Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE LAST NIGHT AS FRIENDS
“ S he’s got a strong heartbeat,” Della, the midwife, reports with a warm smile.
“She does.” Hope beams, her hand folded tight around mine, her gaze locked on the emergency room monitor hooked to her belly.
The best part of possible labor, there is no long wait to be seen.
Upon arrival at the hospital, a nurse spotted Davis and me helping Hope out of the vehicle.
He grabbed a wheelchair from inside and escorted us in.
With a quick thank you to Davis, I followed Hope inside as they wheeled her to triage.
“It is strong.” I wipe my eyes.
The sonogram video of my niece’s heartbeat doesn’t compare to hearing it in person. Inside my bestie’s round belly is who I know will soon be one of my favorite people. Somehow, experiencing this in real life rather than a recorded video makes this all real.
“There’s like a real little human in there.” My laugh is watery.
“What did you think? That I’d just swallowed a watermelon?” she quips.
“You do like fruit.”
The nurse chuckles. “Keep that sense of humor. As parents, you’ll need it.”
“If only she were my co-parent instead of my very tardy husband.” Frowning, she looks to the clock on the wall above a counter lined with medical supplies. “He should be here by now. He was only thirty minutes out when I spoke to him, and it’s been an hour.”
I squeeze her hand. “Probably just hit traffic.”
“We’re going to do a physical exam to confirm labor. Do you want bestie to stay for that?”
“Oh yeah, she’s used to lady business ,” she winks, repeating Davis’s words from earlier.
The moment we’d parted from him, she’d tugged me close and whispered, “Davis?” The almost obscene way his name rolled from her lips telegraphed so much.
What happened to Lars? Why is Davis here?
Please tell me you’re climbing him like a sexy ladder.
Those questions, and I’m sure way more, lurked behind her gaze.
It’s only a matter of time before she pounces on me.
Della finishes the exam, including a swab of Hope’s lady business.
The baby’s heartbeat is strong with no apparent distress, and all signs are that this is a false alarm, but they are confirming a few things and consulting with Hope’s OB-GYN before giving the all-clear.
With a quick smile, Della ducks out of the room, leaving us alone.
“So embarrassing,” Hope mutters, rubbing the center of her forehead.
“Now, now”—I pat her hand—“it could still be labor.”
Head tossed back, a whiny laugh whooshes out of her. “I just freaked.”
“Like you said earlier, you’ve never had a baby. Anyone would have done the same thing. It’s better to know than to give birth to my niece in your kitchen, while in the middle of making pastries.”
“I panicked. The contractions kept coming, and the discharge… And your brother was gone. This is all his fault,” she grumbles.
“Pretty sure it was both of you in that backseat making my niece.”
“Now isn’t the time to be ‘Quippy’ Georgia, Now’s the time to be ‘Blame Rem for knocking up your bestie and not being here’ Georgia.”
“That is a mouthful.” I chuckle, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be whatever Georgia you want.”
“I know you will.” She sighs. “And I love you for that, but…”
“But you want Rem.”
“He just makes everything better.” A wistful expression dances in her features. “No matter how scary any situation is, I know he’s got me.”
“It helps that the man always has a plan.” The tiniest note of sarcasm punctuates my statement.
“It’s not just that. Although I do love that about him. He’s dependable and sturdy. Even if he doesn’t have a plan, I know that he’ll still be there. That we can handle anything together.”
“He’s your person.”
This is the love that I write about… that I want. To have someone whose mere presence is a balm for any of life’s weariness and a cherry on top of its sundaes.
“You’ll always be my bestie, you know that.”
“Yeah, but I also know that in these moments hubby trumps bestie.” A soft smile curls my lips.
“Where is he?” She tosses her free hand up.
This isn’t like Rem. It’s been almost an hour since he told Hope he was only thirty minutes away. With my focus on Hope’s triage by the midwife and the little No Cell Phone signs on the wall, I’ve not checked my mobile.
“Maybe he’s in the waiting room. They only let one loved one in at a time.”
“Can you check?” Her smile is apologetic.
“Of course.” With a quick nod, I slip out.
I step through the mechanical sliding doors into the ER’s waiting room. The quiet hum of a TV underscores muffled conversations of waiting patients and loved ones. Scanning the room, I find exactly who I’m looking for.
In the corner sits Rem. His body hunched forward and elbows on his knees, he scrubs his hands down his face. Even from across the room, the worry that radiates off him is palpable.
I approach him. “Hey.”
He shoots up. “Is she okay? The baby? Are they?—”
“They’re both okay. It looks like a false alarm. They did an exam and are confirming a few things with the doctor.”
“They’re okay.” He lets out a hard breath.
“Other than a little bit of embarrassment, she’s okay. You should head back there.”
“Thank god.” He closes his eyes. “She can’t come yet. Hope isn’t due for six weeks. We haven’t finalized our birth plan or the nursery. I still need to put together the crib. We’re still interviewing nannies.”
“Looks like my niece is already a handful.” A silent laugh curls my mouth into a devilish grin at the idea of baby girl Lane messing up all his plans. “Hope’s in bay three. Why don’t you go back, and I’ll wait here.”
Eyes open and hands on his hips, he peers between me and the mechanical doors that lead into the ER. He just stands there, his face scrunched, and feet sealed to the scuffed vinyl floor.
“Both your girls are okay. It will all be okay.” My tone is coaxing.
“Will it?” he rasps. “The entire way here, every scenario ran through my head. What if I lost her? The baby? Both?”
“But you didn’t… It was just a false alarm.” Reaching out, I place my palm on his upper arm.
His eyes, the same color as mine, are glossy with worry. “But there’s no guarantee that something may not happen. No matter how much I plan, I can’t protect them. I can’t…”
“No one can guarantee a happy ending, no matter how much planning is done.” I motion to him.
“Things don’t just happen. You need a plan, Georgia,” he says. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
“I know, but we also can’t control everything. We can’t ensure that nothing bad ever happens.”
He rakes his fingers into his hair. “I feel so helpless.”
“You’re not, though.” I squeeze his arm. “You can hold her hand, and you two can face all of life’s uncertainties together. Just like you did for me as a kid.”
Each celiac flare-up or anytime our parents argued, he never fixed it. He never had a plan. He just sat beside me.
“It may annoy me at times that you always have suggestions”—I make air quotes—“for how I should live my life?—”
“At times?” he huffs a hoarse laugh.
“ But —” Batting the air, I go on, “I know it’s part of you.
It’s how you manage your anxiety about things, and it’s also something I’ll admit I begrudgingly love about you…
But what I love the most is how you’d sit next to me and rub my back, telling me you were there for me. Sometimes that’s all you need to do.”
“I never knew what to do,” he says, his throat bobbing. “I couldn’t make you healthy. I couldn’t make Mom and Dad stop arguing. I don’t want to feel that helpless again. To not be able to take care of the people I love.”
“At least you try.” Realization slinks through me. “You deal with the anxiety of what might happen by trying to plan for every foreseeable outcome to prevent the negative. I just find excuses to not even risk it.”
Fear is a formidable adversary. My brother and I fight that fear in different ways. He plans his counterattack, while I hide. I’m sure Lars’s werewolf analysis would agree.
“We’re more alike than I realize sometimes,” I say, a small smile tugs my mouth up. “We’re both terrified things won’t turn out.”
Things happen. Accidents. Illnesses. Breakups. Disappointed people. Life. We can’t always control what happens, and we don’t need to take responsibility for the things that we didn’t actually do. Doc’s words from last night whisper inside me. Their truth unspools my own.
“Let the plan serve you, not you serve the plan.” I take Rem’s hands, folding them into my smaller ones.
“I’m not going to tell you that everything will be okay, because it may not.
Any number of terrible things may happen, but so will many wonderful things and just everyday things…
And it’s okay to have plans, but it’s also okay to just sit beside your wife and hold her hand when she’s a little scared and a lot embarrassed, or just listen to Jackson when he complains about something, instead of trying to fix it?—”
“ Or just support your sister in her decisions, rather than trying to plan out her life for her,” he says, his shoulders slumping.
“Yeah.” I nibble on the corner of my lip. “But you might be right about my self-sabotaging any potential Mr. Right.”
“Did it hurt to admit I was right?” His chuckle is soft.
“So much,” I whine.
“Even if I was right about that, I know I need to back off at times. I don’t want you to ever think that I don’t love you or see how amazing you are.
As much as I worry about you and want to protect you, I am also in awe of you.
I haven’t said it enough…” He clears his throat at my ‘ enough ’ expression.
“ Or at all, but I’m proud of you. Your work at SPN.
Your books. How you’ve come back after Will and Lena.
What an amazing aunt you already are to little Georgia. ”
“Georgia?” A too-full sensation blooms in my chest.
“Hope wants to name her after you, and after tonight, I think it’s fitting.”