Another Epilogue - Warren
A year or so later…
“Let’s go, this is your final add to resistance and then we’re going to take it out of the saddle. When we do that, we have more mass coming down on the pedal which means we can handle a heavier road. So whatever number you have in your head, that big, scary number that sounds too hard, I want you to add one to that and that’s the resistance we’ll be climbing at until the end.”
I groan as Kira queues the crowd in the room and the folks riding at home to finish out the last few moments of her Saturday Killa Sixty with a heavy climb. Not only because my own legs feel like gelatin at this point, but because I’ve been begging her for weeks to finally take some time off the bike .
“C’mon, Ren,” she snaps at me when I don’t reach down to turn the resistance knob on my bike. “If I can do it, you can do it. Three…two…one…Spin Sync, take it up.”
I do as she says, even though all I want to do is yell that just because she can do what she’s doing right now doesn’t mean she should. She should be in our home right now, resting on a lily pad and letting me wait on her hand and foot while we wait for our daughter to arrive. But every time I try to tell her to slow down, she reminds me that she’s pregnant, not sick.
At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gives birth right here in Studio B.
The ride comes to an end and after Kira leads us through a stretch, she dismounts from the stage and waddles over to where I’m congregated with our friends.
“That was a great class, Keeks. I’m so wrecked, I don’t know how you did that with a bowling ball sitting in your uterus,” Rachel says as she tips her head back and sips from her bottle of water.
“I know, right? I’m amazing,” Kira says, rubbing a hand over her belly. It felt like we were waiting forever for her to start to show. Baby girl was hiding behind Kira’s abs, but once she popped, she popped. I often find myself worrying that she’s going to tumble over with her distorted center of gravity.
“Speaking of the bowling ball-shaped alien parasite currently sucking the life force out of me–G, how did you know when your water broke?” Kira asks Georgie, who has eight-month-old twins at home.
“Uh, to be honest, I was focused on pushing two James Adler-sized humans out of my vagina. I don’t remember much besides the anxiety. Why?”
“Well, it’s hard to tell thanks to the diaper-sized pad I have slapped in my panties right now, but I either pissed myself during that tabata section or I’m having a baby today.”
I whip my head towards my wife so fast, I nearly blackout. All of our friends and the rest of the world fade away as I try to comprehend what Kira just said.
“Kira, darling, what did you just say?” I ask through my teeth.
“Ren, babe, you need to calm down. I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure I didn’t pee. I’ve been having contractions since this morning, so it was probably just my water breaking.”
Calm down? Calm down? My wife is telling me that she thinks she’s in labor and she’s asking me to fucking calm down? I pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing myself to take a deep breath. It doesn’t work, and my breathing becomes more erratic as my heart rate starts to pick up. Kira presses a hand to my chest, her belly bumping into mine as she steps in closer.
“It’s going to be alright, Ren. Deep, calming breaths. Like we learned in Lamaze. In…” she breathes, and I mimic her inhale. “And out…good. Again. In…and out. That’s it, atta boy. I already messaged the doctor this mornin g, and she said until the contractions are regular and five minutes apart, we’re good. We’ve got time. Let’s go hop in the shower and then we can get this show on the road, alright?”
I let my little pest take my hand and lead me through to her office, where she helps me shower while I continue to freak out. In fact, I don’t calm down until we’re at the hospital and Kira is in a bed hooked up to monitors and asking for an epidural. Not that I feel particularly calm, but she’s the one doing all the work. The least I can do is metaphorically slap myself across the face and support my wife while she gives birth.
And nineteen hours later, I’m propped up in the hospital bed with my arms around Kira while our perfect little girl, Camila Ann–named for Tía Camila, of course–suckles sleepily at her breast.
“Look at what you did, darling. She’s amazing. You’re amazing,” I say, peppering kisses in Kira’s sweat-slicked hair.
“I know. Look at her, I built her piece-by-piece. I’m fucking incredible.”
Kira sighs happily, laying her head back against my chest.
“Pancakes is going to be so excited to finally meet his little sister.”
“He will. He’s going to be the best big brother our baby girl could ever ask for,” Kira agrees on a low hum.
“My brave, strong, confident, resilient, precious little pest. I love you so much,” I tell her as she starts to blink her eyes closed. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes as I look down at my entire world in my arms and thank my past self for all the mishaps, missteps, and mistakes that led me here.
Right where I belong.