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“I don’t know,” I repeat.
“How could you not know?!” Ryke yells, mostly out of panic. “This is your third kid.”
I touch my hand to my chest. “I’m still not an expert like Rose.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Ryke motions to me. “You’re just as smart as her. Three babies or six or none. It’s all just fucking…” he trails off as he watches fright invade me. “Are you crying?”
“No.” I wipe beneath my eyes, a tear on my finger. “Rose wouldn’t cry.”
“You’re not Rose,” he says harshly. “And you don’t have to fucking be her. She wouldn’t want you to be anyone other than you.”
I nod. He’s right. I just thought having a little extra Rose strength wouldn’t hurt, but maybe all Xander needs is my strength.
I wince at another sharp pain, and I tighten my eyes shut.
Ryke slides even closer and starts asking a thousand questions. Where does it fucking hurt? What can I do to fucking help? Do you need to lie down? Do you want my fucking sweater as a pillow?
I wave my hand at him to stop. He quiets, and I whisper, “Just…talk about something else. Distract me?” My anxiety and fear could be to blame. Relax, relax, relax, I chant.
I open one eye.
Ryke flips his phone in his palm. “If you hate his fucking name, you can always pick another one.”
My other eye pops open. “What? No.” I didn’t think he’d bring up this. “Lo and I love the name Xander.” After we learned we were having a boy, we began brainstorming names from our favorite comic book characters. Months passed with too many options and more indecision. It wasn’t as easy as Maximoff and Luna.
So we gave our long list of potential baby names to Ryke and told him to pick one.
He handed back the list, and he circled a name but crossed off a portion of the letters.
Alexander Summers
Also known as Havok from X-Men and the brother to Scott Summers. His choice made Lo choke up, especially when Ryke said that he researched every name before he picked this one.
He only needed to choose a first name since we haven’t given our children middle ones—out of the pure fact that we want them to go by their first name. And not a second one.
“Good, I’m…” Ryke starts. “…Lily? Fuck.”
I must be pale because he puts his hand to my forehead. I speak quickly, “I can’t have this baby today. It’s Christmas Eve.” This tacky Christmas sweater party is a late-night adult-only event. All the children are in bed and together at the Cobalt estate. It’s like a giant slumber party for them, and Poppy opted out of joining the adults, so she’s there in case anyone wakes up and needs a parent.
I ramble on, “Tomorrow is Christmas, and I’m supposed to watch Maximoff and Luna open presents. Daisy will film everyone and narrate—I’ll miss the narration! I can’t miss it.” I blow out a shaky breath.
“Hey, you can replay the video at any fucking time.”
My hands on my abdomen, I say to Xander, “Don’t come out yet. Please.” I swear he just nosedives down, down, down. I grab hold of something to squeeze, which happens to be Ryke’s wrist. “I just wanted a sugar cookie!”
I doubt Lo would’ve brought me home any extra, and if he did, there would’ve been a great possibility that he would’ve eaten it in front of me. He’s a cookie tease too.
Ryke tries opening his internet again, but nothing will load. Out of service. Everything is out of service except my body, which keeps trucking along. I bite down and scream through my teeth, the next sharp pain comes quick and severe.
His jaw hardens, and so do his eyes, his panic bottled unlike mine. “Hey, Lily.” He takes off his sweater, balls up the soft wool, and stuffs the makeshift pillow behind my lower back while I slouch against the wall. “Whatever happens here, it doesn’t fucking change us. You’re my friend, and I love you. Alright?”
Tears well, and I nod over and over. I know what this means.
Ryke has to look between my legs.
I don’t recoil or balk or turn red. I’m not flooded with embarrassment. Just overcome with pain and determination. This isn’t just about me. It’s about Xander, and I need help.
I squeeze Ryke’s wrist at the next contraction, and he slides my hand into his calloused palm. I try to focus on the roughness and hardness of his hand—a rock climber hand. The thought nearly drifts me away from the pain. I breathe out measured breaths.
Just as I start to shimmy my leggings down my thighs, not wearing underwear today. Ryke helps me a little, and I stop halfway at an incoming contraction—and then something else.
I wince. Oh my God.
Wetness trickles between my legs, soaking part of my leggings.
“Fuck,” he curses. Reality just smacked both of us in the face.
My water broke.
I’m going into labor.
In this elevator. Without Lo. Without a hospital. No doctors, no pain medication, or anyone to ensure that Xander is healthy and alive at the end.
“Nonono,” I repeat, knocking my head back against the wall. I stare at the ceiling. “Lo,” I cry. “I need Lo.” I scream towards the elevator hatch. “LO!!” I can’t do this without Lo. I don’t know how to do this without him. “LO!!!” My wail breaks in half.
Ryke clasps my face. “Lily, Lily, shhh, it’s going to be alright.”
“I need Lo. I can’t do this without Lo.” Hot tears cascade down my cheeks. “Lo,” I croak. Lo please find me.
He always finds me.
“Lily fucking focus.” Ryke grips my cheeks harder, and my eyes fall to him. “You got through three fucking months without him. I was there with you. Remember that?”
I nod tearfully. When Lo went to rehab. We were all so much younger. I rub at my eyes but then I clutch my chest. My heart is rupturing into a thousand shards. “I don’t want to do this without him.”
“But you’re going to fucking need to.”
The emotional turmoil trumps every ounce of pain. The contractions descend beneath agony that burns through me.
My knees are already bent, my legs already spread. Ryke pulls the leggings off my ankles. Star Wars calf-high holiday socks and my ugly sweater still on. Ten floors above us, people are laughing, clinking eggnog, and rosy-cheeked with Christmas cheer.
Ryke peeks between my legs. I don’t watch.
“You have to start timing your fucking contractions.” He messes with his stopwatch on his wrist. “Tell me when the next one comes.”
I shake my head dazedly and then nod. Tears slick on my cheeks. I mumble out responses, sickness rising in my throat. My love for Lo overwhelms me in ways most would chastise. It’s too much. It’s too toxic. Stop it.
He’s a part of me.
He’s in my soul.
It’s always been this way.
His absence tears and tears my insides. Any other moment. I’d give up
three months with him again, just to have him here right now for this birth. I’d cash in all Christmas miracles. I tell that to Ryke, I think, because I hear something about a fucking Christmas miracle—but I lose track of the details.
I try to reroute my head. Baby. Being born.
It’ll be okay.
It’ll be okay.
Even if he’s not here?
It’ll be okay.
I want him here.
It’ll be okay.
I cry. I wipe my nose. I’ve lost sight of my contractions, and I try to tell Ryke that, but he says not to worry.
Maybe I’m truly delusional—but I swear the ceiling hatch opens. Some blonde man I’ve never seen sticks his head in, assessing the area.
“LO!” I scream. It’s all I think to say.
Then the blonde man disappears.
And then. “LILY!!”
It’s Lo, his voice near. I listen to rustling up above, and then his sharp features come into view, his head in the hatch opening. His longer hair on top falls towards his eyes.
I burst into more tears, overcome at the sight of him. He’s here. He’s here.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it all. Is this a fantasy where I make-believe he’s in my arms? It wouldn’t be the first time I confused pretend with reality. My heart aches.
I watch him disappear.
No. “No,” I choke. Come back.
I hear urgent chatter, and then he drops down the ceiling hatch. His feet land on the floor, his black ugly sweater rising on his waist, red and green threads stitched like a DJ elf spinning records.
He wastes no time, his knees beside me, his hands on my cheeks. “I’m here. I’m here, Lil,” he repeats. I hone in on his amber eyes that contain a million I love yous and a thousand more concerns.
“Is this real?” I blink and my tears slip along his hands.
Lo nods. “This is real, love.”
He kisses me, a desperate irresistible kiss that soothes my emotions. When he breaks apart, I wince, the pain below slamming towards me like a car crash. As much as it hurts, I’d take it over the other pain. I would. Any day.
“When did her water break?” Lo asks, sliding over towards my legs.
Ryke checks his watch and shifts towards my side by the wall. “About an hour ago.”
