuff and I finally confessed I thought I was in labor.
You would’ve thought I’d told him I was dying, from the look on his face.
Luckily enough, he snapped to attention and came through, making sure I had everything I needed, loaded up the car with my stuff, and wouldn’t let me carry a thing.
He helped me out to the car and escorted me in as I went through an awful contraction.
I didn’t tell him that part, though. Just clenched my teeth and dealt with it silently. I would’ve made a really excellent pioneer woman, I’m sure.
I’m in bed at the hospital, in my own private room.
Considering I’m the wife of the star quarterback of the 49ers, I receive only the best treatment at this place, which I’m taking advantage of.
My brother is outside pacing the halls. I just talked to Jen on the phone, who’s excited and nervous for me.
My husband is nowhere to be found.
Of course, this little baby girl of ours decides to show up on the day her daddy is out of town.
He’s been a constant by my side since the season ended.
We traveled together to a few places for business until I couldn’t travel anymore per doctor’s orders.
Then we stayed home and I went into full-on nesting mode, cleaning everything in sight and setting up the baby’s room.
Drew helped, since he thinks I’ve turned into this weak woman who can’t lift a thing.
I just let him pamper me. He put together the crib, which was a study in patience on his part.
He sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by various parts for hours, cursing up a blue streak, frustrated beyond belief.
I tried to help him, but he finally told me to leave because I was only making it worse.
He finally did get that crib put together. We hired someone to come in and paint the room. The players’ wives held a baby shower for me and they gave me so much amazing stuff for the baby, I started to cry. Right there in the middle of my shower.
I have turned into an emotional wreck, I swear.
The doctor just came in to examine me and said I was dilated four centimeters.
I need to be up to ten. The hardest part of labor is coming, she warned.
Considering those words just struck fear in my heart because oh my God, labor has been pretty difficult up to this point, I know I’m going to need Drew to get his ass here soon.
I need him to hold my hand and tell me everything’s going to be all right. I need him to stare into my eyes and let me focus on him and nothing else. I need him to kiss me and let me curse and be my rock…
The door bursts open and in walks Owen, looking frazzled, his hair a wreck as if he’s been wrenching it between his fingers. “Have you heard from Drew?”
“No.” I scowl at him. “Didn’t I tell you to stay the hell out of here?”
He rears back at my words. “God, you’re bitchy when you’re in labor.”
“You push a seven-pound baby out of your vagina and tell me if that makes you bitchy or not, okay?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, which is sort of impossible since my belly gets in the way.
“Damn it, Fabes, you just said the V word.” He shakes his head, looking completely traumatized.
I ignore his protest. I don’t have time for his whining. My tolerance level for Owen is at about zero. I should feel bad because he did take good care of me and the kid is only nineteen, but still. My hormones and mood are both completely crazed. “Why are you back in here again?”
“I saw something on the news. They’re not letting planes land at the airport.” He pauses. “Drew’s flying into SFO, right?”
I nod, unable to form words.
“I guess there’s some sort of cargo plane on the runway that caught on fire. No big deal, they put it out, but it’s pretty much shut down the airport while they clean it up real fast.”
“You’re kidding. Right?” Holy hell, he’d better be kidding. Though this isn’t the time for jokes, that’s for sure.
“I wish I were,” Owen says grimly.
I can’t even believe it. Drew was set to land at 4:10. He called with all his flight info right as he boarded the plane. Glancing at the clock on the table beside the bed, I see it is…
A little after four. Yeah. The timing on this is like a bad comedy.
“Hand me my phone, would you?” I left it on the table on the far side of the clock and since I’ve been having contractions, I haven’t been able to reach it. I need to just keep it by my side always. Drew will call me any minute, I hope.
Oh man, do I hope.
Owen gives me my phone and I check for texts from Drew. Nothing. I send him a quick one, asking if he’s all right and has he landed yet, but no reply. I check for a voice mail. Nothing. I call him.
No answer.
“Turn on the TV,” I say, waving my hand toward the television mounted in the corner of the room. “Put on the news or whatever it was where you saw the report.”
“Are you sure you want to watch it? It might just make you angry,” Owen says with a wince.
“Turn it on,” I practically growl and he grabs the remote, clicking on the TV without a word.
Owen finds the news report quickly, a reporter standing out in front of the airport, droning on about flights being diverted to other airports, Oakland or San Jose.
Some of the planes are still circling in the air above SFO, hoping to land soon.
It’s a giant mess, with the cargo plane still lying like a burned-out carcass in the middle of the runway, the giant yellow fire engines everywhere with their sirens flashing.
And my husband is most likely hovering above in a plane, anxious to land so he can get to the hospital.
“I feel like I’m in a really bad movie. Some stupid sitcom where everyone is supposed to find this funny,” I mutter, snagging the remote out of Owen’s hand and turning the television off. “I can’t take it.”
“I’ll watch it out in the lobby,” Owen says solemnly, his expression stoic. “I’ll wait out there. Let me know if you hear from Drew, okay? Send me a text or something.”
“You do the same.”
He leans over and kisses my cheek, then ruffles my hair much like I used to do to him when he was younger and shorter than me.
That was a long time ago. The memories flood me of a bedraggled Owen, dressed in clothes from the local Goodwill, his jeans too high, his shoes worn out.
Wishing so hard his mom cared about him, while I was bitter and desperate to get out of there.
I ran away when I was fifteen or sixteen, I can’t remember now.
I tried my best to escape and I didn’t plan on looking back.
I had a stash of money I’d saved for myself, keeping ten bucks from the grocery money Mom gave me every week since I was the one who did all the shopping.
She was too busy drinking and sleeping with her variety of boyfriends.
So I left. Snuck out in the middle of the night, hopping out the window of our apartment and eager to flee my prison. And I immediately felt guilty for leaving Owen behind. I couldn’t let her raise him. She was already doing a piss-poor job and I knew if I was gone, he didn’t have a chance.
I went back. For Owen. I raised him. He’s more mine than he was ever Mom’s. I love him, and I’m treating him like a pain in my ass because I’m in labor and missing my husband and scared.
“Owen.” I grab his hand to keep him from leaving me, and he turns to meet my gaze, his expression questioning. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being a bitch.” I don’t try to candy-coat it because it’s true. I’ve been a total bitch and it’s not fair.
“You’re in labor.” He shrugs. “That shit can’t be easy.”
I laugh, then grimace when another contraction stretches across my stomach. I squeeze his hand tight and he lets me, never saying a word of protest. “Thank you,” I finally say when the contraction passes. “For everything.”
“I should say the same to you, Fabes.” His voice is quiet, his eyes full of a mixture of sadness and love. “You’ve always been there for me. You’re going to be a great mother. You already are.”
Tears shimmer, blurring my vision. Looking at him, how great he turned out, pride suffuses me, making my heart grow.
I’m so proud of him. He’s not perfect, but who is?
I told him to apply to Stanford. They have an excellent football team and he could’ve got in.
Bonus? He could have moved closer to us.
He chose to go to the same college that Drew did instead. He wants to stay home. I think he’s afraid to live. I also think it’s a mistake but it’s not my life, it’s his. That means where he goes to college is ultimately his choice. He’s still a kid. He’s allowed to make mistakes.
But he was never my mistake. He’s my little brother, the kid I raised and took care of and never abandoned. I’m a better mother than our mom ever was.
For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I feel like I’ve got this. I’m going to be a mother. This little girl is going to be coming into the world sooner rather than later and I’m ready.
Owen’s right. I’m going to be a damn good mom, too.