“Everything okay?”he demands.
“Yes,” the nurse answers for the fiftieth time.
I squeeze his hand so hard he hisses.
“You did this to me,” I growl.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re never touching me again.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re very agreeable,” the nurse observes.
“He’s terrified,” I say, glaring at him between breaths.
“I ain’t terrified,” Humbug argues.“I’m… concerned.”
A contraction slams through me.I scream.
“Okay, maybe I’m terrified,” he admits.
When the anesthesiologist comes in holding a needle the size of a candy cane, Humbug goes sheet-white.
“You’re puttin’ THAT in her spine?!”
“You wanna trade places?”I snap.
He shuts up immediately.
Once the epidural kicks in, the edges blur enough that I can breathe again.Not relax, never relax, but breathe.
Out in the hallway, I hear pacing, heavy boots, muttering, someone clearing their throat theatrically.
Then Frost’s massive head pokes in.
“How’s she doin’?”he whispers like a giant trying to be sneaky.
“Like a damn warrior,” Humbug answers, puffing his chest.
Honey kicks them all out.“Get gone!Y’all sound like a herd of reindeer out there!”
Feet shuffle.Doors close.Silence returns.
I exhale.“They all came?”
“They weren’t stayin’ behind,” Humbug says quietly.“You’re family.”
Tears hit my eyes out of nowhere.Hormones.It’s absolutely hormones.
Hours pass in waves of pain and pressure and nurses telling me to rest, like I can.Humbug doesn’t leave my side.He stares at the monitor like he can will the heartbeat line to stay steady.
When the doctor finally walks in and says, “Time to push,” something fierce and terrified awakens inside me.
Fear and hope and heartbreak and joy, all mixed up like Christmas punch.
“Push,” she says.
