38. Allie
ALLIE
I pace in front of the television, feet dragging along the rug covering most of Everett and Dahlia’s living room as two professional league strategists prattle on about prospective draft picks.
We’ve reached the twelfth pick of the first round, and Archer’s name hasn’t been called yet—to everyone’s shock.
I won’t pretend to know the ins-and-outs of professional football, but based on discussions I’ve overheard in the past few weeks between Archer and Lou, he was expected to be a top ten pick.
There were several teams with the need and budget for a new quarterback, and even without reaching the playoffs, he was ranked number three in the entire country.
So, the fact he hasn’t been drafted yet has been a surprise to us all.
I’m a fucking wreck. I am so done with the waiting.
Waiting to know where my life is going to end up, waiting to have this baby.
My mind races and reels, considering the possibility he doesn’t get drafted at all and then feeling guilty for the kernel of hope within me that if he doesn’t make it, we’ll get to stay here in California.
Then, another name will get called that isn’t his, and my stomach plummets through the floor.
I’m at a war with my emotions, but more than anything, I want to hear his name called. I want to watch him achieve this dream, and I want to know where that future will take place so we can finally begin preparing our lives together.
He told me it was most likely he’d end up with Pittsburgh, Miami, or Buffalo, so those are the cities I’ve been envisioning when I think about our future.
Yet, all three already made their first-round pick, and none of them chose Archer.
We know there is no way he won’t be drafted, but the budding trepidation nestled in my stomach only grows with each passing announcement that doesn’t include his name.
“All right folks,” the commentator says, pulling my attention back to the television.
The camera pans the crowd outside the training complex in Atlanta, an extravagant stage set up in front of one of the facilities.
The focus zeros in on center stage as a graphic appears on screen showing the red-and-black logo of the Tampa Bay Pirates.
“The pick is in, we should be hearing the announcement any moment now.”
The angle then cuts to a stage where an old white man—Tampa Bay’s owner, I assume—makes his way toward the podium. He drones on for what feels like forever about sportsmanship and teamwork.
“Allie, baby, you’re stressing me out. Come sit down.” My dad pats the couch cushion beside him. I waddle over, hunkering down between him and my mom.
Dahlia sits in an arm chair next to the couch, Darby in the twin chair on its other side, and Willow on the floor.
Zander, Everett, and Lou attended the draft with Archer while Dahlia opted to stay back with me.
Weston had a surf competition in Tofino this weekend.
With my due date only three weeks away, Willow didn’t want to travel, so Leo, Carter, and Penelope went with him, along with Livia who is judging the event.
The rest of us huddled up together at Everett and Dahlia’s to watch the draft on television.
At first, I considered watching it on my own.
I have no idea how I’m going to react to the news.
I’ll be elated and undeniably proud. I’m vibrating with anticipation to finally see his face on screen.
To watch how he reacts and witness the moment he walks on that stage and holds his jersey.
At the same time, though, it’ll be confirmation of just how much our entire life is about to change. I don’t want to place all of my fear on external factors, but I am a little afraid I’ll start hyperventilating if he gets drafted somewhere with shitty weather and zero proximity to the ocean.
I didn’t want to break down like that in front of others, but Willow convinced me the right choice was to have us all together.
I’m not the only person whose life is going to change when Archer is drafted.
My parents, and his, are going to have to grapple with the fact that they’ll likely be far away from their granddaughter.
Willow and I have never lived in separate states, have never gone more than a couple of months without seeing each other.
It’s going to affect all of us, and we should come to terms with that together.
A musical note chimes from the television, and I brace my hands on my knees and stand as the old guy finally says, “And with the thirteenth pick in this year’s American Association of Football Draft, the Tampa Bay Pirates select Ar—”
Something warm rushes through me, followed by the sticky sensation of being wet, and the sound of a gasp echoes through the room.
The commentator continues speaking, the crowd wailing with cheers, but all of that becomes a distant hum as my head snaps down, finding a wet spot spreading across my leggings, and liquid running down my thighs.
“Did I just—”
“Your water broke,” my mom gasps. “Oh. Shit. Okay.” She shoots up, placing her hand at my lower back as she grabs my fingers with her other. “You okay?”
“I… I don’t… Are you sure?”
I don’t know what my water breaking is supposed to be like, but I don’t feel as if I’m giving birth.
Fuck. Giving birth. Panic sluices through me. “I’m not due for three weeks.”
“Well, she decided she wanted to show up today.” I think Dahlia said that, but I’m still staring at my crotch. “C’mon. We gotta get going.”
Suddenly, I’m being ushered toward the front door by my parents, Dahlia barking orders at Willow and Darby to go back to the guesthouse and grab my hospital bag.
I forgot to pack it. I thought I had time.
When I voice this, Willow grabs my face, kissing my cheek before she says, “I know. I’ll grab everything you need, and we’ll see you real soon, okay?”
I glance around the room. Everyone is staring at me like they’re worried, and it’s making the terror flowing through my veins thicken and rush faster.
As I’m guided out the door, I take one last glance back at the television, and for the first time, I realize it was Archer’s name they were calling when my water broke.
He’s on stage now, holding up the Tampa Bay jersey, beaming at the camera like all his dreams just came true. He looks so handsome in the navy blue suit I picked out for him. It was a good choice. It matches his eyes.
He’s the love of my life. My best friend.
He’s not here.
I missed watching him get drafted, and now, he’s two thousand miles away as I go into labor with our child.
I can hardly make sense of my surroundings. I feel like I’ve lost complete control as I’m walked to my mom’s car and helped into the front seat.
“I forgot to install the baby seat,” I say, voice shaking.
“It’s okay. That’s okay,” Willow says. “We’ll grab it and someone can install it before you take her home.”
“I’ll call your midwife,” Dahlia says. “Then I’ll meet you guys there.”
I don’t know what to do as my dad buckles me in. I stare helplessly up at my best friend, unable to ignore the way her eyes are misting over as she smiles at me one more time before gently shutting the car door.
My dad climbs into the back seat as my mom pulls out of the driveway and heads toward the birthing center.
“Fuck,” Dad growls. “Everett isn’t answering his goddamn cell phone.”
“Call Lou,” my mom says.
I think I’m fucking catatonic. I don’t know how to make sense of anything happening right now. I feel like I’m outside my body looking in.
I glance down at my belly, the way it arches—massive and proud. I’m not ready yet. I hold my bump, rubbing my palms over it. I don’t know what to do.
“Lou, it’s Dom,” my dad rasps from the back seat.
“No. I know. No we didn’t. We—no, I’m trying to tell you.
Allie’s water broke. We’re heading to the birthing center now.
” There is a pause. “No. No contractions yet, but we figured it’s best to just get her checked out.
” Another beat before he says, “You should do everything in your power to get him on the next flight.”
The reality settles with me then.
Archer might not make it home in time.