by Alice Ward
Olivia, who’d just stepped up to the desk, wagged a finger at me. “No raw fish. Don’t make me kick your ass.”
I laughed. “I won’t. I’d probably throw up just smelling it.”
I’d been lucky to not have terrible morning sickness even though certain smells always made me gag.
“Besides,” Melinda cut in, “the sushi bar is just for doctors. Be sure to read the asterisks before you get your hopes up.”
I reread the schedule. Asterisk. Asterisk. Asterisk. “Well, at least we get the donut and coffee breakfast. It pisses me off. The rich people always get the free stuff,” I grouched and rubbed my belly. I’d buy my own damn sushi once these little guys came out.
“Why don’t you spend half your life getting a medical degree if you’re going to complain.”
I closed my eyes, recognizing the voice. It belonged to the most egotistical doctor on the floor. Very slowly, I turned my chair toward him, making sure my belly protruded even more than usual, hoping that would gain me a little sympathy from his razor tongue. “Sorry, Dr. McCormick,” I said sweetly. “I was just grousing. You deserve everything you get.”
Behind him, Olivia made a smoochy face, mimicking me kissing his ass, but he didn’t see her, just continued on down the hallway, cutting me some much needed slack. I wiped fake sweat off my forehead and turned back to the phone, determined not to get into any more trouble today.
***
“Argh.”
Amy smirked at me from her position on the floor where she was folding baby clothes. “You sound like a pirate.”
I leaned backwards, stretching out my back, then went through a series of other stretches, hoping to get the ache just above my tailbone to relax. I bent forward, reaching as if trying to touch my toes, which was laughable. I hadn’t seen those suckers in weeks.
“What am I going to do?”
My one bedroom was tiny and would soon have to fit three people. Granted, two of those people were very small, but it would still be ridiculously cramped.
“You’ll be fine. I’m going to hang the curtains up and your adorable baby alcove will be complete.”
I still wasn’t so sure. I had planned on making my bedroom the baby room while I slept in the living area. I was going to sell my regular-sized bed, buy a small daybed for me, and call it done.
Amy pitched a fit over the idea, insisting that I’d need as much rest as I could get. “Besides, they’re babies. They won’t care where they sleep.” Then she’d come up with the idea of setting the cribs in the corner of the living room, creating an L-shape with them against two walls.
It was actually going to be cute, but I still felt like a bad mother for not doing better by them. What was I going to do when it was time for them to go to school? Prom? College? Weddings? It was terrifying, and I could easily go down a rabbit hole of panic every time I thought about it.
I was now thirty-five weeks and three days, and I couldn’t believe how fast and slowly the time was passing by. I was seeing my ob-gyn on a weekly basis now, and just yesterday, she had given me good and bad news.
“You’re dilated to three and about forty percent effaced.” I’d been having mild contractions but was still surprised at the news. “Let’s do the steroid shots for the babies’ lungs. We’ll do one today and one tomorrow. You know the drill.”
I did know the drill, so I’d gotten the shot yesterday and then waddled back to her office for one this morning. It was really scary knowing the babies could come at any time. It gave me a new appreciation for my laboring mothers.
One thing for sure, I was going to be an even better nurse from this day forth. I’d be the most sympathetic, compassionate nurse on the whole entire planet. I’d never roll my eyes at contractions or swollen feet. I’d be the picture of supportive, a thousand times more so than I was before twin-gate occurred.
Before he occurred.
God, I missed him.
“Are you okay?” Amy asked, her hawk eyes focusing in on me. “You look sad. Are you thinking about him?”
My lips fluttered with the exhale of my breath, and I picked up the iron to continue to smooth out the wrinkles in the fabric we were going to hang as a pretty barrier between the babies’ space and the living area. “I can’t stop thinking about him, Amy. It seems like the closer we get to the babies coming, the more he’s on my mind.”
Climbing the step stool, Amy positioned the rods of the first curtain. I’d chosen an elegant gray for the fabric divider, and it had been a good choice, creating a neutral balance to the pinks and blues of the cribs.
Gender neutrality people would hate me, but I loved the soft colors that felt right for both of my children. As they grew older, I vowed to let little Sofi or Silla play with cars and little Samuel have tea parties with dolls. But only if that was what they wanted.
“Do you know what drives me crazy about it all?” I asked Amy, handing her another panel.
“That he’s not here to rub your feet?”
I tried to see my toes. Failed. Shrugged. “Well, that, but I hate that he’s off doing whatever he’s doing, and he has zero clue that his buns are nearly finished baking. I mean, he’s probably thrilled that he doesn’t know. He practically told me that he didn’t want to be tied down to anything.”
Amy smoothed the curtain. “I get what you’re saying though. Can you imagine how weird it would be to not know that you have two kids? It seems like you’d, I don’t know, feel them or something. Guess it doesn’t work like that.”
Oh, how I wished he would feel them, gravitate back to them. To me.
How I wished I’d woken up that morning and begged him for his name, given him mine. But I hadn’t woken. I’d always slept like the dead. I could remember my mother complaining about trying to get me to wake up for school when I was little. “Bombs could go off and you wouldn’t even flinch,” she’d said often, usually while I was running around like a crazy person trying to get ready.
What if I couldn’t wake up when the babies needed me? What if I let them starve to death because their cries went unattended? What if kidnappers burst through the doors and took them while I slept through it all?
My stomach tightened as the panic of my racing questions made it hard to breathe. My belly grew even harder, enough that I could really feel it this time. Automatically, I checked my watch just out of habit. Probably just another Braxton Hicks, but it didn’t hurt to keep an eye on things.
The contraction didn’t last long, and I got busy ironing the next curtain, eager to see the alcove finished.
“It’s really pretty,” I told Amy when it was done and she had tied back the panels with pink and blue cording she’d found at a fabric shop. The curtains made a cozy home for the two cribs nestled inside.
She planted her fists on her hips, admiring her work. “Told ya.”
I laughed, then stopped when my stomach squeezed again. I glanced at my watch. Nine minutes had passed. Nothing was going to happen anytime soon. Of course, I’d thought the same thing with the diva on the day I got pregnant, and that had taken an interesting turn.
“Need anything before I go?” Amy asked as she put the iron and ironing board away.
“If you could spare a million dollars and a nanny, I’d take that, but otherwise, I’m fine.”
She gave me a hug, leaning over my extended belly to do so. “And you promise to call if you need me?”
“Of course.”
She placed both hands on my stomach, smiling when she felt one of the babies roll. “You guys take care of Mommy,” she admonished the bundle under my shirt and kissed me on the cheek.
When she was gone, I puttered around the apartment, putting away their tiny clothes, then taking a long, hot shower. I’d gotten a wax last week, so I didn’t have to worry about shaving anything, which was a blessing. That was one thing I vowed to keep doing, no matter how tight money might get. I could forgo a lot of things but not having to shave any part of myself was a luxury I didn’t want
to give up unless I was on the brink of starvation.
Another contraction came and went, then several in a row before everything stopped. Just stopped. It was like my uterus went to sleep.
Pregnancy was weird.
I went to bed, propping two pillows behind my back, one between my knees and another between my ankles. “Good night, little nuggets,” I said and turned my light off.
Kick. Kick, kick.
I sighed, deciding that was baby Morse code for night night, Mommy.
“Good night, Daddy,” I murmured as my eyes closed. “Wherever you are.”
But as tired as I was, and as heavy as my eyelids were, sleep evaded me as I became more and more uncomfortable.
Hours later, I gave up and got out of bed, waddled to the living room, and sat down on the couch. Reaching for the remote, I flipped through the channels but nothing was on. I tried Netflix and settled on reruns of Friends. It was season eight, and I settled happily against the cushions to watch Rachel tell Ross about the pregnancy.
I laughed, just like I always did when I watched Ross come unglued, but instead of ha-ha-ha coming out of me… there were tears. I cried a lot now. It seemed that if I wasn’t bitching, I was crying, so it wasn’t really too much of a surprise.
If I’d gotten to meet my baby daddy again, I wondered at his reaction. Would he have just sat there stunned like Ross? Screamed? Yelled? Accused me of lying, of them not being his?
Or would he have been pleased? After the shock wore off, would he like the idea of the fruits of his loins coming into the world? Would we have chosen names together? Would it have been him instead of Amy who helped me put the cribs together?
Would we maybe fall in love? Get married someday? Buy a house with a yard so the children could play? Get a dog who would protect them fiercely? Maybe he’d have parents who would dote on their grandchildren, sneak them candy behind my back.
Hours later, I had skipped over several of the episodes and was crying again as Rachel pushed little Emma out. When Ross kissed her, everything was perfect. Well, until Joey messed it all up. Hell, until they all messed it all up.
“How can two people who are so clearly meant to be together screw it up so many times?” I asked the television.
Clearly, it was a rhetorical question.
As dawn approached, lighting up the sky, I finally felt sleepy enough to try the bed again. I didn’t have to work and knew I could sleep late. Climbing back into bed, I arranged all six hundred of my pillows until they were just right.
Mercifully, sleep took me but not for long. I dreamed I was being squeezed in a vice by the Jolly Green Giant. He was trying to force-feed me corn on the cob but I kept spitting it out. Finally, the big spinach-colored dude stuffed a watermelon seed down my throat and laughed as it began to grow… and grow… and grow.
As my stomach exploded, I woke up, panting for breath, but the explosion of pain never let up. The pressure was tremendous, and I forced myself to breathe through the agony of it.
I checked my watch. I’d slept longer than I thought I had. 11:06 a.m.
Pushing up from the bed, I headed to the bathroom to pee, and another contraction hit as I washed my hands. 11:11 a.m. Five minutes. They were much closer than last night. And much more painful than anything I’d felt before.
But I refused to get excited until they’d been this way for a while.
By two o’clock, the contractions were steady, coming consistently every four minutes. If I could have contorted my body to the correct angle, I would have checked myself.
Another contraction hit, a wave of agony this time.
It was time to go.
I called a taxi, then called Amy and grabbed my bag.
“Baby time,” I said when she answered, then held the phone away from my ear when she squealed. “I’ve called a cab and will be on my way soon.”
“Okay… I’ll get someone to cover my class and meet you there as soon as I can.”
Relief flooded through me. “All right. Thank you so much.”
She laughed. “I’m so excited. I get to be a godmother soon!”
“You’ll be the best godmother ever,” I promised. “See you soon.”
Then I trudged out of my little home, knowing the next time I saw it, my life would be vastly different.
The thought was wonderful and terrifying at once.
CHAPTER TEN
Langston
“Linda, would you please schedule Mrs. Roberts for a laparoscopic cholecystectomy?”
She gave me a little salute. “I’m on it. Another gallbladder bites the dust. Room six is next. One more after that and you’re done for the day.”
Grabbing the chart for my next patient, I reviewed it quickly. A follow-up check from a bowel resection two weeks ago.
That stopped me in my tracks.
Two weeks ago, Dad performed this surgery and I was in Nigeria. Everything was normal at the time he made the first cut. Now, Dad’s patient was mine.
Dad’s office was mine.
The charts. The scribbled notes with his familiar handwriting. His staff, the ones who continued to look at me with sad eyes.
The next two patients took less than half an hour to complete. It would have taken much less if they both hadn’t wanted to talk about my father and what a great man he once was.
I made the appropriate noises and head gestures as I examined their healing wounds. I ordered the right tests or referred them to the appropriate specialist for continued follow-up treatment. I wrote a prescription for an antibiotic. Then I was done.
At only a little after four in the afternoon, I’d already finished the clinic schedule for the day, and I wasn’t sure what to do with myself next. This wasn’t close to the kind of life I was used to, with office days and operating room days so neatly filed into a calendar which I was expected to follow.
This was what I’d been afraid of. Boredom. The monotony. And I’d only been doing it a few days.
Tomorrow would be better, I told myself. I had three surgeries in the books. Two were gallbladders, something I could do in my sleep, but it was something different than checking sutures and pressing bellies.
Heading back into Dad’s office — my office — I shrugged out of the white coat and hung it on the hook next to his. I hadn’t had the heart to remove it, might never remove it. Just like I might never change the dark wall color into something lighter I would prefer. Just like I’d probably never take all of Dad’s medical journals off the shelf. I felt like a trespasser stepping on hallowed ground.
But this was my life now. Steady. Sedate. For the most part, anyway. There would be emergencies, I knew. There would be a day when the patient schedule was jam-packed. Dad had slowed down the past couple years, but I could fill it back up. Maybe do some advertising to build the practice to its fullest capacity. I could even offer evening hours for those who had trouble getting off from work. Anything. I could do anything I needed so I wouldn’t have to go home alone.
Lonely.
I shook the word off, attempted to shake off the woman who had uttered it, and went to stand by the window. The view of the city skyline was beautiful, but I found myself looking down at the streets. That was what I found myself doing often. Looking for red curls, my stomach lurching each time I saw anyone who came close to looking like her.
Because I was a fool, I’d gone to the bar where I’d met her last night. I’d nursed three beers, waiting to see if she might step through the door.
She didn’t.
And she wouldn’t. I knew that. But I couldn’t stop my eyes from scanning the crowds, my gut twisting with hope and desperation.
There were over eight million people in the city. Finding one person was like searching a beach to find a particular speck of sand. I had to get over her. Needed to get over her.
Maybe Josh was right. I should just go out, find some willing woman to fuck, then screw the little redheaded witch out of my head.
“Dr. Kimbrough?”
>
I turned from the window to find Linda standing in my door. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but we got a phone call from St. Mary’s, and they are in desperate need of doctors.”
I frowned. “When?”
Linda lifted both hands. “Now. Today.”
I straightened, a sense of foreboding coming over me. I hadn’t heard of any disasters, but I also hadn’t been paying attention to the news. “What happened?”
She sighed. “Apparently, there was some National Hospital Week event for the doctors at lunchtime today. There was a sushi bar and half the medical staff has come down with food poisoning.”
I stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was.” She wrinkled her nose, causing her entire face to wrinkle. “I love sushi, but I might be off it for a while.”
I headed her way, jumping at the chance to stay busy. “I don’t have privileges there.”
She was a step ahead of me. “I can fax them pertinent information. They can grant you emergency temporary privileges before you can walk through the doors.”
I shrugged back into my white jacket. “Wow, food poisoning sure does wax the cogs of a normally slow wheel.”
“You betcha. Text me later to let me know what needs to be done.” She smirked, the older nurse having seen it all. “And don’t slip in anyone’s puke. Don’t need you to break a leg.”
I laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”
She placed a hand on my arm. “Langston. Sorry, I mean, Dr. Kimbrough. —I”
“Call me Langston.”
She smiled, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. “I changed your diapers, you know. It’s kinda hard to not think about you as that little boy.”
I patted the hand still on my arm. “I know. It’s Langston. Always for you.”
She beamed at me. “Well, Langston, it’s good to have you here. I know it’s not what you wanted, but it’s good for you to do it anyway. You’re a good son. Your father adored you and was very proud of you and the man you became.”
I swallowed hard. “Thanks, Linda. We’ll make it work.”
The bright smile was back. “I have every confidence in you. Remember to be wary of brown puddles on the floor and don’t let any of those cute nurses snatch you up.” She winked, giving me a glimpse of the young nurse she once was. “I’ve heard they’re be polling for New York Hottest Bachelors. Don’t want to miss out on that.”