Bonus Chapter
AMELIA
“Where are you, Amelia?”
I half-turn away from the driver and peer out of the window at the road signs. I’ve not been paying attention to the journey. I’m excited, and there’s a list of stuff still to be done before the baby arrives, running through my brain like a printer churning out paper.
“On my way to the airport.” I wince, holding my breath while Declan vents his trying-but-failing anger at me for not telling him in advance.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Here it comes. “The baby is due in seven days. I’d already arranged for Patrick to pick up your mom and Carol from the airport. There was no need for you to go with him.”
Three… two… one…
It sounds better if I pause; Declan will think that I’m pondering his reasons for not wanting me to come to the airport. In case I go into labor early. Or there’s a car crash. Or someone tries to kidnap me and hold me and our unborn baby for ransom.
I mean, these are all possibilities, but I’ve never been one to put my life on hold because of what ifs and in cases.
And besides, I want to meet my mom and Carol.
It’s been three months since I last saw them when they visited in March, and every moment spent in their company is too precious to waste.
I wanted them to be here when the baby arrives; I can’t imagine doing this without them, even though I have Declan, and I know that he’ll be amazing.
But my mom had my grandma when she gave birth to me, and we come from a long line of York women who believe in the power of female energy and community.
“I wanted to meet them myself, Declan. I thought that we could do some last-minute shopping in Dublin together. I’ve seen some wall decorations that I want to get for the baby’s nursery. And a musical crib mobile—”
“We already have one of those.”
I smile at my hazy reflection in the passenger window. I’m winning, and Declan doesn’t even realize it yet. “I know, but this one has little gray elephants, and puffy white clouds, and it fits the nursery theme better.”
“I don’t think you should be traipsing around Dublin, Amelia. It’s going to be another scorching day, and Orla said she found you on the nursery floor sorting through baby clothes again this morning.”
I love Orla dearly, but she’s as protective of me as Declan is with the baby’s imminent arrival. “I couldn’t remember how many sleepsuits we have.”
I can picture Declan’s smile at the other end of the call.
He’s probably outside on the decking, face tilted towards the sky, soaking up some vitamin D before he goes back into his study to tie up loose ends.
He’ll be handing over the day-to-day running of the business to Eoghan when the baby is born.
Eoghan and Emily’s baby boy, Ruairi, was born a month ago, and Declan is a hands-on grandpa, making up for the time he missed when his own boys were little.
“We have plenty of sleepsuits.”
“My mom said you can never have enough.”
There’s a pause during which Declan is no doubt finding his way back to the reason for his call. “Put Patrick on the phone.”
I hand my cell to the driver and mouth the word ‘Sorry’.
I can hear the wasp-buzz of Declan’s voice through the handset, then Patrick passes it back to me.
“Patrick has been warned not to let you out of his sight, Amelia.”
I know better than to argue the point. He is simply keeping his promise to protect me and the baby, and I love that he makes me feel safe.
“I love you, Declan.”
Now, I know that he’s smiling. “I love you too, baby. I’ll love you even more when you’re back here in my arms.”
I end the call and realize that the battery is running low.
I was so busy sorting out baby clothes this morning that I forgot to charge my phone, and eat, and I meant to repack my hospital bag because I’m ninety-nine percent positive that I packed nipple pads, but that one percent has been niggling away at me.
Patrick’s gaze is hopping between me and the road. “Everything okay, Mrs. Byrne?”
I smile, dragging my thoughts out of my hospital bag and back to the moment. “Everything is fine.” I gave up asking him to call me Amelia months ago.
“If I’d known the baby was due next week…” His voice trails off, caught somewhere between suggesting that he must’ve misheard me when I said the birth was still weeks away, and wishing that he’d run this journey past his boss before agreeing to it.
“Don’t worry, Patrick, I’ll give you plenty of warning if I think I’m going into labor.”
He doesn’t smile at this. His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. When he signed up for this job, I guess delivering babies wasn’t on his resume.
The traffic approaching the airport is heavy. “There must be an accident somewhere,” Patrick mutters under his breath. “Or roadworks.”
We make slow progress. We won’t be late, but by the time we reach the road that loops around the terminal, I need to pee.
I mean, desperately.
There’s no holding it in when you’re nine months pregnant, and I don’t want Patrick to include mopping up my urine from the passenger seat to his list of duties.
“Patrick, I need to get out of the car.”
The urgency in my voice produces a frown from the driver’s seat. “I can’t stop here, Mrs. Byrne.”
“Can you drop me at the arrivals entrance before you park the car?”
His Adam’s apple bobs above his collar when he swallows. I’ve never seen him wear anything other than a formal suit, shirt, and tie. I’ve also never seen sweat beads on his forehead before.
“Mr. Byrne told me to stay with you.”
“This can’t wait, Patrick.” I’m hoping that he doesn’t want me to spell it out, so I squeeze my legs together and cradle my belly. “Please…” I’m whining now. Desperate.
I can see the sign for ARRIVALS. We’re almost there. If I stay in the car, it will be at least another ten minutes before he finds a space in the parking lot, helps me out of the car, and we walk back to the terminal. Ten minutes too long.
Patrick makes an executive decision and swings the vehicle into the drop-off bay.
The passenger door is already open and I’m swinging my legs outside and supporting my swollen belly with one arm as I stand up with all the grace of a hippopotamus.
“Thank you, Patrick. I’ll meet you inside.”
I don’t wait around to watch him drive off. I don’t scan the faces in the arrivals lounge waiting for loved ones to appear from behind sliding doors like a scene from Love Actually. The pressure in my abdomen is extreme. Burning. Making it difficult to think.
I locate the sign for the restrooms, and head straight for it. I’m not even sure that I’m going to make it in time, and my face is hot, flushed with the impending unavoidable embarrassment that I’ll feel when I pee myself in the middle of ARRIVALS in front of a bunch of strangers.
Halfway there, I detour to an empty seat. I’m panting. A dark-haired woman with three children who all appear to be under the age of five narrows her eyes at me, but I avoid making eye contact.
I lean forward in my seat, trying to contain the pressure, but succeeding in making it worse. I lean back and that doesn’t help either. There’s only one way to go, but the path to the restroom sign feels like it’s a marathon away.
I’m about to stand up when the pressure gives.
I swear I hear it pop, and then warm liquid trickles down my legs and pools in my sandals, and I’m frozen to my seat, my face on fire.
I pray that no one notices the woman who peed herself in the arrivals lounge.
But I accidentally catch the dark-haired mom’s eye, and I can tell by the round ‘O’ of her mouth that she noticed.
She comes over, trailing children who ignored her order to, “Stay here and don’t move.” She pulls a wad of tissues from a tote bag over her shoulder and spreads them across the puddle on the floor.
“Did your waters burst?” The concern in her voice draws tears to my eyes.
“No, I—” Pain blooms deep inside, and my belly grows solid. Braxton Hicks, I tell myself, until the pain transcends the ability to think, and I’m reaching for the woman’s hand, and gripping it tightly. And the pain keeps on coming.
“Is your husband here with you?” the woman asks when the pain finally ebbs away.
Her children are watching me with wrinkled noses, and I try not to think about how this must look.
“No, I’m here to meet my mom and my best friend.” I no longer need to pee, and it feels like a small win.
“Okay, I’ll call airport security to come and help you. We need to get you to a hospital.” The woman’s phone is already in her hand.
I think about Declan waiting at home for me, and Patrick who’ll be walking back from the parking lot any moment now, and my mom and Carol disembarking from the private jet.
“I can’t go without my mom or Declan.”
She smiles, and I realize that I don’t even know her name. “Shall we call Declan and let him know what’s going on?”
I slide my phone from my clutch, but the battery is dead, and who memorizes numbers these days? That’s what cell phones are for, right?
Then another contraction tears through my body, and the woman with no name tells me to, “Breathe,” and I’m mimicking her deep breaths, and my fingernails are digging into her hand, but she doesn’t even flinch.
When it passes, her expression is serious but kind. “Okay, this is going to be a quick one, so tell me what you want to do.”
“I want my mom,” I say in a tiny voice.
She pats my arm. “What’s your name?”
“Amelia.”
Before she can acknowledge my name, I hear a familiar voice say, “Mia?”
It’s my mom and Carol.
My mom crouches in front of me, and I vaguely hear the young mom talking Carol through what happened. Then Patrick appears through my tears, and my chest floods with relief when I hear him calling Declan.
“The baby is coming, Mom,” I murmur before the next contraction takes hold.
What follows becomes a blur of pain and tiredness that is impossible to resist. I’m vaguely aware of being lifted and helped into an ambulance by paramedics.