Chapter 55
SPENCER
SEVEN YEARS AGO
“Ilove the epidural. This shit is great. Whoever invented it, I want to marry them.”
I chuckle, brushing her sweaty hair off her forehead. I’m glad she’s getting some relief, especially as the contractions began to come more often. The good news is, the last they checked she’s dilated to a seven. It won’t be too much longer now.
“You want to marry them and not me?” I joke. We’ve talked about marriage in a roundabout way—agreeing one day it’ll happen but not going beyond that.
“You’re the reason I was in pain. They’re the reason I got out of it. Ergo, they win, and you lose my hand in marriage.”
“Ah.” I nod, trying to not to grin. “Makes sense.”
“I’m so glad you see my logic here.”
“Mhm,” I hum. “Do you want to call your mom now?”
She’s been putting it off, I think because she had herself fully convinced we’d be sent home again, but she’s dilating and now she’s had an epidural so we’re here until we go home with a baby.
Fuck, that’s terrifying to think about.
She places her hand over her belly. “I should, shouldn’t I? She’s going to be so sad.” Tears fill her eyes. “I’m sad, too.”
I reach for her hand that’s not on her stomach. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I know this isn’t how she pictured things, but I suppose these sorts of things don’t usually go according to plan.
She grabs her phone and rings her mom.
“Hey, Mom,” she greets when she answers.
“Um … yeah, about that, surprise, I’m in labor for real this time.
” She listens to something her mom says.
“Seven centimeters. Yep. I just got my epidural.” She bites her bottom lip, listening to whatever she says next.
“I know. No, no, don’t try to drive in this.
It’s bad here and I don’t want you guys to hit weather.
” Her mother says something rapidly and Harlow shakes her head.
“I mean, I guess you could come that far. This baby wanted to make a grand entrance apparently and chose the worst timing.”
I turn to the muted TV that shows news coverage of the storm, and it hits me then, the name for our baby.
“All right. If you guys head out text me as you go, okay? I love you, too. Tell Dad I love him.”
She hangs up the phone and I give her hand a squeeze. “I know now isn’t the best time, but I think I know the name.”
“The name?”
“For the baby.”
“Oh, right.” She drops her head back against the pillows. “We still haven’t figured that out.”
“Whether it’s a boy or girl I think we should name it Monroe.”
“Monroe?” she repeats. “Like the storm?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “This is a rare storm and we’ve had so many false alarms, but they decided to come today. It feels like a sign, don’t you think?”
She purses her lips. “Monroe.” She twists her head side to side thinking it over. “Monroe,” she repeats. “I like it. But what about a middle name.”
“If it’s a boy I’d like it to be Thomas for T.J.”
“Oh.” She squeezes my hand. “That’s a great idea. What about a girl?”
“I think you should pick that.”
“You know how I feel about this kind of pressure,” she jokes. She blows out a breath. “I suppose Willa’s an option.”
“Monroe Willa,” I muse.
She gags. “Never mind. I love my sister, but Monroe Willa sounds awful.”
“What about Monroe Clare?” I suggest.
“I like that, but where the heck did you come up with Clare?”
“It was our Family and Consumer Sciences teacher’s first name. I figure since that’s where we first met it has meaning behind it.”
“It’s perfect,” she says softly.
“We have a name.” I smile proudly.
“We have a name,” she echoes.
“All right, Harlow, it’s almost time to push and meet your baby,” one of the nurses says as her and another scurry about the room to prepare it for delivery.
Harlow’s panicked eyes meet mine. “I’m scared. How am I going to push a baby out of me?”
“You’re going to do it because you’re strong and can do anything and you want to meet your baby.”
She nods at my words of encouragement.
The nurse goes over the basics of how to push and then has her do a few practice ones before calling for the doctor.
“Dad, you come over here and hold Mom’s leg,” the nurse directs.
Hearing myself called Dad is jarring to say the least. I do as I’m directed though, holding Harlow’s leg up.
“Contraction’s coming up,” the nurse warns. “Now, push.”
Harlow bears down, her face scrunched as she pushes.
When they tell her to lie back and take a breath, she says, “Did anything happen?”
“A little bit,” the nurse lies, because from my perspective a big fat nothing happened.
It goes like that for a while, Harlow pushing and not a lot happening from what I can see. But suddenly, things seem to shift, and I glimpse the head.
“You’re getting close,” the doctor encourages. “I can see your baby’s head.”
“You can?” Harlow gasps. She looks to me with tired eyes. Her hair is sweaty, and she looks exhausted, but I swear she’s never been more beautiful.
“I can see it,” I promise her. “We’re so close to meeting our baby.”
With renewed energy, Harlow pushes again and again until a tiny, squirming baby covered in blood and goo is placed on her chest.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she chants over and over again in shock. Her hands flutter around the baby, not seeming to know where to touch first.
The baby isn’t crying, though and that scares me, but then a nurse is suctioning stuff out of its mouth, and it finally gives that mighty cry I was waiting for.
“Is it a boy or girl?” Harlow asks me.
“Huh?” I’m too dumbfounded to process her words. That’s our baby there on her chest. It’s here and it’s real.
“Is it a boy or girl?” she asks again.
I lift the baby’s leg to check. “It’s a girl,” I cry, kissing Harlow. “We have a daughter.” I kiss her again.
Harlow sobs and we both look like complete blubbering messes, but I don’t care. I just witnessed the most incredible thing I know I’ll ever see in my life. There’s no way anything can compare to the birth of our child.
“Dad, do you want to cut the umbilical cord?”
I give a watery nod in the direction of the nurse asking. She hands me a pair of surgical scissors, and I cut where she tells me to.
“I’m going to take baby now, Mama, so I can weigh and measure her. But she’ll be right back, promise.”
I can tell Harlow doesn’t want to let go, but she also knows the nurse has to do her job.
“Keep an eye on the baby,” she tells me. “Please.” She gives my arm a shove, encouraging me to head over to where the nurse tends to the baby.
I want to be with the baby, but I also don’t want to leave Harlow.
“Go,” she says. “I’m okay.”
Since she insists, I quickly head over to where the nurse is measuring the baby.
“She’s so wrinkly,” I comment, taking in every detail of my child that I can. From her super long fingers to her scrunched nose and tiny feet.
The nurse laughs. “Most newborns are.”
After she’s cleaned up the baby, she swaddles her and sticks a hat on her head.
“Are you ready to hold your daughter?”
Fuck, that question slams into me like a ton of bricks.
“Yeah.” I wonder if I sound as choked up as I feel. “Yeah, I am.”
The nurse deposits my baby girl in my arms and in that moment, I know I’m changed forever. This little girl has my heart. She’s so tiny and perfect and even though I can’t really tell her features yet, I just know she’s going to be the perfect mixture of the two of us.
Carrying her over to Harlow, I pass the baby to her. As much as I want to hold this tiny bundle forever, Harlow deserves it after carrying her for nine months and enduring labor.
“Monroe,” she croons. “My perfect storm.”
“That’s her,” I say and kiss the side of Harlow’s forehead. “Our storm.”