Before She Was Mine

by Amelia Wilde

  “Ready?” Wes says it like he’s said it a million times, and all the memories flash into my mind. Ready at the back door of the house, at the top of the sledding hill, at the beginning of a game.

  Dayton takes my other arm. “Go.”

  They pick me up and place me in the cab between them, and through the haze of pain, I hear Day giving the address of the hospital to the cab driver. “Fast,” he says to the driver. I lift my head to see his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. They look concerned. I know what that’s about.

  “Your car’s going to be fine,” I shout.

  I have three more contractions in the car. By the time we reach the hospital, the intensity of each one is way over my head, blurring out everything else.

  For the first time in my life, I feel trapped inside my own body. The contractions are so strong, it’s like a vise around my belly, and holy shit, it hurts. When they let up, the relief is so sweet.

  And so short.

  I am caught in a series of animal needs. I refuse the wheelchair on the way to labor and delivery.

  “Are you sure? Sunny, it’s just—”

  “I’m not sitting down,” I thunder at Day, and he exchanges a look with the nurse who’s there with the chair.

  “It’s not far,” she says.

  It might as well be a hundred miles.

  I brace against the wall with every contraction, leaning into it.

  Day is always with me, his hands on my lower back, on my hips. Voices blend with one another. A nurse shows him how to give me counter-pressure, and he does. He must be the only one strong enough to do it. He is the only one strong enough to stand with me through this.

  He’s the only one I’ve ever wanted.

  In the delivery room, his hands work at my clothes even as I shout at him to get them off of me. The maternity tank I loved so much feels like rubber against my skin. I’m hot. I’m so hot.

  My water breaks, gushing onto the floor beneath me, and everything intensifies. I thought it was bad before, but this is hell. I cannot get away from my own body, but even if I could, I’d never want to be away from him.

  Or the baby.

  The only way I can survive this is on my hands and knees. Day sits on the bed and I press my head into his chest with each howling contraction. The smell of him is my only comfort.

  “Lay down,” he says softly, during one of those islands of peace. “Lay down, Sunny.”

  “Why?” I don’t want to.

  “You have no choice, sweetheart.”

  He moves out of the way and helps me turn. “Ten centimeters,” says one of the nurses, her voice cool, a soothing balm. The next contraction comes down hard. Someone in the room is screaming.

  “It’s time to push, honey,” says the nurse from the foot of the bed. “That’s it. That’s it. Ten—nine—eight—” The numbers trip over one another in my mind. She turns to look over her shoulder. There are other people in the room, people I’ve not noticed before, people pulling down a warming bed and unwrapping tools, people preparing in a hurry.

  I need something to hold onto.

  I need something—

  Day takes my hand. I blink and the red at the edges of my vision clears. “You’re tough, Sunny. You’re doing this.”

  “It hurts,” I tell him.

  “You’re the toughest girl in the world,” he says.

  “One more push,” says the nurse. “One, two, three.”

  44

  Dayton

  “You’re still here.”

  Wes shifts in the waiting room chair and blinks. “Wasn’t asleep. I was on guard,” he mumbles, and then his eyes open wide. “Holy shit. Holy shit, Day, there she is.” His voice is filled with wonder and sleep. He jumps up from the chair and shakes himself out. He’s still wearing the same t-shirt and jeans as before. Somehow, it surprises me. It seems like we’ve been here forever.

  “Here she fucking is, man.”

  My daughter.

  She is here in my arms, fresh and soft and recently bathed. Her tiny, pink face is creased as if she’s been sleeping for a long time. She’s sleeping now, in my arms, swaddled in hospital blankets with baby footprint patterns. As I watch her—as we both watch her—her mouth squeezes into a pout and then relaxes again.

  Wes clears his throat. “Is—is everything cool? That guy from the office isn’t going to come bursting in here, is he?” There’s a tired worry in his eyes.

  “No. Summer’s office called a little while ago. They arranged to get him admitted at a place. I guess he was a suicide risk.” I don’t want to think about Alexei, but even Summer asked about him. These Sullivans. “The police are going to be keeping an eye on him for a long time.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Wes smiles down at the baby. “She’s safe, then.”

  “Do you want to hold her?”

  He smiles, making a small ttt sound with his tongue. “You think I should?” He puts a hand to the back of his neck. “Mom’s going to be pissed I got to hold her first.”

  “You can tell her I got to hold her first. Throw me under the bus. I don’t care.”

  “Okay. Should I—” He motions to the chair.

  I give him a look. “You can do this standing up.”

  “All right. All right.”

  I lean in close and transfer her gently into his waiting arms. “Support her neck.”

  “I know.” He looks down into her face and his eyebrows rise. “Wow,” he says softly.

  “I know.”

  All of me is aching from the lack of adrenaline, and that’s probably what makes me so fucking sappy. But my chest warms at the sight of him in this waiting room. He didn’t have to wait here. He didn’t have to walk back into my life at all. But sometimes the past has a tight grip.

  “So—” He moves from side to side a little. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” I’m suddenly bereft without the little weight of her in my arms, so I stick my hands in my pocket. “She’s a month early, so they were worried she might not be, you know, ready to be on the outside, but everything’s fine. She’s a little on the petite side. Six pounds even.”

  “That’s good.” Wes flicks his eyes back to me. “And Sunny?”

  “Sleeping.”

  Wes laughs quietly. “I was going to go in and give her a high-five, but—”

  “Another time.”

  “Another time,” he agrees. Then he looks at me, waiting.

  “What?”

  “Dude.” He turns his attention back to the most precious thing that exists on the planet. “What’s her name?”

  I can’t stop the ridiculous grin. “January.”

  “You’re shitting me,” he says, so gently I stifle my laugh with my hand.

  “No. It was Summer’s idea.”

  “A winter baby born when it’s hotter than blazes.” Wes is incredulous. “You would do that.”

  I think of how brave Summer’s been all day. One thing after another. Alexei. The baby coming early. Those moments of fear when she was first born, when we didn’t know if she was going to spend any time in the NICU. “It’s true. I’d let her get away with murder.”

  “Why January? Why not September?”

  Summer’s eyes, blue in the dim light of the delivery room, shining with pride and exhaustion. “She said January was when the before was finally over.”

  Wes looks to the side, eyes crinkling. “I don’t think I need to hear any more about that.”

  We stand in a comfortable silence. He looks down at January, who stirs lightly in his arms and settles back to sleep. I’m still shaken up by how different everything is now. A few hours ago, she was a figure of speech, a future plan, and now she’s here, shifting the gravity of the earth. How can someone so small change the way the planet spins? I don’t know, but she’s doing it.

  I never imagined that Wes would be here for this. Not in my wildest dreams. For years, I’ve thought that even if we ran into each other, it would all be brok
en. I blink hard. No. This is real. We’re here in this empty waiting room in the middle of the night, both of us still alive.

  “I missed you, man.”

  He looks at me, then back down at January. “I don’t like admitting this kind of shit, but I missed you, too.”

  I laugh.

  “You turned out okay without me.”

  “That’s the thing.” January fusses and he stands up, tense. I take my hands out of my pockets and accept her back into my arms. She turns her face to my shirt and nuzzles, her mouth puckered in a baby frown. Then, just like that, the storm has passed. She curls up again and I stroke her forehead. “I’m better with you around. I know, it seems—stop laughing, you ass—it seems stupid, but I need you in my life. This little girl’s going to need you, too.”

  Wes nods, looking down at the bundle in my arms. “Shit, man.”

  Then he steps forward and puts one arm around my shoulders, patting my back, being extra careful not to crowd the baby.

  “Mr. Nash?”

  Wes steps back and shoves his hands into his pockets, blinking fast.

  “Yeah?”

  One of the nurses has poked her head into the door of the waiting room. “Summer’s asking for you.”

  “I gotta go. You should go, too. Get some sleep.”

  Wes looks at me with a crooked grin. “Congratulations, man.”

  He leads the way out of the waiting room, then heads to the right. Summer’s room is down to the left. I watch him walk away, his head held high. A little way down the hall, he raises one fist in the air, a silent celebration.

  “Hey,” I call after him. He stops, turning on his heel. “You coming back tomorrow?”

  “It’ll be a fucking madhouse. My parents—” He rolls his eyes.

  “Be here,” I tell him.

  “I’ll be here.”

  45

  Summer

  I wake up to singing.

  For a long while, I don’t want to open my eyes. I can’t. I’m pinned down by how utterly wrung out I feel. Every muscle aches. It’ll be time again for painkillers soon, I hope.

  Then I focus in again on the singing. It’s Dayton.

  I stretch out under the hospital sheets, inch by inch. I feel accomplished. And…empty. His voice is so sweet and soft. I can hardly make out the words. A few, here and there, and then I recognize it.

  “—before I met you,” he sings, then starts humming the tune.

  I open my eyes.

  He’s in the rocker facing the window, January in his arms. Both of them are bathed in the creamy gray light of early morning. My eyes well with tears at the sight of them.

  I gingerly push myself up on one elbow, and Day stops humming and turns. “Hey, gorgeous.”

  I groan. “I am a wreck.”

  He stands up and comes over to the bed, and I make room. It’s not a very wide bed, so I’m right up against the plastic railing, but I don’t care. The line of his body against mine, even in his jeans and t-shirt, makes me feel a thousand times better.

  “You’re not a wreck.” I hold out my arms for January and he puts her tenderly into my arms. It’s the most natural thing I’ve ever done, holding her. I was afraid, at odd moments during the pregnancy, that I wouldn’t know what to do when she was born. But when they put her on my chest for the first time, everything changed. “You made this wonder of a person.”

  “We did.” A glow of pride sweeps over me. Then the ache sets in again. “What time is it?”

  “Just after five.” He seems to read my mind. “They’ll be back at five-thirty with your next round of painkillers.”

  “Thank God.”

  Day curls his arm around me and pulls us both in close. “Is it bad?”

  I think about it. “It’s pretty bad,” I admit. “But all things considered, I’d do it again.”

  He laughs out loud and January startles. “Don’t tempt me.”

  “I’m not. I’m definitely not.” He bends to kiss my cheek. “Not yet, at least.”

  Day reaches over to the bedside table for something. “Did you see these?” It’s a thin stack of papers. “We have to fill out the information for her birth certificate and social security card.”

  “That’s official.”

  He scans through the papers. “Think we should do it now?”

  “You got anything better to do?”

  Dayton grins. “No.” He grabs a pen from the bedside table. “They even left a clipboard.” He lines up the papers on the clipboard, uncaps the pen, and then takes a deep breath. “You sure about January?”

  “It’s her name,” I say, my throat tightening. God, this is going to be a ride, if even talking about her name makes me choked up. “I’m sure of it. January.” As if she recognizes the name, she opens her eyes and stretches, raising her tiny fists above her head, which is covered in a pink knitted hat. Day stops writing to look at her, and as he does, she opens her mouth and squalls. The sound makes my heart race. “Oh, baby, it’s all right. It’s all right.” I clasp her to me, her cries seeming to get louder every second. “It’s all right…”

  “Maybe she’s hungry,” Dayton hints, and it brings me back to reality.

  “Right.” I laugh a little, the nervousness draining away. Conveniently, my hospital gown has snaps up at the top. I pop them open and pull down the cotton tank top Day bought me at the little gift shop downstairs. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do until we have a chance to get some other things. January wails up to the moment she latches on, then settles. I stare down at her. “Is that—do you think that’s right?”

  “Looks right to me,” Day says. “Looks more than right.” The faintest hint of desire in his voice makes me meet his eyes. They’re shining.

  “Are you hitting on me in the hospital?” I say, my voice rising.

  He raises both hands in the air. “I can’t help it. No, that’s not true. I’ll help it.”

  “Don’t help it,” I tell him. I do not feel desirable right now, but in his eyes, I see hope for the future.

  “Okay.” He focuses back on the paperwork and writes January in clear block letters. The pen hovers over the space for her last name.

  I wait.

  “Are you going to write it?”

  He gives me a sidelong look. “I’m…not exactly sure what to write.”

  “We talked about this, didn’t we?”

  Dayton shakes his head and presses his lips together like he’s carefully reading every line of what has to be the easiest form on the planet. “I think we planned to talk about it, but we never actually did.” His right foot jiggles near the end of the bed. Is he nervous?

  “Nash,” I say simply. “That’s her last name.”

  His eyes go wide. “Are you sure about that?” He takes a deep breath. “That’s a big deal, Sunny. That’s—” Day sits up straight. “I don’t want to mess this up. He laughs a little. “The form, I mean. So if you’re not sure—”

  “Day.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sure about you. I waited for you for a decade. And every single one of those years was worth it.”

  He looks faux-offended. “Only a decade?”

  “I’d wait a thousand years if it meant being with you.” I’m deadly serious, on the verge of tears. Giving birth, it turns out, is no joke.

  Dayton softens. “Sunny, I’d wait forever.” He leans in and kisses me. All the pain melts away under the possessive softness of his lips.

  When we resurface, I look him in the eye. “Write it.”

  He writes down her last name. His last name. Someday soon, it’ll be my last name, too. I’ve already decided.

  “So,” he says, beaming. “Is this a good time to propose?”

  “No way,” I tell him. “I want to at least have washed my hair. And—wait!”

  “What?”

  It was supposed to be a surprise. I was going to pop the question when he wasn’t expecting it. I think he’s forgotten about the ring—the bag from the jewel
ry store has been collecting dust on our kitchen counter ever since. “Nothing. Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  A nurse knocks on the door and pushes her way in carrying a meal tray. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she says, startlingly chipper for this early in the morning.

  “Only the best day of our lives,” Dayton answers, and he means every word.

  46

  Dayton

  Two Weeks Later

  She’s gone.

  I know, because the first thing I do when I wake up is feel for her on the other side of the bed. The sheets are cold. Summer’s not here.

  I sit up and rub my hands over my face. What time is it? Ungodly o’clock, that’s what. January hasn’t settled into a routine yet, and it’s slowly killing the both of us. “Wait two weeks and she’ll be a different baby,” Summer’s mother told us in the hospital that first day. “If anything’s tough, wait two weeks.”

  I hear her.

  I hear the imprint of soft footsteps in the other room, the gentle creak of the floorboards. How long has she been awake?

  I throw my legs over the side of the bed and tug on my prosthetic. It’s still hot, mid-September, and the air-conditioning unit we’ve got running in the bedroom is hardly touching the heat. Still, I appreciate that it’s trying as I pass by in front of it.

  In the doorway of the bedroom, I pause.

  Summer is at the end of the hall, pacing back and forth. She’s wearing panties and a nursing tank, one side unclipped. Her blonde hair is spilling out of the bun it’s tied back in. I can tell by the way she’s walking that she’s been up for hours, letting me sleep.

  God, I love her so much.

  Now’s the time.

  I go back into the bedroom and open the top drawer of the dresser. It takes maneuvering around a bunch of boxers and nursing bras to get to it, but there it is, in the back left corner—a small velvet box. I take the ring out and slip it onto my pinky finger.