6. Daphne Toaster Waffles
six
Daphne: Toaster Waffles
“Alyssa,” I lowered myself beside the birthing mat to meet her eyes. Her body was trembling, shivering from shock and exhaustion that had hollowed out her cheeks.
“I am so tired,” she panted, the weight of her pain resting on her palms.
“I understand,” I said softly, searching for that last glimmer of energy and holding tight.
There was something beautiful about the way women break to bring life into the world. This particular reformation only comes from knowing that immense suffering gives way to a type of love you didn’t know existed until the moment it does.
“I see your daughter’s head. It’s full of red, curly hair, and it’s perfect,” I smiled into her exhaustion. “And she cannot wait to meet you.”
“I love her,” Alyssa’s voice cracked with an immeasurable light piercing through the force crushing her insides.
“I know,” I smiled back. “It’s time to show her how much. One more push with the contraction. Slow and steady.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, resting in the dawn light. Her body had given everything it had for six straight hours, and that she could still form words was an unusual type of magic all its own.
“I am so tired.”
“Alyssa,” I encouraged, careful not to touch her. “You’ve got her. You won’t let her fall.”
Alyssa nodded, unlocking her secret strength.
“Okay. Ready?”
There was a peace there when she ground forward, her body working while a scream broke through her sleepy apartment and into the hall.
“Fuck!” she howled, twisting her body into shapes that never existed before.
“There you go,” I coached while she tore through the crash of muscles caving, ligaments stretching, and pushing. “Keep going.”
She rocked on all fours, naked, digging at the floor. Gravity bent around her, bowing down at her feet.
“You are doing beautifully. Just like that.” I reached down to massage the pathway, making room so she wouldn’t tear. There had to be space for the shoulders.
“I can’t do this,” she said, eyes closing as she pushed harder.
“You’re already doing it, Alyssa,” I encouraged when the baby edged forward, her tiny frame bending with the tide of her mother. “She’s almost here.”
Alyssa’s body broke, everything in her on fire. I swept my hands into position and moved the umbilical cord just so.
“Last one,” I promised. “Final push. It’s time to meet your daughter.”
The lights bent when she bore down, creating hymns until the universe finally aligned and the cosmos responded. And then, as if it were nothing at all, a little soul fell into my arms.
Alyssa crumpled forward, crying when she took the baby from between her legs and pulled it to her chest.
“Just like that,” I praised, marveling at her instincts.
It is the sacred ritual of connection.
Heart to heart. Skin on skin.
It was that easy, and that terrifying.
I rubbed the spot on my chest and thought of Thay.
“Two minutes old and she has already changed the world,” I said, kneeling close and helping to coax that first breath of air: lungs and soul colliding at once.
Alyssa’s body broke again, but this time for a different reason.
“She is perfect,” she cried, forgetting the last six hours or any life before the one she held in her arms.
“She really is,” I glinted, leading Alyssa back onto the pillow to pass the placenta. “Absolute perfection.”
“I will take it from here,” my mentor came up beside me. “Well done.”
“Daphne,” Alyssa peered up at me, her skin buttery soft and full of natural light. “I fucking did it!”
“Hell yeah, you did, babe!” I winked. “You did it all.”
“Thank you,” she said, kissing her daughter’s head, and I faded out of existence where I belonged.
I smiled up at my preceptor, Celeste, then made my way to the washbasin, discarding my gloves and splashing cool water on my face. Seattle was bright today, and it took me a moment to adjust.
“You look like hell,” Celeste commented, moving to her bag to retrieve a few items for the afterbirth.
“Thanks,” I laughed, catching my reflection in the window and the dark circles underneath my eyelids. I yawned, grabbed my phone, and buried it in the hoodie Wolfe had given me.
“So, something came up I thought you might be interested in,” Celeste explained, setting the placenta on the scale and inspecting it to ensure nothing was out of place.
Even with modern medicine, the maternal mortality rate in the United States mirrored that of third-world countries, and bleedouts were more common than modern medicine would have you believe.
“Everything okay?” I asked, leaning over to inspect it for myself.
“Perfect, actually,” she said, discarding her gloves and turning to me. “Every year in Maine, my friend Claudia and Dr. Brenback host an internship for midwives interested in expanding their practice to Canada once training is complete.”
I blinked, attempting to steady my pulse as it beat in my neck.
“We have more practice rights in Canada, and let’s face it, Daphne, boutique births aren’t your thing. You’re a mission-type healer,” she smiled. “And I love that about you. If you do well, they might offer you a job. Proper work and full benefits.”
Something like hives threatened to break out across my skin as my breath moved in tight, shallow circles.
“Is it a lot of money?” I swallowed.
“Not for you. It is all expenses paid. Cabin by the sea. Food stipend. The works.”
“And how long is it?” I yanked at my neck, remembering the leather as it tightened and bent.
“Two months.”
Two months. Sixty-one days. One thousand four hundred sixty-four hours. And 3,200 miles away from… Thay.
“It’s not that long,” she said, glancing at Alyssa, who was still beaming at the yawning, curly-haired slice of herself tucked against her chest. “And I think you’d love it.”
“When does it start?” I shifted my weight onto my back leg, trying like hell not to run for the door.
“That’s the thing,” she yawned, rolling her neck. “Plane leaves tomorrow.”
My heart sank, hitting my ribs before dropping into my stomach.
“Tomorrow?” I laughed. “Celeste.”
“What? You are young and unattached. And goddammit, Daphne, this is your moment,” she said the way I imagine a mother would, tucking a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear before sending her off into the big bad world.
I drew in a deep breath, searching for… a window.
“Well, can I at least think about it?”
Celeste paused to chew on her lip. She knew little about my past, but sometimes I caught her trying to connect all the dots with her eyes.
“I’ll need to have your confirmation by two so we can book your flight. But don’t say no.” She grabbed a stack of towels and turned away. “You owe this to yourself, Daphne. You really do.”
I cracked a half-smile, giving Alyssa one last look before sprinting out into the Seattle air.
Holy shit, my stomach hurt, splitting me open in every direction.
In my brain, this wasn’t just an excellent opportunity; it was an investment in a future that, if I were being honest, I didn’t allow myself to explore.
Tomorrow was pretend, and I knew better than to think long term.
If you focused on surviving the day rather than your entire life, you had a higher chance of meeting that goal without being destroyed by it.
It was a backward way of thinking, but I hadn’t died so far.
After a minute of just standing there, I meandered down the sidewalk, pulling my phone from my pocket to check the time.
Shit. 4:59 a.m.
I palmed my eyes, searching for a street name. Where was I, and why are babies never born in the middle of the day?
“Bowker St.,” I murmured to myself, catching Thay’s last message at 1:48.
Thay: Just text me when you get home, alright.
Wolfe must have told him where I was, because the thread stopped.
Thay was a lot of things, but a man who interfered during childbirth wasn’t one of them.
He knew how hard I’d worked to get here and was impeccable at keeping our life in its lane.
I mean, he would have to be, given what he does for a living.
I sighed, rummaging around my tired brain for what to do next, but my stomach answered for me. Shit. I was hungry. And not just, oh look, a gluten-free grape sort of starving, but the type that comes from having eaten nothing but a stack of cookies over the last four days.
“Fine, fuck it,” I mumbled under my breath, twisting down a narrow pathway behind the Crocodile Cafe before swinging right to face the abandoned industrial building dying at the end of the street.
It was cracked. Busted. And most certainly belonged to Norman Bates.
I bit my lip, feeling the pull of Blade’s toaster-waffle stash call me from a distance. The clubhouse was only down the hill, and if I took Celeste up on her offer, I was going to need luggage.
I swallowed nervously, picking at my fingers.
What would I even say?
Filling my lungs with air, I pushed forward, scouring the landscape for any hint of danger. Most people knew to keep away from the house, but that did not mean a member of a rival faction wasn’t lying in the shadows, waiting to use me against them.
I smiled, taking the six busted stairs up to the metal door with no handle at the top. Brushing aside the hidden piece of siding, I punched the twenty-one-digit code into the keypad.
Nothing.
“Shit,” I bit my tongue, staring at the numbers before trying again. Maybe I was more tired than I thought. I hit them once more, but still nothing.
“What in the ever-loving…” The words fell away when a pair of rugged hands hauled me through the doorframe and slammed the door shut.
“Twice in twenty-four hours?” Nathem yawned, scratching at his stomach. He was shirtless except for the gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, just enough for the V-cut of his muscles to peek through. “What is it? My birthday?”
I stared at him, half-questioning if it was mine.
“What is with the lock?” I glanced behind him.