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Surprise quickly makes way for a smile, and when Kate deems me stable enough to stand all on my own and perches on the edge of her bed, Sunday accepts her hug readily. “You work here?”
“They’ve got my practice on retainer. Feeling okay?”
“Just tired.”
Right. Because it’s, like, four in the morning. “Kate, can you pull some strings and get someone in here quickly so she can get some sleep?”
She feigns offense. “Obviously.”
“That’s really not—”
“August, you wanna help?” Kate interrupts Sunday’s dismissal with a wave of her hand and a wink. “The art of shaking down doctors is a very useful life skill.”
The kid glances at his mom. When she nods, he does too. He kisses her on the cheek before sloping towards Kate, letting her tuck him beneath her arm. “We can hit the cafeteria too. You want anything?”
Sunday shakes her head. “Thanks, Kate.”
Pecking one of my cheeks and patting the other, Kate glides from the room, already educating August on the hierarchy of cafeteria food—any sweet is top tier; if it has cheese, it’s a firm no. As the door closes behind them, it blocks out their chatter, leaving Sunday and me in a stifling silence that’s almost the worst thing to happen tonight.
Displacing the hat on my head—Kate snagged it from the gift shop, the best way to hide bloodshot eyes—I run a hand over my head with a sigh. “Are you really not gonna talk to me?”
Sunday fidgets, clearing her throat. “Are you really gonna stay?”
“Of course, I am.”
She mumbles something beneath her breath. I don’t get the chance to ask her to repeat herself because Kate has kept her word; the same tech from earlier blows into the room, Dr. Murphy making a reappearance too. She smiles as she says something about doing one more check before promising to leave us alone but I’m only half listening.
Now the panic for Sunday has ebbed, worry for the baby has snuck its way in. I’m sick and breathless all over again while I hover awkwardly near Sunday’s head and wait for them to run their tests—another ultrasound, bloods, something involving a speculum that I can’t imagine being particularly comfortable. “It’s just like we discussed,” she tells Sunday. “Just some cervical irritation. Your little girl looks perfectly fine.”
Later, I’ll understand the doctor’s words. I’ll realize whatcervical irritationmeans, especially when it comes to how it’s caused. As of right now, though, I only process one portion of that sentence. “Girl?” I gape at Sunday. “It’s a girl?”
A sharp nod and teary eyes are all I get.
Vaguely, I register the room emptying, but the bulk of my attention belongs solely to the woman refusing to look at me. “When did you find out?”
“I asked after you left.”
“You found out without me?”
“Thought you didn’t care about the baby.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Her hum suggests maybe she doesn’t. “Sunday.”
“I’m tired, Cass. I don’t wanna do this right now.”
“I think we need to.” Grabbing the armchair tucked in the corner of the room, I drag it to Sunday’s bedside, plopping myself on the leather seat. Elbows on my knees, I lean forward, snagging Sunday’s hand before she can pull it away, sandwiching it between both of mine. “I was scared, Sunday. I heard August screaming and I saw the blood and I just…”Panickedfeels too weak a word.Felt my soul leave my bodysounds a bit dramatic.Was struck with the sudden, terrifyingly confronting thought that if something happened to her, I would never recoveris… a lot. Fighting off a tremor at the mere thought, I bring her hand to my lips, brushing them against the warm back of her hand. “I’m so sorry it came out like that, Sunday, but we can make another baby. Can’t make another you.”
A guttural noise escaping her, sage eyes finally meet mine. Filled with hesitance, they search, seeking out any ounce of bullshit, I’m sure, as sure as I am that she won’t find any. A long moment passes before they soften and gloss over, dropping to her lap once again. Sniffing, Sunday shifts to one side of the bed slightly, a silent cue that I take eagerly. It’s a tight squeeze, both of us in the tiny hospital bed, but we make it work. I certainly have no complaints about Sunday clinging to me to stop from falling off the edge, nor do I have any qualms clinging right back.
Burying my face in her hair, I breathe deeply, my first real breath in hours, and as she presses her face against my neck, I have a gut feeling she does the same thing.
“I’m sorry I found out without you,” she murmurs, voice thick and wet. “I just wanted to know. In case.”
“It’s okay.” I stroke a hand down the back of her head, my fingers tangling in the ends of thick, brown waves. “A girl, hey?”
Quiet sniffles become a full-on sob. “Yeah.”
“We’ve got a daughter, sunshine.”
