by Hart, Staci
The orgasm shuddered through me, quaking and trembling as my hips and hands and outstretched neck acted on their own, the reins gone and my pleasure careening away.
I sagged, burying my face in the curve of her neck as her arms wound around mine, her breath noisy in my ear and mine smothered by her skin, which I kissed with devoted tenderness. Our bodies were locked in a twist of limbs and necks and hands, and though our bodies languished, we didn’t let go.
We couldn’t let go.
And I foolishly hoped we’d never have to.
21
Biohazard
LILA
Morning came too soon.
A sliver of daylight carved its name on the wall, the only light to enter the room since yesterday, I supposed. Even though it was the slimmest illumination, it seemed to touch every corner of the room. After so much darkness, the light almost blazed, casting a halo on his sleeping profile. The strong nose, flat ridge. The angle and swell of his lips. The jaw made of stone, his chest made of brick. Sheets twisted around his narrow waist, the fabric thin enough to make out the shape of his hips and corded muscles of his legs, as well as the bulge that made my thighs clench around its ghost.
He woke with a noisy intake of breath through his nose and a simultaneous shift to his side, arm stretching out to hook my waist and pull me into his chest. And I curled into him, smiling at nothing, covering his hand with my own.
His lips brushed my bare shoulder. “Morning.”
I hummed like a cat in the sun. “Can it be night again?”
A chuckle as he nosed my hair from my neck and kissed me again. “In about nine hours, it sure can.”
My day would be long, and I didn’t want to do any of it. Not the paperwork or dealing with Addison or putting the finishing touches on Angelika’s wedding. Two weeks, and this whole ordeal would be over. I hoped last night would be the worst of it, that abominable birthday party plaguing my calendar for weeks. Now there was only one thing left to do—I’d get through this wedding, make it the best goddamn event the Felixes had ever seen, and be on my merry way.
“That bad?” Kash asked. I could hear him smirking.
“What gave it away?” I turned around in his arms, our legs scissoring together.
“You sighed.”
“Did I?”
“It’s how I know you’re worrying over something. You’ll sigh in forty-five-second intervals until I distract you.”
A smile pulled at my lips. “Well, you’ve always said you were an excellent distraction. How lucky am I that you’re mine?”
“Yours,” he said, testing the word. “I think I like that.”
“I think I do too.”
I angled for his lips, and he met me halfway, as he always did.
I only let myself get a little carried away before I slid out of bed, heading for the bathroom.
A long, slow whistle sounded at my back. When I turned, Kash was propped up on one arm, head on his hammer fist.
“Now, that is a sight I’ll be thinking about all day.”
As my gaze swept over his visage, I said, “You and me both.” And with a promising smile, I turned and strutted away.
When the door slid closed behind me, I clicked on the light around the sinks, surprised for a moment by my reflection. But only for a moment—the girl in the mirror had become familiar to me over the weeks with Kash. I liked her, liked being her. Wished for her life, which I fantasized about more often than I’d ever admit, and did again as I stepped into the shower.
Only now it wasn’t just a daydream. Now it was a possibility.
Her life was simple, slower. Lazy afternoons on the couch with a book in my lap and my feet in his while he sketched. We’d have a dog—he just seemed like the kind of man who should have a dog, and while I didn’t have some personal drive to be a pet owner, I wanted him to be with a deep desire that surprised me. I imagined trotting down the stairs of some nearby brownstone and into Longbourne, floating into the greenhouse just to give him a kiss and hear how the dahlias were doing. Maybe I owned my own firm, something smaller, with more room for fun and less room for demand. In this fantasy, we lived together, with regular family dinners with the Bennets and my sister.
I imagined many things, things that set a fire in my heart. It was a fire that scared me, raging brightly enough to threaten my other dream, the one I’d been chasing for what felt like my whole life. Already the edges were singed and smoking, curling away from the heat to save itself.
Already I dreaded every part of my life that wasn’t that bright and sunny dream full of love and belonging and home.
It was madness to consider, a lavish, decadent dream that could never be real. It could never be mine.
Not if I kept moving in the direction I found myself headed. But more and more, I believed Kash was right—my life was not as satisfying as it could be. Somehow, I’d denied myself the knowledge, so entrenched in what was supposed to make me happy that I didn’t realize I was miserable instead.
And the only way out was to make a change so drastic, I couldn’t even speak it aloud. Daydream, sure. But in practice?
That unmentionable thought wrinkled my brow as I exited the shower, and with it, the circle was complete. I’d ridden it around and around like a carousel, and though there was a beginning and an end, there was no getting off. In a few hours, when faced with Addison and the Femmes, I’d start at the beginning. That was probably an ambitious estimate—I was likely to consider it when we kissed goodbye ad it in the elevator and in the cab too.
But I let myself have that little daydream all the same. It was my favorite way to pass time these days. And now that things had shifted, I suspected my musings would get worse.
We got ready for our day as we always did, kissing our goodbyes in an impolite and irreverent display of affection at the curb before he deposited me into a cab. I smiled to myself the whole way to the office and through the lobby. But at some point before the elevator doors opened on the Archer floor, that smile died a cruel death, forgotten as if it had never been.
I stiffened, steely and cool as I greeted the receptionists and nodded to my coworkers as I passed. Addison was as dark as ever, grilling me on my schedule and the status of the events in my docket. She didn’t micromanage me per se, but she demanded to know everything—literally everything, down to napkin colors and plate patterns—and expected me to relay it to her in every mundane, meticulous detail.
Once that lengthy and unpleasant business was out of the way, I went along with my day in a blur of efficiency and coordination. Everything went perfectly, and I made the mistake of praising myself too soon.
I was at the bakery going over the details of Angelika’s cake when my phone rang.
There was only one person my phone actually rang out loud for, and it was my very pregnant sister. And my sister did not use her phone for phone calls.
I excused myself, heart thundering. “You okay?” I said the second we connected.
A siren sounded in the background of the call, followed by a low groan from my sister.
“No, I am not okay. I’m on the way to the hospital.” The words quaked. “My water broke and I’m in labor and Dean is stuck in Long Island trying to get back and I—oooooooophhhh,” she breathed.
I was already heading back to the table to gather my things. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Thank you,” she wept, actually wept the words. “I can’t do this alone, Lila. Don’t make me do this alone.”
“You won’t have to do it alone, Ivy,” I soothed, belying the rush of adrenaline that currently sped through me. “I’ll be right there, okay?”
“O-okay.”
“Want me to stay on the phone with you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Give me one second.”
I muted my phone, explaining the circumstance to the baker, who, overjoyed, made me wait for a box of celebratory cupcakes to take with me. And I ran out of the shop with full hands and my sis
ter huffing into the phone, hailing a cab as best I could before promising him fifty bucks to get me there fast.
By the time I got to the hospital, Ivy’d had to disconnect in order to register. The nurses at the station directed me to her room, which was already buzzing with activity.
The second she saw me, her face cracked open and her tears flowed easily. “Oh thank God you’re here—ah!” she squeaked, glaring at the nurse attempting to put in her IV.
Ivy’s auburn hair was a pile on top of her head, and she’d donned her hospital gown, which was that unflattering shade of sea-foam green that made everyone look seasick. Her legs were covered with a scratchy-looking blanket that smelled like bleach, and I schooled my face to keep my nose from wrinkling.
I made a mental note to search for the fanciest hospital where celebrities had their babies to ensure down pillows and high thread counts.
I dropped my things in what looked like a wildly uncomfortable mauve chair and offered her my most reassuring smile. “I’m here,” I said, taking her free hand when I reached her.
“Dean won’t be here for an hour and—oooooooh.” Her face bunched up as she leaned forward, knees spreading under the blanket.
I glanced at the nurse as Ivy squeezed my hand hard enough that I felt something pop. The nurse looked concerned. Too concerned.
My coordinator hat was instantly on. Birth coordinator—I wondered if that was a thing. If not, it should be.
“How dilated is she?” I asked in that tone that got answers.
“Nine centimeters. The doctor is on her way.”
One look at my sister told me Dean wasn’t going to make it in time. Unless the doctor was parking her car, I didn’t think she was going to make it either.
“Is the anesthesiologist coming soon?” Ivy asked hopefully, miserably.
The nurse’s face melted into pity. “The doctor will be here in a few minutes—she’ll tell you everything, okay?”
“So that’s a yes? I’m getting drugs, right?” Ivy’s voice rose, the pitch edging on shrill.
“Ivy, look at me,” I commanded, and the wide, scared eyes of my sister fixed on me. “You don’t need drugs. You’ve already made it through the worst part, the really grueling, terrible, never-ending hours of contractions. All you have to do is push.”
“But not yet!” a nurse chimed from across the room.
Ivy began to weep.
“Your body knows what to do,” I insisted. “All you have to do is go along with it, and it’ll be over soon.”
“B-b-but Dean’s not here,” she wailed. “I want Dean. I want Mom. I can’t do this,” she said frantically, trying to get out of the bed. She barely made it to sitting before another contraction came. “Ahhhhhh—I have to poop,” she announced to the room, clutching her belly like she could squeeze out the pain.
A nurse ran up, palms out. “Nonononono—No pooping!”
“But the book said pooping is normal,” Ivy whined.
“Honey,” the nurse said gently as a fleet of women began stripping off blankets and breaking down the bed, “you don’t have to poop. You have to push.”
“No, I’m sure I have to poop,” she insisted. “I haven’t pooped in at least three days!”
“Ivy”—the nurse’s face hardened with authority—“if you try to poop, you’re going to have a baby. You don’t want me to deliver it, do you?”
Her chin wobbled. “N-no, thank you.”
“I didn’t think so,” she said, returning to her task.
“Just hold on for a few minutes, Ivy,” I said.
Her shoulders shook with sobs she tried desperately to keep in. “T-this wasn’t supposed to be how it went,” she said. “Dean’s not here, I have no drugs, I—” Ivy sucked in a breath and curled in on herself. When the contraction passed, she flopped back in bed, panting and sobbing.
“Ivy,” I said in that commanding voice again, “I am going to get you through this. Okay? Do you trust me to get you through this?”
She blinked tears from her eyes, nodding. “More than anyone. You do everything you ever say you’re going to do. Could you tell me you’re having my baby for me?”
“I wish I could,” I lied, “but I’ll be here the whole time. I will make sure every nurse does her job, that the doctor is here, that every single detail goes off without a hitch. All you have to do—the only thing you have to do—is lie right here and do what the nurses tell you. Can you do that?”
Hope lit in her eyes. “I think so.”
“That’s right. You can.” I turned to the nurse. “I need two more pillows, cool washcloths, and”—I picked up the pitcher on the rolling table, shaking it to find it empty—“ice chips. Where is the crib?”
The nurse managed to look both annoyed and afraid. “It’s on its way.” She scooped up the pitcher. “Be right back,” she said sweetly to my sister but shot me a look on her way past.
I ignored her, instead helping Ivy sit so I could rearrange the sawdust pillows at her back. Then holding her hand, wiping the sweat from her brow, soothing her when she came unraveled, which was about every third contraction. Texting Dean updates, overseeing the nurses, feeding Ivy ice chips.
The doctor ran in—literally ran, snapping gloves on as she entered—rolling up on a stool to acquaint herself with the state of my sister’s vagina. Minutes later, Ivy’s thigh was in the crook of my elbow as she bore down, teeth bared and face crimson. When the doctor announced the crown of the baby’s head, I made the mistake of glancing down to find her vagina made unrecognizable—first by that poor, elastic orifice’s size and shape, then by a mushed-up purple face covered in muck—and with a scream, a rush of fluids, and a strangled cry, the space in my heart grew to accommodate another person.
Ivy sagged, crying and peering through the gap between her knees as the doctor held up her baby, wailing and wrinkled and shining with gore and absolutely, life-changingly perfect. Tears welled in my eyes, emotion jamming my throat as I leaned into my sister, kissing her damp forehead.
“You did it,” I whispered. “She’s perfect.”
Nurses flocked, huddling around the baby for a cursory cleanup.
“Do you want to cut the cord?” the doctor asked.
It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me.
“I … yes,” I answered, the weight of the honor overriding my overall disgust at cutting an organ still attached to my sister.
I approached the table, taking the scissors as they held the wiggling purple baby, her mouth open and screaming and a shocking shade of red against ashy skin. The doctor held the cord between pinched fingers, which was already clamped at the baby’s belly button, indicating where I should cut. So I did, cringing, trying not to think about the gamey texture or strength at which I had to saw at it to disconnect the baby.
Frankly, it was one of the most disturbing and meaningful moments of my life.
From there, everything happened in a blur. The baby was placed in my sister’s arms, and the elation in the room as she met her child left me shaken. Too soon, they took her again, moving her across the room to a station to bathe her and weigh her and run tests.
“Go with her,” Ivy commanded, and all I could do was obey.
I pulled up to the counter, too struck to speak, which the nurses seemed grateful for. They were a finely tuned machine, moving around the baby as they slapped her foot, pricked her heel, and called out numbers. Took her hand and footprints, washed her with gentle care. Put her in the tiniest diaper I’d ever seen, then the tiniest long-sleeved shirt I’d ever seen. It had little pockets on the end that flipped over to cover her hands, so she wouldn’t scratch herself, the nurse told me when I’d asked. Tiny socks, tiny hat, and then she was wrapped up like a burrito in an ugly, scratchy blanket and carted back to my sister.
The doctor and a nurse had something red and slick in a metal bowl. Curious, I leaned in, trying to figure out what it was.
“Want to see the placenta?” the doctor asked when
she noticed me lurking.
I spun away from her like a tornado. “Nope. No, thanks. I’m good.”
Ivy laughed, looking up from the bundle in her arms. “I’m gonna keep it. Put it in the freezer and fry it up with some onions.”
I gagged, swallowing back my lunch. “That has to be a biohazard or a CDC violation or … you cannot take that home, Ivy.”
“I’m kidding,” she said. “I don’t even want to see it, never mind eat it. You’re welcome to it if you want it though.” Laughing again when I shook my head, she looked to the doctor. “Could you make sure that’s gone before my boyfriend gets here? As much as I hate that he wasn’t here, seeing that without the context of the rest of it just feels wrong.” She bounced the baby in her arms. “That’s right. Because Daddy will be here soon. Won’t he, Lila?”
I checked my phone. “He’s in the building,” I promised with a smile, leaning over the baby.
She was beautiful, even all smooshed up. Under her cap, which was pulled down to her eyebrows, her hair was dark and curly. Her lashes were thick, and when her eyes occasionally cracked open, the irises were a deep, strange shade of blue. Her toothless mouth sometimes opened to mewl, but since finding her way back to Ivy, she was mostly quiet, wiggling every once in a while.
Dean burst into the room like there was a fire, his eyes wild and gigantic chest heaving. With a swipe of his hand, his beanie was clutched in his fist, his gaze fixing on Ivy and the baby. His dark eyes filled with tears, and his lips curled in the most reverent of smiles.
A happy sob burst out of Ivy as he floated toward her, and I stepped out of the way, fingertips to smiling lips and tears sliding down my cheeks.
They cried and laughed and hovered over their child. They kissed and held each other, and when Ivy passed the baby to him, he cradled his daughter in his arms with more care and wonder than I’d ever seen a person possess.