26. Liam
CHAPTER 26
LIAM
W hen Emma answers the door, my mouth drops open and the pieces click into place. Phoebe has often talked about her brilliant best friend, and Emma has told me so much about hers. I just hadn’t realized that they were the same best friend.
I thought I was never going to see Emma again. I thought she’d got tired or bored with me, or annoyed with me for being flaky with her, for trying to push her away. I mean, why else would she have stopped texting?
She did her best to get through to me and I shut her out. I shouldn’t be surprised that she left me. I wanted it.
But seeing her again reawakens that ache in my chest like it never went away.
“Hello,” is all I can think to say.
“Hello,” she echoes, clearly as surprised to see me as I am to see her.
Then that work ethic that I always admired her for kicks in. “Come in. She’s progressing rapidly. I’ve followed the birth plan to the letter, done everything I can to make her comfortable, but I feel better knowing that you’re here.”
I know she means you as in “the medical practitioner in charge of Phoebe’s case,” and not you as in “I, Emma, am pleased to see you, Liam,” but it still makes my heart flutter to hear her say the words. I think I have missed her more than I might have wanted to admit.
Emma leads me through to the living room where I see Phoebe sweating and straining, her face bright and red, her fists clenched. It’s not the most dignified look she could have, but she seems to be handling the whole thing pretty well. Emma rushes back to her side.
“Is Tom here yet?” Phoebe asks.
Emma shakes her head. “No. But he’s on his way, I promise. The doctor’s here.”
“Oh, Dr. Mercer,” she cries. “I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t think all this was meant to happen so fast.”
“It’s been about an hour and a half since her water broke, but I think she’s been in stage one for a few hours already,” Emma says. “Things are moving pretty quickly, and I think she’s getting close to full dilation.”
“Well,” I say to Phoebe, crouching beside her. “You look like you’re in great hands.”
“I am,” she says shakily. “I told you about Emma, right? She’s the best.”
I nod and notice the sharp look Emma gives me. No doubt both of us are coming to the same conclusion that we should have realized we had a connection earlier. But I look after a lot of pregnant women, and I’m not in the business of discussing my patients by name outside of the hospital.
“Yes,” I say. “You did. It’s good to have her here. Now, let’s check your blood pressure.”
I run through all the tests I need to do to make sure Phoebe and her baby are going to be fine, and they are. In fact, they’re all textbook, which is a blessing in a home birth. It’s always stupidly stressful to have to call an ambulance when all the mother wanted to do was stay home.
Not that it has ever stopped me. At the end of the day, all I care about is the health of my patients, and sometimes that means they need to go to the hospital.
Phoebe should be okay, though. We run through her plans again, where she wants to sit or squat or lie when the time comes, what she wants to do with the placenta, how we’ll handle any troubles or difficulties. She looks like she’s in more distress than I would like, but every word she says is calm and thought through.
That’s being a lawyer, I think. Like us, she’s got the ability to keep a cool head in a tough situation.
I step away for a second to make sure I have all the tools I need, and Emma sits on the floor next to Phoebe, holding her hand.
“Hey,” she says quietly, and I pretend not to be listening. “You’re doing great.”
“It doesn’t feel great,” mutters Phoebe.
“Trust me, you’re awesome. Why didn’t you tell me, though?”
“Tell you what?”
She glances over at me, and I stare into my bag, hoping she doesn’t realize that I’m listening in. To really look busy, I frown and start rummaging through my bag, forcing myself not to look over at them.
“About the doctor.”
I peer over my shoulder as inconspicuously as I can. Phoebe’s face falls in confusion. “Liam? Why would I tell you about…?” She trails off as her face lights up with recognition and understanding. “Liam? This is that Liam? Your Liam?”
“He’s not mine ,” Emma hisses, and hearing her anger is like a sting. I let her down, badly.
“How was I meant to know they were the same person? It’s not like it’s an uncommon name.”
That’s the moment I decide to take my leave. I don’t acknowledge them or even look. I can’t exactly show that I was listening to what was meant to be a private conversation.
It shouldn’t surprise me that Emma told her best friend all about me, but knowing that she probably painted me out to be a really awful person doesn’t fill me with joy. I won’t let it affect my work — I can’t. But I can’t help but wonder what Phoebe thinks of me now.
I head to the kitchen and get myself a glass of water. I’ve been here once before, when I came to scope out the house and check that everything was going to be in place for the birth. Phoebe and Tom have a great home, bright and stylish, and I just know they’re going to be great parents.
And with Emma around, that kid is going to be just fine.
Another twinge of pain hits my chest. I don’t want this lifestyle for myself; I never have. But Emma does. I could have had it with her.
I could have had anything with her, and she could have made me believe in it. She’s that kind of person. She makes you want to be better.
And that’s why I stopped talking to her. I couldn’t deal with the person I was becoming. I’m happy being in misery.
This realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Have I thrown away the best thing I could have ever had for the sake of being in my comfortable, grumpy bubble?
“Liam?” Emma says as she steps into the kitchen, snapping me out of my thoughts. I wheel around to face her, and for a second, her standing there with her hair in her face and her brown eyes full of worry is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. “Could you come through? I think she’s entering the second stage.”
“I’m coming,” I say.
Whatever my petty grievances are, they’re not important now. The baby is coming.
I rush after Emma and together, we jump to work. Emma sits by Phoebe and holds her hand, calming her down and telling her what to do to make it easier while I measure her vitals and make sure that I have everything in order.
Emma was right — of course she was. This is going to be a long process, but Phoebe’s getting closer to the end. I’m not anticipating any issues, so all we’re going to be here for is support and making sure she has everything she needs for this to go smoothly.
The hours fly by, Emma and I falling into a rhythm, preempting what the other will need. We work without ego, doing everything we need to do for Phoebe. At the end of the day, she and the baby are all that matters. I don’t have time to think about what a good team Emma and I are, how easily all the pieces fall into place around us.
Later, I might let myself linger on it, but right now I have a patient. Personal problems can wait.
“Push, Phoebe,” I say. “You’re nearly there.”
She groans, her forehead shining with sweat.
“You’re so close,” I promise. “Just a little more.”
Phoebe cries out, gritting her teeth. All I can do is watch, monitor, prepare. I am just the doctor here. She’s the one doing the hard work.
Then, in a flash, the hours of pain are worth it as the baby slips out and takes her first breaths in the world. Almost automatically, I catch the baby, swaddle her up, and wipe her face. She has her mother’s nose already, and I have no doubt that when she opens her eyes, they’ll be the same shining green.
“Here, hold her,” I say, not even bothering to phrase it as a question. Phoebe, tears streaming down her face, reaches out for her baby and clutches the bundle to her chest, her eyes full of the brightest love that I could hope to see.
For a second, I catch Emma’s eye. She almost looks sad, and I almost ask why. Then we both turn our attention back to Phoebe, and I wonder if she’s thinking about the same thing as me. That this is a truly perfect scene.
And that I’ve lost the potential for a happy life by losing Emma.