Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
DEENA
I went in for a routine appointment at thirty-four weeks, and while the nurse was taking my blood pressure, she straightened. It was a subtle movement, but it made me pause.
Something was wrong.
“Blood pressure is 150 over 80,” the nurse told me a moment before the rip of the Velcro sounded in the quiet room. She took the cuff off my arm and looked at me. “Have you been having any headaches lately?”
“This morning,” I said, “but I thought it was just because I haven’t had a strong coffee in months.”
“Swelling in your hands and face?”
I blinked at her. “I mean…I’m pregnant. I’m swollen all over all the time.”
“The doctor will come talk to you shortly. Just stay here, it won’t be long.”
“Is everything okay?”
“We’ll run a few more tests. Won’t be long,” she repeated.
I’d already peed on a stick at the beginning of my appointment to check for proteins and blood in my urine, but they had me do another urine test and a blood test and took my blood pressure again.
Then the room filled with people.
The OB-GYN on duty was a no-nonsense woman with dark skin and deep brown eyes. She put her hand on my wrist to feel my pulse, looking at her watch as she did it. Old school. Then she looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re having a baby today.”
My vision went fuzzy at the edges. “What?”
“Is there someone you’d like to call? A support person? Someone who can bring you what you need for labor?”
“What do you mean? I’m only thirty-four weeks. The baby needs to cook for like, two more months!” My voice was thin and wobbly. I hardly recognized it, but they were my lips moving, so it must have come from me.
“You’re showing signs of severe, rapid onset pre-eclampsia. We need to get that baby out as soon as possible.”
My head was shaking halfway through her speech. “I don’t… I want to go into labor naturally. I want to wait. It’s too early.”
She softened slightly. “Pre-eclampsia is extremely dangerous for both you and your son,” she said. “There’s a risk of seizure, stroke, and severe organ damage. The only way to cure it is to get the baby out.”
I’d spent the past few months reading everything I could find about pregnancy and childbirth.
I had a birth plan and a list of everything I wanted to bring to the hospital.
I was organized and meticulous, the same way I was in business.
I wanted to go into spontaneous labor, see how long I could make it on my own, get an epidural, and push the baby out.
That was the plan. That was what was supposed to happen.
“We’ll get you on a drip with a medication that induces labor,” the doctor began to explain.
“But that’s supposed to be way more painful,” I protested.
She nodded. “Yes. Many women find Pitocin contractions much more intense than when they go into spontaneous labor.”
Panic tightened at the base of my spine, making it hard to move. It crawled up my back and wrapped around my ribs, constricting my lungs. I couldn’t get a full breath.
“Do you have a support person?” she repeated. With her eyes still on me, she held out a hand, and a nurse gave her my chart. Finally, her eyes dropped to the chart. “Your emergency contact is listed as Alba Enders? Would you like to call her?”
I had no one. Alba was on vacation with Vaughn and her son. Who else would I call? My mother? My brother?
Cal?
“No,” I said. “Tell me what is going to happen.”
The doctor gave me a rundown of the process, had me sign a bunch of forms, and then a nurse put a needle in the back of my hand and connected it to an IV. I watched it all happen in a daze, one hand resting on the bed, the other on my belly.
My mouth was dry. The world seemed dreamlike, as if I were imagining this whole thing.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I’d come to terms with the pregnancy, with the baby, with doing it alone. I’d accepted it. I was in a much better financial situation, and I still had time. I had two more months to prepare.
The first contraction hit, and it took my breath away. A noise came out of me that I’d never heard before, some animalistic moan, and the nurse rubbed my arm until I barked at her to get away.
“Sorry,” I said when the pain receded. I rolled off the bed and stood next to it, my hands flat on the mattress.
“You’re fine,” she said kindly. “Not the worst thing that’s ever been said to me by a woman in labor.”
“You’re an angel,” I said, and she laughed.
I smiled, and then the second contraction gripped me, ripping the breath from my lungs. By the third one, I was begging for pain relief.
“The anesthesiologist has been called,” the nurse reassured me. “But it might be a while; it depends what surgeries are happening. Could be up to an hour before he gets here.”
“I can’t do an hour.”
She pinched her lips, all sympathy and zero give. “I can give you nitrous oxide,” she said.
I nodded, breathless, and she hooked up the gas.
The first puff of gas made me feel like puking.
I ripped the mask off my face and moaned through the next two contractions.
Pain made me dizzy. It made me nauseous.
It made me feel like my life was about to end.
The breaks in between were getting shorter, and the clock seemed to be moving backward.
“Where’s that epidural?” I asked.
“On its way,” the nurse told me for the millionth time.
I’d never felt pain like this before. I was so alone. I couldn’t do this.
“Yes, you can,” the nurse said, her voice gentle and sweet. “You’re doing it.”
I wanted to tear her eyes out and flay the skin from her flesh. She was so fucking kind.
The pain receded and took with it my fury.
“You’re doing it,” she repeated. I looked into her pretty doe eyes, made bluer by the color of her scrubs, and heard the truth in her words.
I was doing it—alone. The way it always was.
The way it absolutely did not have to be.
I had precious few seconds before the pain smashed into me again. I could feel it approaching, barreling toward me, unstoppable.
And I knew.
I didn’t want to be alone right now. I didn’t want a pretty, kind, pragmatic nurse to be the one to get me through this. I didn’t want my brother, my best friend, my mother, or my worst enemy.
I wanted one specific person. The person around whom my world had started revolving the moment I saw him glaring at his poor assistant moments before she quit. The person I’d fallen in love with and walked away from. The person who had cracked open the door and waited for me to make a decision.
In those few moments between contractions, when I panted heavily and saw with crystal clarity the vision of the life I wanted, I realized I’d been wrong.
Cal wasn’t the control freak. I was.
I wanted to control the outcome of my labor. My business. My life. I felt like my agency had been ripped away from a young age, and I’d fought against the raging current of life ever since.
Yes, I was smart. Yes, I was driven. Yes, I had built a business, and I was doing it alone. All of it.
But I didn’t want to do that anymore.
I wanted someone to come home to. I wanted a strong shoulder to lean my head on. I wanted someone to remind me to eat when I forgot.
I wanted Cal. Right here, right now, to see me through the biggest trial of my life. I wanted to see his face when our son was born. I wanted him to kiss my sweaty temple and tell me I was perfect and beautiful and his.
I’d always been his, even when I bucked against the bounds he used to tie me down. The harder I’d fought him, the more he’d fought back.
What if I just—didn’t?
Ever since he’d sent me that text after my conversation with my brother, I’d thought about answering countless times.
I always stopped myself. The fear of losing myself was bigger than my need for him.
In that instant, in the breath between contractions, I realized my battle for independence had taken a wrong turn somewhere.
I’d pushed my brother away and cut myself off from a support system.
I’d ignored Cal’s efforts to reach out, not believing him when he told me he wanted to be there for me.
Until now.
Until there was an IV in my arm pumping synthetic hormones into my body, and the pain was immense, and the only person I wanted was him.
We could find middle ground. We could find a way to make it work. It was my responsibility as much as his. My next contraction rushed at me, and I scrabbled for my phone.
Cal answered before the first ring had ended. “Deena?”
A contraction stole my breath, and I moaned into the microphone.
“DEENA!” I could hear Cal’s voice from the phone I’d dropped on top of the hospital bed, but my hands were gripping the blankets and I had to focus on not keeling over and losing consciousness before the end of the contraction.
Fear was a ball in my throat, a pit in my stomach, a constant, sickening sense of dread.
I couldn’t do this. I was going to die. Everything had gone horribly wrong, and I was all alone, and this was the end.
I’d read about this in all those fucking books. How fear and pain and panic were intertwined, and I had to do my best to leash the fear in order to master the pain.
What a fucking joke.
The pain receded. I patted the bed until I found my phone. Cal was still yelling.
“I’m in labor,” I panted. “I need you.”
He crashed through the door an indeterminate amount of time later, right when I collapsed to my knees on the hard tile floor.
“Deena,” he said, his warm hand landing on the small of my back, where the sensation was most intense.
Then his face was there, just next to mine, his eyes wide and terrified.
He was here. I wasn’t alone. Just like that, he was there next to me.
He said something else, but I didn’t hear it. I just grabbed his hand and squeezed it until the contraction receded.
“Pre-eclampsia,” I mumbled, stumbling over the word. “Baby needs to come out.”
Another contraction. Distantly, I heard Cal yell, “Is this normal?” and the nurse reply, “Yes.”
His hands were on my back. He rubbed it, pushed hair off my face, and told me I was strong.
He told me I was amazing. He told me I was so perfect and he’d missed me and he was so glad I called.
Tears ran down my face. He was the only thing keeping me going.
His pale blue eyes. His beautiful lips. That voice I’d missed so much.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when this started.”
“I can’t do it. It’s too much.”
“You can do anything, Deena. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. I love you so much.”
I blinked, shocked. Just then, the anesthesiologist came in the door.
There was a blur of gowns and swabbing and explanations.
More forms. A gigantic needle. Cal crouched on the other side of the bed while the anesthesiologist worked behind me.
He held my hands in his much bigger ones, his eyes steadily holding mine. I couldn’t quite believe he was here.
“You’re going to be such an amazing mom,” he whispered.
My hands convulsively squeezed his. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to be a mom.”
“You’re doing it right now. Doing what’s best for our son.”
Tears streamed down my face. Another contraction came over me, and I had to stay still through it because there was a needle in my back. That was hard—but Cal was there, speaking in that low, steady tone, holding me, loving me.
The pain backed off, and I loosened my grip on him. Cal stood, shaking out his legs and flexing his hands.
“Didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said through panted breaths.
“I deserve it,” he said, a small smile on his lips.
The epidural was in, and I lay down. The pain began to fade, I relaxed—and then suddenly the room filled with people. It was time to push.
Cal stood next to me, clasping my hand in both of his, his eyes darting to all the people, his jaw clenched.
I realized, all of a sudden, that he wasn’t barking orders at them.
He wasn’t demanding a second opinion. He wasn’t telling them how to do their jobs.
Stress was written in every inch of his body, from the tight jaw to the furrowed brow to the stiff line of his shoulders.
He was breathing heavily, but he wasn’t being overbearing.
And these past few months? He hadn’t hunted me down and carried me back to his penthouse. He hadn’t locked me up and forced me to give up my business. He’d waited for me to call, and then he’d dropped everything to be here. And now he was doing nothing but supporting me the way I needed.
His gaze returned to me, and he gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m here,” he said. “I got you.”
“Do you really love me?” I asked, dazed from the drugs and the pain and him.
“Yes.”
“I thought I heard you wrong.”
“I love you more than life itself.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. My mouth was so dry, and it tasted terrible. “I’m not giving up my business for you.”
Cal’s smile was so tender it made my chest ache. “I know,” he murmured. “That’s one of the reasons I love you.”
His words made no sense in my brain—my brain wasn’t working too well at that moment—but something in my heart clicked into place. Accepting his help didn’t mean shrinking or dying. It wasn’t weakness. I could still be me, all the way down to my marrow, and he would love me.
I took a big step, and I found that middle ground. “I love you,” I croaked.
His smile was dazzling, and it shone a light on all the darkest parts of me. The parts he’d always seen and loved. The parts that, until now, I’d wanted to hide.
He leaned closer, one hand gripping mine, the other pushing my sweat-soaked hair off my forehead. “You are my reason for living, Deena. My everything. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life reminding you that you’re amazing.”
Pressure built behind my eyelids, but I managed to hold back my tears. “Your proposal skills really do need work, Cal,” I wheezed. “But that one was better.”
His eyes twinkled. “Was that a yes?”
“All right, Deena,” the nice nurse I’d wanted to murder said. “Time to push. I’ll count you down. Ready?”
My gaze stayed on Cal, and his stayed on me. He held my hand, an immovable pillar of strength and safety by my side. From now until forever.
I answered the nurse and Cal at the same time: “Yes.”
Cal’s face split into a blazing smile, and my heart soared.
Then I pushed.