The Roche Hotel (Short & Sweet Romantic Comedy): Season Three

by Mysti Parker

  “Done!” Brandy sits up, hands held high in victory.

  I do the same. One of the sticky tabs is stuck to my thumb. The diaper comes right off, and the poor plastic baby falls to the floor on its head. Gasps arise from all the mothers-to-be. Brandy giggles.

  “Oops. Newbie.” Scooping up my freaky plastic baby, I give a nervous laugh.

  Lisa tosses Brandy a Ghirardelli, but then she tosses me one too. “I think you could use one of these.”

  Boy, can I ever.

  “And how about a bonus? You’re one brave soul. Just don’t let a real baby have it.”

  “Gotcha.” She tosses me a watermelon Ring Pop, and I plop it in my purse for later. Score!

  We move on to the women lying on their sides, practicing complete relaxation, while their partners massage their lower backs.

  “You can skip the rubbing,” Brandy whispers.

  “Okay.” Thank God. No way am I going to massage anything of hers. At least I haven’t crossed into that level of lunacy yet.

  Next comes the lactation part of the class. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any weirder, Nurse Jeannie holds up two sock puppets on her hands. I have to blink a few times to realize what they are. One’s a yarn-haired baby and the other is a cotton-stuffed breast made of felt. I burst out laughing, and Brandy has to turn away so she won’t do the same. When Nurse Jeannie spears me with a murderous stare, I excuse myself to the restroom and hide there for the last five minutes of class.

  ****

  Back in the car, Brandy looks over at me and smiles sweetly. “Thanks, Jane. I’m so glad you stayed.”

  “Why? I was the class delinquent.”

  She laughs. “It’s usually so serious in there. All the mothers do is complain and share horror stories of nineteen hour deliveries and stretch marks. You were a good distraction.”

  “If it’s so bad, why do you go? You could read a book or something.” I pull out of the parking lot. Usually, I take the side streets, but decide to head for the interstate so we’ll beat the rush hour migration out of town.

  “I want to do this right, this whole mother thing. I’ve messed up too much already.” She takes a sip of her bottled water and gives me a long, meaningful look. “I don’t have any family here. Or anywhere really. I was a foster kid, moved around a lot. Thought I could move to the city and make it as an actress. When I met Nick, all he ever talked about was how I should go to Hollywood, so I did….we did. But, it didn’t really work out. Not like he thought. He had second thoughts and bolted. So when I found out I was pregnant, I thought I didn’t want to keep the baby. But then I changed my mind and decided to come find him because I wanted my kid to know its father.”

  “Oh.” There’s not much else I can say to that, and to beat it all, I hate her even less now. Dang it.

  After a few moments of heavy silence, she rubs her belly regretfully. “Nick’s a good guy. Better than he used to be.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Do you think he really wants to be a dad?”

  “Well he’s stuck around this long, plus I don’t think he’d be trying so hard to succeed if he didn’t.”

  Red brake lights up ahead multiply across all lanes. I slow to a crawl behind a van that reads ‘Barkley’s Mobile Vet.’ It has a big happy Chihuahua face on one of the rear doors and a red macaw on the other.

  Brandy peers out the windshield, a worried frown on her face. “Are we in a jam?”

  “Hopefully not.”

  We barely creep along for the next half hour, talking about random stuff. I learn Brandy is fluent in Spanish and loves the Dave Matthews Band, while I tell her about all six wives of Henry the VIII and how she should be glad she’s not married to a man who would cut off her head for not bearing a son.

  “Um, Jane?”

  “Yeah?” I look over at Brandy.

  She’s hugging her belly and staring at her lap. “I think my water just broke.”

  “What?! Are you sure you didn’t pee your pants?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  My fingers grip the steering wheel. Holy freaking crap! We’ve slowed to a complete standstill. The LED sign over the interstate flashes: ‘Multi-car accident ahead. Expect long delays.’ I let my forehead hit the steering wheel. What ungodly thing did I do in a past life to deserve this?

  She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “I think I’m having a contraction.”

  “Are you sure? Have you been having them for a while?”

  “All day, but they weren’t bad. I thought it was false labor. I’ve had that before.” Grabbing the door handle, she cries out, “Call Nick!”

  I fish my cell phone from my purse, almost dropping it, and dial Nick’s number. Just when I think he’s not going to answer, he picks up. “Hey babe, what’s up?”

  “Brandy’s in labor.”

  “Oh that’s a good one, Jane. Where are you? It’s getting busy. The plumbing’s fixed though.”

  “Well, that’s nice, and you know what? I thought I’d skip work today and deliver your baby.”

  A loud clamor hurts my ears. I think he dropped his phone. There’s another clamor as he picks it up. “What? Like, now? She’s…the baby?”

  Meanwhile, Brandy’s got her eyes closed trying to relax, but she’s moaning louder with every exhale. I think in class they called it vocalizing the pain or something. Sounded very subdued in there. In reality, it sounds like a dying cat.

  “Her water broke. I don’t know if that means the baby is coming soon, but I’m pretty sure it’s happening before too long.”

  Brandy turns panic-stricken eyes on me. “I need to push.”

  “What? No! Hold it in or something.” In total survival mode, I start honking the horn. The shoulder’s too narrow to drive around the other cars unless they can move out of my way. But we’re all packed in like sardines. Not happening.

  “What’s going on?” Nick’s yelling at me and yelling at people in the background. “Where are you?”

  “65 South, just past the Jefferson exit. But we’re in a traffic jam. Complete standstill. You can’t get a car in here.”

  “Okay, call 911. I’ll figure out how to get there. Hold tight.”

  “Yeah, like I can do anything else.”

  He hangs up. I keep honking while dialing 911. The driver’s door on the mobile vet clinic flies open, and a man with scrubs gets out, marching toward my car. He looks ticked. But he’s like the animal doctor version of Patrick Dempsey, so I can probably forgive him for any profanity that may ensue. I roll the window down, frantically pointing at Brandy.

  “What’s the big –?” He steps back, eyes wide. “Oh geez! How far apart are the contractions?”

  I look at Brandy with a helpless shrug.

  She screams, “I have to push!”

  I turn back to the vet. “I’d say we’re past that point now.”

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  The dispatcher’s voice catches me off guard, so I try to form an intelligent response on the fly. “Baby. In the car. Will be in the car. She’s in labor.”

  “Okay, ma’am, calm down. What’s your location? Are you in labor?”

  “No, not me, it’s…my ex-husband’s girlfriend. She’s in my car. Please hurry.”

  “Has there been some domestic altercation?”

  I don’t have time to explain the weirdness. “No, just send somebody quick, please.”

  I give her our location and am assured they’ll be here in twenty minutes. How they’ll squeeze an ambulance in here, I have no idea. But before I have time to worry about it, Vet McDreamy has opened Brandy’s door and is kneeling there with a bag of medical supplies and towels he retrieved from his van.

  “Let’s get her to the back seat,” he says. “What’s your name?”

  “Jane Seymour.”

  “Like the actress?"

  "No, like Henry the Eighth's third wife."

  "Oh, the one who lost her head?"

&nb
sp; "No..." I've had this same conversation X to the nineteenth times by now.

  "Stop talking!" Brandy screams.

  "This is Brandy," I say.

  "Nathan Barkley."

  I wonder how many people give him crap about that name?

  "Nice to meet you both," he says, "not considering the circumstances. Do you have any blankets, pillows, bags, water – anything like that?”

  “I think so.”

  Running around to the trunk, I grab my emergency blanket and some empty grocery bags, although I don’t want to think about what will go in them. Then I open the rear driver’s side door and spread the blanket over the seat. I have a feeling it won’t be waterproof enough. Nick’s definitely going to owe me a new car after this. Dr. Barkley helps Brandy ease down to sit while I put my arms under hers and help scoot her back until she’s lying across the seat. He takes some scissors from his bag and cuts across the bottom of her romper since it’s impossible to remove it as is.

  Note to self: Never wear an overall-romper thing when you’re pregnant. Skirts. All skirts.

  “She needs to be propped up. Easier to push that way,” he says.

  “Wait, aren’t you a vet? Are you sure you can do this? Is the baby that ready?”

  He arches one sarcastic eyebrow. “See anyone else more qualified at the moment? And yes, I can see the head.”

  “Holy crap. Is this common for a first child?”

  “With childbirth, you have to expect the unexpected. Brandy, I’m going to need you to push on the next contraction.”

  Brandy screams and tenses up like an overturned turtle trying to right itself when the contraction hits.

  “What can I do?” I ask.

  “Help her relax,” Dr. Barkley instructs.

  “Okay.” I don’t have any pillows to prop her up with, so I wedge myself against her back.

  “I can’t do this!” she wails. “I want Nick!”

  I may be a birthing class delinquent, but I channel everything I remember during the ‘relax and breathe’ segment. “Yes, you can. He’s on his way. Just breathe. Try to relax.”

  “You try relaxing when it feels like you’re trying to push out a watermelon!” Sweating and swearing, she does manage to close her eyes at the next contraction.

  “Okay, Brandy, another push,” Dr. Barkley says. The guy’s so calm, you’d think he delivered babies all the time. Maybe he’s a puppy obstetrician or something.

  She grits her teeth and pushes hard.

  I find myself pushing along with her as I play birthing coach. “Good, Brandy, you made it through that one. Now relax starting with your toes, then your legs.” Crap, what’s next? The leg bone’s connected to the… “Oh, now relax your hips.”

  We continue like that until the next contraction comes. Then she makes a confession. “Nick came back here for you. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  She says through gritted teeth, “You can’t have him back.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. He’s all yours.” Maybe labor works sort of like a truth serum. I could probably get all kinds of information, but we don’t have time for that.

  “It’s crowning!” Dr. Barkley says.

  “What does that mean? Is that a vet term?” If I’d have known baby delivery was going to be on my resume, I’d have attended a lot more birthing classes.

  The vet looks at me like I’m one crayon short of a full box. “It means the baby is coming out. Okay, Brandy, one more nice big push on the next contraction. You can do this.”

  She latches onto my arms with a steel clamp grip. There goes my circulation. At the same time, I realize cars are starting to move past us. Sirens blare in the distance, and an odd buzzing noise is getting closer.

  “Okay, now Brandy, deep breath and one big steady push.” Dr. Barkley's sweating bullets, but is poised like a quarterback ready to catch whatever comes out.

  The buzzing grows louder, as do the sirens, and then Nick’s voice cries out over the din. “Brandy! I’m coming, hold on!”

  I peer out the back glass to see Henry driving a moped, buzzing toward us on the shoulder. Nick’s on the back, and as soon as they skid to a stop, he jumps off and runs over.

  “You the dad?” Dr. Barkley asks.

  “Yeah, and is that what I think it is?” Nick bends down to look closer, a mixture of nausea and wonder on his face.

  “Yep, it’s your baby. Grab that hand sanitizer out of my bag and clean your hands. Then put on a pair of rubber gloves. You can do the honors of catching.”

  Brandy doesn’t acknowledge any of us. She’s totally focused on squeezing out her kid, and also on squeezing the life out of my arms. Henry runs over to my side and settles himself against my back, which I didn’t realize was aching so bad until now.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers.

  “Yeah. I can’t feel my arms, but yeah. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  Just when I think the push of all pushes won’t produce anything, Dr. Barkley says, “The head’s out, just one more little push….”

  He scoots over a bit to let Nick kneel there. And with one little push, a wet, wiggly baby is suddenly in Nick’s hands. “It’s a boy! Brandy, we got us a boy!”

  Brandy gives him an exhausted smile. “Is he okay?”

  The vet wraps the baby up with a towel and rubs him briskly. Then come some good loud cries as though the kid’s mad about being so rudely evicted.

  “He looks perfect.” Nick lays him on Brandy’s stomach. The two of them are laughing and crying, and it’s one big happy fest in the back of my car.

  Traffic quickly clears, allowing the ambulance to reach us. Soon the new family is loaded up in the back. Nick hugs Dr. Barkley and stuffs a hundred dollar bill in his hand. “You’re a lifesaver, thanks doc.”

  “All in a day’s work,” he says with a salute and opens the door of his vetmobile. Then he turns to me with a wink. “You did good, Jane. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

  “Maybe.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was coming on to me.

  Henry revs up his moped, glaring daggers at the vet.

  I climb in my car. We follow the ambulance in one odd caravan of mismatched vehicles.

  ****

  An hour later, we’re standing outside the nursery at the hospital. Brandy is settled in one of the recovery rooms. Henry goes down to get us some coffee, while Dr. Barkley talks to the doctor and nurses about the delivery.

  Nick has his palms on the window, staring with wonder at the pink, wrinkly bundle in the incubator. “Do you think he’s mine?” he whispers.

  “Why don’t you go get that portable paternity test kit out of my purse?”

  He looks at me like he thinks I’m serious.

  “Of course he’s yours. Look at that black swirl of hair on his forehead and that little cleft in his chin. He looks like a cross between Clark Kent and a shady car salesman.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I had no idea you could deliver babies.”

  “Neither did I. You owe me a car.”

  “Whatever you want, just pick it out.” He digs in his shirt pocket and pulls out a small square box. A tiny moment of panic sets in when he opens it to reveal an engagement ring with one big diamond. “I’ve waited long enough. I was going to propose to her tonight, but well…” He gestures toward his son.

  I let out a big breath of relief. “Do it. She deserves that after today.”

  He snaps the box closed, gives me a brief hug and whispers, “Thanks, babe.” Then he hurries off to Brandy’s room just at Henry steps out of the elevator with our coffee. He even gives Henry a one-armed hug before disappearing down the hall.

  Looking utterly confused, Henry hands me a cup. “What was that for?”

  “I don’t know. Just go with it.” I slide into his embrace, and my heart swells with love for this man. He sure as heck didn’t have to give Nick a ride, but he did. Had he been any other man, he’d
have probably turned tail and run screaming months ago with all the crazy he’s had to endure with me. I never want to let him go, and maybe it’s the adrenaline of an impromptu baby delivery, but I set my coffee down and rifle through my purse.

  Then I pull out the Ring Pop and unwrap it. Holding Henry’s hand to keep my wobbly legs from buckling, I go down on one knee.

  He glances around while an uncertain smile plays on his handsome lips. “Jane, what are you doing?”

  I hold up the Ring Pop. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “But, honey, are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

  He pulls me to my feet and lets me slip the Ring Pop on his finger. It only goes past the first knuckle. He takes a lick. “Mm, watermelon, my favorite.”

  “Well?”

  Henry’s answer is a heart-stopping kiss.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” We both laugh and hold each other tight. This past year of my life has been one crazy roller coaster that I didn’t want to ride at first. Now, I never want to get off.

  THE END

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  From historical to fantasy, from super sweet to scandalously spicy, Mysti Parker has Romance for Every Reader's Taste.