by Layne Harper
Jenny rushes ahead of us and grabs some towels out of the bathroom to throw over my mess, while Chelsea claps and squeals, “We’re having a baby.”
I put the lid down on the toilet seat and begin removing my soiled clothes while my dear friend Liza helps me out of my soaked boots. I can’t believe this is happening. My friend is touching my amniotic-soaked clothing. This is so humiliating.
She must read my face because she says, “I’ve removed puke and come-drenched jeans from rockers. I’ve had to cut clients out of leather pants that they’ve worn eight days straight without even bothering to take a shower. It’s a hazard of my profession.” She shrugs. “At least this is sanitary.” And just for that fantastic answer, if this baby is a girl, she’ll be named after Liza.
I’m sitting on the toilet lid in only my skin-colored maternity bra that supports my now huge hormone-induced triple Ds when Jenny, Brad, Chelsea, and Janis join us. Fortunately my giant protruding stomach hides my girl parts, so there’s really nothing to see other than a semi-nude pregnant chick, but I still lean forward just to give myself an ounce more dignity, and grab for an unused hand towel nearby. Now, at least I feel like I’m attempting to be modest.
Liza pulls out the clothes that I had stuffed into my tote. I wish that I had folded them nicely. She hands me my creased sweater first. I slip it over my head, so grateful for something soft against my hyperaware skin.
“Doctor Starr’s going to meet us at the hospital. I’ve called Carter and Miguel. They’re bringing the car into the parking garage. She said that there’s no need to rush because first-time mother’s babies are notoriously slow,” Brad informs me. Somehow, hearing him say the words that I’ve been saying in my head out loud gives me much more reassurance. I also like that he said the word notorious. Yes. They’re notoriously slow.
Jenny looks at me and says, “You want to call him, or you want me to do it?”
“No one’s calling Colin, yet. As a medical doctor and Doctor Starr just confirmed, first-time mother’s babies are notoriously slow.” I reinforce notoriously. “After Colin makes his speech, then you can tell him.” I say looking all of them in their eyes—especially Jenny.
In the almost two years that I’ve known her, I didn’t think that it was possible to shock her. However, I just did. “You’re not telling Colin, Caroline?” she says, shaking her Cowboy-blue hair as her eyes grow wide. She reaches out and grabs the doorjamb as if she needs the support.
“That’s what I said.” I really wish that I could stand so I could be in more of a position of power, but my unwaxed bits might cause Brad to pass out. “Colin will make it in plenty of time. We’re fine.”
Jenny bends so we’re on eye level, and begins talking to me as if I’m an errant child. “If you have that baby and Colin’s not there, he’ll never forgive you, Caroline. I mean, like, resent you his whole life. All that man’s wanted since I started working for him was to be a dad. Don’t deny him his moment.”
Talk about a knife to the heart. “Fine. Let me clean myself up. In private,” I add, “and I’ll think about it.”
Another contraction hits as the last person shuts the bathroom door. The pain is so intense that it makes me nauseous. I fly to my feet quicker than I thought possible, and turn around just in time to throw open the toilet lid. There’s a part of me that believes that my upset stomach has more to do with my decision not to tell Colin than my labor contraction. My nerves are shot. I don’t want to pull Colin away from one of the most important events in his life to sit at my bedside for another eighteen hours while I’m in labor. On the other hand, Jenny’s right. If Colin’s not there for the birth of his child, it’ll kill him.
After the contraction releases, I stand up, bracing myself against the sink counter while I rinse my mouth out. I take a long stare at myself in the mirror. This was not part of our perfect birth plan. The perfect birth plan states that I should go into labor after all the hoopla of the Super Bowl has settled down. Colin and I’ll drive to the hospital together while we listen to George Strait, and other music that we mutually can agree on. My hospital bag, which is at home, has been packed since last week. It’s got a beautiful pair of pajamas for me to put on after the baby’s born, and both a blue and pink blanket. There’s also a coming-home outfit in both colors. I’m going to attempt natural, drug-free childbirth until Colin can’t take my agony any longer and then, and only then, will I allow drugs. It dawns on me. I don’t even have a baby car-seat, for God’s sake.
Yet, here I stand, wetting a towel to wipe amniotic fluid off my legs while my mouth tastes like ass because I vomited up my breakfast while trying to decide if I tell the baby-daddy that he’s about to be a father.
I look down at my stomach and have a heart-to-heart with Baby McKinney. “Look, kid. I know that your mom and dad have passed on the unconventional, warp-speed relationship genes. It was a risk we took when we conceived you, but there’s not been a baby on this earth as wanted as you. You’ve got to stay put for a little while longer, because your daddy will murder your mommy if you’re born before he gets there.” In middle of my little speech I have another contraction. It’s almost as if this kid already has my personality.
Once it’s passed, I continue to give this baby a pep talk. “You can do it, kid. Make me as miserable as you want, but you’re not coming until your daddy’s in the room.”
I know Rachael would tell me to, “put your big girl panties on.” I would, except my only pair is sopping wet. My contractions are far enough apart to wait to tell Colin. That’s my decision and I’m sure of it.
Maybe.
When I step out of the bathroom, now completely dressed in my wrinkled clothing, everyone is staring at me like I’m going to break. “I’m fine. I’ve timed my contractions and this baby isn’t coming anytime soon. Jenny, please let me know as soon as Colin’s done speaking. I’ll call him, and tell him that I’m in labor. Don’t let him drive Bertha. In fact, don’t let him drive at all. You bring him to the hospital. The last thing that I need is for him to get in a car accident trying to reach me.” Everyone gives me a nervous giggle, but the dilated eyes and gaping mouths say that I am crazed pregnant lady.
Jenny chimes in first. “You’re seriously asking me to drive that fucking maniac when he finds out you’re in labor to the hospital?” She throws her hands up in the air and backs away from me, shaking her head. “Ask Aiden.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t reply just yet as another contraction doubles me over. Thank God I don’t vomit. I really can’t take listening to Brad fret about me getting sick in his precious car.
Once the contraction has passed, I look at Jenny and state, “When he’s out-of-control angry, remind him it was my call. I’ll stay on the phone with him the whole drive. He’ll be fine.” I cross my fingers behind my back, because we all know that he’s going to lose his mind when I tell him. But this is for the best. Colin gets to have his cake, and eat it too. He’ll have his moment in front of his fans, and arrive in time to meet his child. He’ll just miss the boring waiting part of labor.
Brad has my purse, phone, and tote bag, the latter of which is slung over his shoulder. “All right, best doctor-friend. Let’s go meet Baby McKinney.”
With that, I give everyone a hug and listen to the congratulations and good lucks. As I’m walking out the hotel door, I turn around and address the group, remembering I forgot the most important part. “Look, guys. You can’t tell anyone about what’s going on. That means don’t breathe a word to Colin’s parents, Aiden, or anyone else. He deserves to hear this news from me first. Okay?”
The group nods their heads in a collective understanding. I pray that they’ll keep their word, or the State of Texas might be raising Baby McKinney.
Carter is waiting for us in Brad’s Range Rover. Miguel sits in the passenger seat while Brad and I crawl into the back. We take the back exit out of the hotel’s parking garage. Traffic is at a standstill. I let out a frustrated sigh. I forgot that
Downtown had been closed for the victory parade.
Just as I’m about to panic in epic fashion, another contraction doubles me over. I grip the door handle and clutch my stomach. This is excruciating. There’s no way on God’s green earth that I’m doing natural childbirth. As soon as I get to the hospital, I want an epidural—STAT!
“Brad, call Doctor Starr and tell her that I want an epidural waiting for me. Tell her we’re stuck in Downtown traffic, and my contractions are regular and seven minutes apart. Get her opinion on not telling Colin,” I bark.
Brad quickly does as I ask, and I listen to a lot of his one-word answers or agreements. When he hangs up, he says, “She thinks that you’re fine waiting to tell Colin. You can get an epidural as long as you’re far enough along. She’s at the hospital, and is waiting for you.”
I look outside the windows of the car, and see nothing but people. We’re not moving. This might as well be Armageddon.
Chapter Two
Charlie
Seven months earlier…
“Bartender, another round,” Rachael slurs.
Juan Carlo’s beautiful, full lips spread into a sexy little smirk. “Mis Amores, do you really think another round is a good idea?” he asks in his broken English. He shakes his head, and begins mixing us our drinks before he hears the answer to his question.
Rachael laughs. “It’s our last day in Cabo. We’re not giving in until the sun comes up.”
Rachael and I’ve been in Cabo for the last three days. She happened to call when I’d started my period—again. She and Aiden were having issues, and on top of that, she’d been worked to her breaking point. We decided that we needed a girl’s trip, just some time to decompress, relax, and reconnect again. Two days later, I met her at the airport in Cabo.
It’s almost embarrassing to admit, but this has been the longest that I’ve been away from Colin since the week we spent separated between our reunion in Los Angeles and him coming to stay with me in Houston. I’ve missed him terribly, but Rachael and I needed this vacation together.
We’ve grown apart since Colin and I married. I think that I depend on him now for things that I used to only need from Rachael. Also, our fertility problems have been like an albatross around our necks. No one knows. Colin feels like this is a very personal issue, and not something that we should broadcast to our family. I believe there is something in his head that makes him feel like less of a man because I’m not pregnant. It’s not like he can help having Celiac Disease. Not sharing such a huge part of our lives has been difficult; however, I’ve respected Colin’s wishes to keep it just between us.
This trip has been a chance for Rachael and me to find our groove again. The first two days we were here, Rachael was still in work mode. Her phone was glued to her ear, putting out mini fires. Finally, this morning, she turned it off. “Today’s our last day in paradise, and I’m off the clock.”
We carry our drinks to the sun-loungers near the pool. The more I drink, the looser my lips become. I think they’re finally nimble enough to ask the million-dollar question. “So, Rach, what happened between you and Aiden?”
She looks around to ensure that there are no prying ears. Juan Carlo is on the other side of the bar and we have no else around us so Rachael asks, “You really want to know?”
I sit up and turn towards her, adjusting the back of my sun-lounger so I’m more upright and wiggle backwards getting comfortable. I have a feeling that I might finally be getting the story. “I do. I’ve tried to stay out of your relationship. Colin tells me nothing that Aiden says. I’m truly in the dark.”
The scene in front of us is picturesque. The blue of the infinity pool is matched only by the clear, azure ocean-water, lapping up on the almost powder-white sand. There aren’t many guests sunbathing or even swimming, for that matter. Colin booked us at a very exclusive hotel in their more private section of rooms. I get the feeling that this block of rooms and pool is reserved for honeymooners and rich people stepping out on their spouse, not a best-friend vacation. Still, neither one of us were complaining. Picking up men was the last thing that we wanted to do on this trip.
Rachael’s face turns into a violent, twisted sea of emotions. I reach over and grab her hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Talk to me, Rach. I’m your best friend.”
She picks up her drink from the plastic table between us and slams it down her throat. “If we’re getting into touchy subjects, we need tequila.” She motions toward our bartender and calls, “Juan Carlo, bring us a bottle of Don Julio, stat.”
Poor Juan Carlo raises his eyebrows at my tiny friend. I smile at him. It’s okay, we’re staying in tonight, I mouth. “A bottle and two shot glasses please,” I reply out loud.
Rachael and I’ve done this many times before. I think our tequila tradition started when I was at Harvard and her at Wharton. Although, it’s our first bottle on this trip, the tequila has been a long time coming. My clean living for the past year is out the window this vacation. I must admit that it feels awesome to just let loose, and eat and drink whatever I want. Tomorrow, I know that my fun is over. I have an appointment with Doctor Starr next week to begin the infertility journey. I’m living it up for my last twenty-four hours of dietary freedom.
I turn to the waiter who has been hanging out near the bar. “Can we get a bowl of guacamole, chips, and some salsa?” He nods his head, and looks very relieved that I ordered food.
Once we’re two shots of tequila in, Rachael rolls to her side and says, “Aiden asked me to marry him.” Her face is blank, so I can’t read what my response should be. But, I’m shocked; I really have been clueless about the two of them.
She pauses and lets her news settle in. I can feel my jaw dropping. This was not the revelation that I was expecting.
“Not once, but multiple times. I’ve told him no each time, and now he will not take my calls.”
“Wh… Why…?” I stammer, sounding like a complete loser. “Why did you tell him no?” What I really want to ask is if it is because he’s black. This was Aiden’s big revelation around Christmas time. He thought the reason that Rachael wouldn’t marry him was because her future constituents wouldn’t approve of her mixed-race relationship.
Rachael lets out a sigh, and takes a big, heaping bite of guacamole on a chip. “He wants a relationship. I just want a friend with benefits. He wants kids. I think a dog is too much responsibility. He wants me to move to LA. I’ve informed him that our nation’s government is in D.C.”
I nod my head. I understand where she’s coming from. It was hard as hell to walk away from my practice in Houston and join Colin in Dallas. It was worth it, though. I certainly don’t regret the decision, but if anyone understands the balancing act between relationships and careers, it’s me.
“Well, Rach…” I start.
She sits up board-straight, and her body coils tightly with tension. “Stop it. This is why I haven’t discussed this with you,” she cuts me off. “Just because you and Colin have gotten your happily-ever-after doesn’t mean that Aiden and I will have ours. I’m not judging, but your career plays second fiddle to Colin’s. I’m not willing to sidetrack everything that I’ve worked so tirelessly to achieve for Aiden. Call me selfish. Call me a bitch. Call me whatever you want, but I’ve worked too damn hard and spent too much time shoveling shit to give it up for any man.”
She pours us each another shot without looking at me. Alcohol has never been so desperately needed than after that diatribe. She hands me my glass, finally meeting my eyes. I can read hurt, sadness, resolve, and determination in them. We clink glasses, and down the amber courage.
The alcohol lights fire to my throat like Rachael’s words should to my soul, but I know that they’re true. Yes. I’m still a surgeon, but I wouldn’t be working at a charity hospital if it weren’t for Colin. I’d be, probably at this point, seeing elite athletes as my patients. That was the goal that I was working toward before I chose the path less traveled, labeled Colin Fucking McK
inney.
Rachael continues. “I’m happy for you and Colin. I know that your year anniversary is coming up. I’m assuming that in the next year or so you’ll get pregnant. I’m happy that you’re happy, but that’s not the life that I want for myself, and I can’t make Aiden understand that.”
I skip over the “having a baby” comment. “Have you told Aiden all of this?” I ask, feeling the burn of the tequila in my stomach, and grabbing a chip to help soothe it.
“Caroline, I’ve come right out and said, ‘I just want to fuck you and that’s it.’ He doesn’t listen to me. He thinks that he can convince me to change my mind.” I’ve known Rachael for most of my life. There’s no changing her mind once she knows what she wants. “He even had the audacity to tell me that he thinks that it’s because he’s black.”
She takes off her oversized Chanel sunglasses and rolls her eyes. Her white-blonde hair falls over her shoulder, and her light-blue eyes cloud over in anger. “I almost lost my damn mind on him. It was just further proof that he doesn’t listen. I’m not sure how putting my career first equates to the shade of his skin.”
I laugh, so relieved that she brought it up. “Do you think that you’ll ever want a relationship that’s more than just sexual?” I ask as I finger the edge of the hotel-issued towel.
She slips her sunglasses over her eyes. Rach has absolutely no breasts, so her over-padded bikini top gapes open as she lies back down. I teased her earlier that we could use her top to store our sunscreen and room keys. Fortunately, she takes her size in stride. Her hair stays to the side in a fan-like shape framing her snow-white skin. “I don’t know. Maybe one day. Maybe not. He just keeps pushing me, so I told him that I can’t see him anymore. I didn’t know that by not agreeing to marry him that I was also losing a friend. I meant that we shouldn’t have sex anymore, not that we shouldn’t talk on the phone.”