Chapter 59
READY OR NOT
LYDIA
THIRTY-SEVEN WEEKS PREGNANT
“Icannot get over how cute you are,” Grace gushes as she brings me a bag of popcorn.
“I look like an avocado,” I mutter. I’ve been in a mood all day today, and I’m so sick and tired of being pregnant. The worst part is, I still have three weeks left.
“An avocado?” Zoey laughs. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I have a pit sticking out of my center, so that's the only way I can describe it.” I take a bite of popcorn, washing it down with my pop.
“I can see it,” Grace says, running her eyes up and down my body. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re adorable.”
Groaning, I mumble out a thank you as she sits beside me. The arena is absolutely packed. It was close, but the guys have made it to the second round of the playoffs.
It’s the first game of the second round, and my heart is already pounding in anticipation.
This is probably going to be my last game before the baby comes, since getting here was a feat in itself.
My body hurts so bad, and my lower back is killing me today.
Grace was nice enough to pick me up, so I didn’t have to leave when Fletcher did. I wasn’t up to driving myself tonight.
My mom tried to call me earlier today, but I declined.
She’s left me multiple voicemails since the day the article came out.
I haven’t responded. Never once in any message has she apologized for the hurt she caused me and the way she used Fletcher and caused a rift in our relationship, no matter how brief it was.
I can’t knowingly open myself up to any more hurt from them, and I definitely am going to do everything in my power to protect my daughter from it, too.
In an attempt to conserve energy, I stay in my seat for warm-ups. I’ve been napping often, too tired to function by the end of the workday.
Fletcher skates over, waving at me from his favorite spot on the ice, and heat floods my cheeks when he blows me a kiss.
Zoey plops down next to me, handing me a pop and swiping a handful of my popcorn.
“Hey,” I scold. “That’s mine.”
She laughs. “There’s plenty more in the back.”
“Never take a pregnant woman’s food, Zo.” I gesture to the machine behind us. “You want some, go get your own.” I narrow my eyes, daring her to take another handful of the popcorn Grace so kindly brought me.
“Jeepers, fine,” Zoey says with a scared-sounding laugh. “You always used to share your popcorn.”
“That was before a child inhabited my uterus and turned me into a popcorn fiend. I swear, this popcorn is the only thing that sounds good right now. Nothing else will live up to it, and believe me, I’ve tried.”
She shakes her head dramatically. “And that is why I’m scared to get pregnant. Don’t get me wrong, I want kids. The pregnancy, though? No way. Too much discomfort, and I feel like I wouldn’t even know my own body anymore.”
An ache spreads through my back, and I groan. “Ugh, I have to adjust.”
I pass my popcorn to Zoey with a glare, hoping she gets the hint not to take any more, and stand, stretching my body before sitting back down and readjusting.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Grace questions, her eyes filled with concern.
“Totally fine.” I wave her off. “Just the end of pregnancy aches and pains.”
Zoey hands me my popcorn back, and we chat about nothing and everything while we wait for the game to start.
Ten minutes into the first period, Calvin scores the first goal with an assist from Adam, giving us the lead.
I’ve had to shift in my seat no less than ten times, and I’m so unbelievably uncomfortable. I’ve been having some practice contractions this week, and tonight is no exception. These are a bit stronger than the ones I’ve previously had, but they aren’t regular by any means.
“God, I’m so glad to have Adam back,” Zoey says when the first period finishes. “It’s been so nice having him around again. And now, he and Vincent can finally get to know each other, too.”
Grace chimes in. “Calvin is absolutely loving playing with him again.”
“Fletcher loves it too.” I wince when an especially painful tightness spreads across my stomach.
“Okay, now what was that?” Grace pulls out her phone.
“It’s nothing,” I say through gritted teeth. “Just a practice contraction.”
She types something on her phone. “Practice my ass.”
I wave off Zoey’s fluttering hands. “I’m fine. My doctor said if they aren’t consistent, it’s just practice. Besides, I can’t leave the game.”
Zoey glances over at Grace. “Are you timing these?”
“Yep.” Grace nods, looking between me and her phone.
“Stop it. I’m not in labor.” Except, there is a small part of me that thinks I may be wrong. This feels different than before, and it’s still going.
The two lock eyes again, and when the contraction passes, I sit up a little straighter and take a sip of my pop to appear nonchalant. “See, it’s done.”
I should try not to be any more stubborn about this than I already have been, because if I really am in labor, I have no idea how fast this will go.
My mind whirs as time ticks down on the intermission clock. I don’t have my hospital bag or car seat, Fletcher's in the middle of a playoff game, and Dottie isn’t coming up for another week.
A short time later, another contraction hits. This one is stronger, the pain sharper. Grace starts a timer, and Zoey rubs my back as I breathe through it.
When the contraction ends, Grace stops the timer. “Seven minutes apart this time. When did they say to go to the hospital?”
I wave her off. “That was my first consistent one. I’m not going into the hospital yet. Not until they’re consistently five minutes apart for an hour.”
“I love you, but I am not a labor and delivery nurse. Pregnant women scare me. I don’t want to deliver your baby in this suite, nor do I want to have to pull over on the side of the road,” Zoey says forcefully, leaving no room for questions.
“If they get to five minutes apart for over thirty minutes, we’re going in. ”
I clench my jaw. “Fine.”
I hope this isn’t real labor.
The second period starts, and when I continuously have contractions every six and a half minutes, my nervousness grows.
I catch Fletcher watching me from the bench, and I offer him a half-hearted wave. He mouths something to me, but I can’t catch it. I shake my head and smile, hoping to ease the worry I can see on his face.
Thankfully, he turns his focus back onto the game.
“Are you sure I can’t take you home?” Grace asks me after the next contraction. This one was a doozy.
“Not yet. Let me try something else first.” A restless feeling settles throughout my body, so I stand from the seat, stepping into the main part of the suite.
I lean against one of the high-top tables so I can still see the game and rock my hips back and forth. But I can feel her pressing down on my pelvis. This is happening, whether I like it or not. I thought I had more time.
Apparently not.
I rock while trying to focus on the game.
Fletcher is playing a good game today. The stakes are high, and I can’t stand the thought that I’m going to be a distraction to him, possibly pulling him away from the game.
He’d scold me if he heard me say that, telling me there is nowhere he’d rather be, but I still feel bad.
I have to call Dottie. It’s just going to be Fletcher with me in the delivery room, but Dottie will be there to help me when I get home, and I know she’s going to want to be in the area to be here for us when she’s born.
A fleeting thought crosses my mind as I think of my mother. I wish things could be different between us, but they can’t. She’s proven to me that she won’t respect my family or me, and I have to make peace with that.
“Zoey, can you grab my phone?” I ask.
She does, and I unlock it and call Dottie.
It rings twice before she answers. “Hi, sweetie. Are you watching the game?”
“Yep,” I say through gritted teeth as another contraction starts.
Zoey motions to Grace, who taps her phone screen, marking the time. I already know there’s been less time between the last contraction and this one.
“What’s happening? Are you okay?” Dottie asks, concern fluttering in her voice.
“I think I’m in labor,” I whimper through the waves of pain.
“Oh my. Are you at home?”
“Arena.” My teeth clench over the words.
Grace snatches the phone from my palm, taking over the conversation. “Hi, Dottie. Do you think you can convince her it’s time to go to the hospital?”
I can’t hear what Dottie is saying, but Grace hums in agreement with whatever Dottie says.
“Yep. Her contractions are five minutes apart now. She’s been contracting consistently for over an hour, they’ve just shortened in timing.” Grace rattles off the timing of my most recent ones, then listens for a moment.
When this contraction finishes, I hold my hand back out for the phone. Grace slides it back into my palm, and I put it back to my ear.
“Hi, sorry,” I say.
“I think it’s time to go to the hospital. Even if it’s a false alarm, it’s better to go in than be stuck at the arena, or god forbid, hit the end-of-game traffic when you’re too far gone.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.
“Okay. You’re right. I feel guilty, though. Fletcher’s going to look up to the suite and panic when I’m not there.”
The thought alone makes my heart hurt.
“He’s going to be more stressed if you deliver the baby in the suite or in his car,” Dottie replies.
“Can you come?” I ask, needing her here.
“I’m already packing, honey. Ron’s getting the animals straightened away and calling the neighbor. That darn emu, Dave, is being a menace as always. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“Thank you.”
A sense of peace washes over me. Dottie will be here soon.
We say our goodbyes, I promise to update her as much as I can, and I pass my phone back to Grace.
“Can you take me to the hospital?” I ask.
A heavy sigh of relief leaves both Grace and Zoey as they nod. “Yes, of course. I’ll take you to the hospital, and Zoey can run to your apartment and grab your hospital bags.”
Nodding, I exhale a heavy breath. “Thank you. Can you also text Fletcher and let him know? I know he won’t see it until after the game, but I need him to know I’m okay.”
“Already done,” Grace says as she puts her phone in the back pocket of her jeans.
I can do this. I’ve been preparing for nine months, and now it’s here. Am I ready? Honestly, I’m not sure, but I don’t have time to think about it.
The second period is almost done, and we’re up by one. Adam gets a breakaway pass from Fletcher and flies across the ice toward the goal. Zoey shrieks as he shoots, the puck flying between the goalie’s legs and into the net.
The crowd erupts as the horn blares, and another contraction hits me. The goal song plays, and I try my best not to curse every person in this arena. Now isn’t the time to celebrate. It feels like my body is being ripped to shreds.
Grace puts pressure on my lower back as I breathe through the contraction. The pressure helps, but only marginally.
The goal celebration ends, and thankfully, so does my contraction.
The girls help me stand up straight and lead me out.
The walk to Grace’s car is a blur. We have to stop twice while I have a contraction, but soon enough, we’re on our way to the hospital, and Zoey is going to my apartment with instructions on everything she needs to grab.
This is not at all how I thought it would go, but all things considered, I’m glad I’m with the people I am.