Baby Wars: A Roomie Wars Novella Book 3

by Kat T. Masen

  “How many would you like?”

  “Two... no three. Gravy?”

  Drew raises his hand. “Okay, that’s enough. You’re going to get indigestion.”

  Slumping in my chair with a pout, I shoot Drew my dagger eyes. Never get in between a pregnant woman and her food.

  “Excuse me…” A lady, sitting at the table behind us leans over with a smile. “I couldn’t help but notice the bump. How far along are you?”

  “Thirty-four weeks,” I respond, politely.

  Marie—as she introduces herself—is married to Buddy, and they have two children. Her children keep themselves busy coloring the kids’ placemats with the crayons the restaurant provides.

  We get to talking, and somewhere during our quick chat, I mention we’re having twins.

  “Twins! Congratulations,” she gushes, grinning. “We had Bodhi via invitro four years ago, and then Cara naturally about two years ago. Two’s a handful, but we were running out of time. I’m pushing forty next year and having kids is something we always wanted.”

  Marie looks great for someone pushing forty with two young kids. Okay, there’s probably a hint of Botox happening since one side of her face doesn’t move. But nevertheless, for someone raising two young children, she has a great figure from what I can see behind the table, and her hair’s on point.

  “Buddy works in the city, so it’s been hard relying on him for the day-to-day things. I’m a stay-at-home mom now, left my job as a paralegal,” Marie opens up, leaving me no time to get a word in. “You’ve got to have a good support system, or you’ll go insane. My mom and dad live about three streets away, and Buddy’s parents are in the next suburb over. Plus, the godparents.”

  Buddy nods, agreeing with his wife. He seems like a man of few words, shifting his gaze to the large television screen which hangs at each corner televising some baseball game.

  I look at Drew for reassurance. “We haven’t thought about godparents yet. We’re not exactly practicing any faith.”

  “Oh, you must. Finding good godparents can be tricky. You’ve got to get in early,” Marie warns us. “It’s a big decision, and you’ll want to make sure the godparents have the same values in case… you know?”

  “I guess Mia and Troy?”

  “Please…” Drew rolls his eyes, uninterested, “… they can barely hold their marriage together. I’m thinking your brother, Kane, and his wife.”

  “Kane, really? The guy can barely get out of bed in the morning let alone be responsible to raise kids. What happens if anything happens to us? Who would the kids go to?” I begin to panic.

  “Your parents,” Drew states.

  “Over my dead body.”

  “There’s no one else,” he reminds me. “Perhaps this is something we should discuss in private.”

  Marie laughs, patting my shoulder. “It’s okay, we had the same argument. Now schooling, get in early. We started to enroll Cara because places fill up fast.”

  “Isn’t she two?” I point out, glancing at the little girl with a pacifier in her mouth.

  Marie nods, opening her mouth until Drew cuts her off. “We may be moving, so no point looking in the city.”

  It takes a moment for me to catch up. We had discussed moving to a bigger home, but I assumed it would be within a reasonable distance to the hospital.

  “Um, where are we moving to?”

  Drew takes a long-winded sip of water, adding to the procrastination. “I’ve been offered a role as the head of CCU.”

  I almost leap for joy until I realize I can’t physically leap. “Oh wow! Babe, you never told me that—”

  “It’s in Australia.”

  My brain has a momentary lapse. “Australia? As in down under a million miles away, Australia?”

  He nods, barely making eye contact.

  “Australia… as in throw a shrimp on the barbie, large spiders and crocodiles, Australia?”

  Still unable to look at me, he twists the napkin in his hand, nodding at my question.

  “Whe… when did you find out?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  My fist curls into a ball, and my heart is racing with anger. I know Drew better than he knows himself. In his mind, he has already made his decision. I know Australia is his home, and he has always dreamt of going back. Combine that with being offered a role of a lifetime, something he’s worked so hard for, he won’t be able to turn them down.

  “I need to go.”

  In my panic, anger, and frustration, I slide off the stool and walk as fast as possible out of the restaurant and onto the walkway greeted by the light rain. My chest, rising and falling, makes it difficult to breathe. To add to this, my back begins to hurt even more, but I ignore everything just to escape.

  “Zoey, come back here!”

  The rain buckets down, the splash sizzling against my warm skin. Drew continues to yell, but I don’t give a damn. It’s now clear, more than ever, that my role in our marriage is to follow my husband. Screw the career I built for myself. I’ll be Suzi Homemaker while he’s barely home because of his high-profile role. I might as well raise these kids on my own since I’ll barely see him.

  My waddle and large stomach make it difficult to get any traction, and before I know it, Drew is standing in front of me equally drenched with his hair falling over his eyes. He makes a quick attempt to slick it back, his frustration evident.

  “Would you please just stop and listen for a moment? Why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the time?”

  “Me… stubborn? You’re the caveman expecting me to stay home. I worked my whole life to get where I am. And then you come along and expect me to drop everything to support you. God, you hid this from me because you’re going to take the job. And you think it’s easy for me just to pick up and move to Australia. Everything is going to change… everything.”

  “Zoey, of course, it’s going to change. You can’t stay in your little ‘80s’ bubble forever.”

  “Oh, wow, you’re such an asshole,” I yell back until a sharp pain ripples beneath my stomach. I topple over, clutching at my belly while wincing.

  “Zo, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing… apart from you being an ass.” The agonizing pain hits again, this time traveling to my back causing me to cry out loud. “Ow, it hurts…”

  Drew grabs my arm in a mad rush until a warm liquid travels down my leg.

  “I think my water just broke.”

  Drew

  Too many thoughts are running wild inside my head.

  I want them to slow down, give me space to breathe, but all I can think about is driving this car to the hospital without killing anyone before we get there.

  Throughout my career, I have performed many life-threatening surgeries with only a few resulting in death. Yet, amid these intricate surgeries and races against time, nothing has compared to the sheer panic of knowing your wife is in labor with your twins in the back seat of your car.

  My hands grip the steering wheel tight, sweat building inside my palms as the sea of red lights ahead of us seems impossible to weave through.

  “Zo, baby, just breathe. Your contractions are ten minutes apart.” I keep my voice calm, not allowing her to catch onto my panicked state while checking the clock and timing her contractions.

  Fuck, they’re getting closer, and we’re not getting anywhere in this ridiculous traffic.

  “It hurts,” she whimpers, softly, spreading her legs in the back seat. “I’m… I’m scared. The babies shouldn’t be coming now.”

  My fears are tumbling out, unchecked by my brain, unable to remove the heightened emotions for me to think straight. Repeatedly checking the rearview mirror, my racing heart only begins to slow down between her contractions when her eyes close, and she’s breathing in and out slowly.

  I turn the radio on, glad it’s playing a song she likes which hopefully will distract her. The GPS tells me fifteen more minutes, so trying to gain time, I stomp my foot on the accelerator wh
enever there’s a gap in between cars.

  In just two minutes, her contractions will begin, so to lessen the pain I begin rambling about baby fun facts.

  “Did you know babies are born without kneecaps?” I tell her, remembering this information from my studies. “Babies have a structure of cartilage that resembles the kneecaps and doesn’t develop until after six months.”

  Zoey moans, gritting her teeth, head resting against the back seat. “What? I can’t even… that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Okay, wait. You’ll like this one.” I veer right taking the exit and hightailing it on the straight road. “Babies recognize the music they hear in the womb for up to four months after the birth. So, all that rubbish you play, you might as well continue because it’ll probably soothe them.”

  I check the mirror for a split second watching as she closes her eyes, practicing her breathing. “I’ve been listening to a lot of Billy Idol. I just don’t know if I want them jamming to that so early on. It’s punk rock, you know…”

  I didn’t know. I have no clue what she’s going on about and will openly admit that I can’t name one single Billy Idol song.

  Keeping our conversation going, and purposely derailing the topic of moving to Australia, which I’m certain will come back up, I raise the one thing that comes to mind. “You know, we haven’t really discussed baby names…”

  “I have a few,” she responds with a quaky voice. “For a boy, I like Noah.”

  My face tightens. This isn’t the time to get jealous, but I have no issues pointing out the obvious.

  “Noah. As in the guy you slept with, Noah?”

  “Oh… I forgot about that. I hate that you have a good memory,” she complains.

  “Answer is no,” I state, rudely. “How about Hannah for a girl?”

  “I once knew a Hannah in school. She was a bitch. Probably because people called her Hannah Banana.”

  “Okay… I’ll take that as a no.” I know this conversation will frustrate the hell out of me. “Aurora, I had a lovely patient with that name.”

  “Sounds like a brand of toilet paper. Oh, what about naming them after a place, like London?”

  “We’re simple people, Zoey. We don’t do crazy things like name our kids London or Pineapple.”

  “Gwyneth Paltrow named her daughter, Apple. Pineapple wouldn’t be so far-fetched.”

  The bright lights of the city ease my nerves. The hospital is only a few miles away, and this conversation is going nowhere. We barely agree on anything so finding two baby names is proving impossible.

  A moment later, I realize she’s trailing off.

  “Zo,” I call out. “Zo, are you okay?”

  My gaze fixates on the mirror as she nods her head, unable to speak with her eyes glazed over. The radio switches songs, playing one of her all-time classics.

  “You love this song,” I remind her, the clock ticking over prompting her timely contraction.

  “All the girls might be having fun, but I’m not. Remind me never to become pregnant again. I’m done. This is it. Two in one go. Even numbers. You take one, and I’ll take the other. You should probably get the snip tomorrow. You’ve got perks in that hospital, just walk in and say cut my dick off,” she growls.

  A part of me—the part wanting to shut down any activity about cutting my dick off—warns me to shut up. I can’t be any more grateful to the man up above for getting us here in one piece as we pull into the entrance and stop at the main door. Frantically, I turn the engine off and race to her side of the car to help her out.

  “I love you. I’m sorry,” she apologizes mid-cry, twisting her arm backward to alleviate the pressure on her back as she begins to walk. “Don’t cut your dick off.”

  “I won’t,” I reassure her, happy to be here.

  Walking through the automatic doors, I spot a colleague who often works the main desk. Knowing I can rely on her, I pass Zoey to her while I quickly move the car so it won’t block emergency vehicles.

  Catching up, we make our way to the delivery ward. Trying my best to remain calm, I allow the nurses to get Zoey settled before Dr. Wheeler walks into the room. She isn’t our usual obstetrician, she’s young and new to the hospital. C’mon Drew… don’t judge her on her age. Been there, experienced that.

  “Let’s get you checked out and see how far these babies are,” Dr. Wheeler says, placing her gloves on and spreading Zoey’s knees apart.

  “Zoey, you’re in your active labor phase. You’ve already dilated six centimeters so not long to go before we meet your beautiful babies.”

  I reach out grabbing Zoey’s hand allowing her to squeeze it tight.

  “But, but…” The panic rattles her, words barely able to come out of her mouth. “We can’t be in active labor. We’re supposed to do the classes. I tried to book them in, but Drew’s schedule was too hectic. I don’t know how to push, and what about swaddling? I didn’t get a chance to practice swaddling.”

  I plant a kiss on her forehead, willing her to relax and just breathe. “Deep breaths, in and out. And I’m sure we can learn to swaddle together. Doesn’t look that hard.”

  “For you,” she cries, grabbing the ice in the cup beside her and chewing it with force. “You’re perfect at everything you do. You’re a goddamn heart surgeon. I can’t even fold a fitted sheet!”

  “If it’s any consolation, the fitted sheet is one of the trickiest household items to manage. I read this guide on how to fold and store them. Quite handy if…” I pause, noticing her tight jaw and irritable gaze. “Sorry, let’s not talk about that anymore.”

  Zoey might think that I’m perfect at everything I do, but I’m far from it. I am not the perfect husband. I shouldn’t have dropped the bomb about Australia when I did. It was an insensitive move, and if we didn’t get into that fight her water might not have broken.

  And let’s be honest—I have a jealous streak. I thought it would disappear once we married, but I think it’s gotten worse. She recently told me this story about how one of the professors teaching her course gave her some inside tips on the best restaurants in town. Perhaps, in her eyes, he is innocent.

  My mind thinks differently.

  She’s hot, married, and extremely intelligent—the whole fucking package.

  He wants to fuck her.

  End of story.

  I continue to watch that situation like a hawk.

  “I’ve got one.” I smile, staring at her beautiful green eyes. “Every time we go to weddings and you make me do the Nutbush, I screw it up.”

  She laughs, resting her head back against the pillow. “The trick to the Nutbush is to follow the confident dancer. If you follow the person in front of you, and they’re doing it wrong, it sets you up for failure.”

  Her expression shifts, the contractions on the monitor increasing as the pain ricochets through her and into a loud moan. I feel so helpless, praying to the Lord these babies come out safe, and the pain subsides.

  “I need something for the pain,” she cries, loudly, “Please, take it away.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” a male nurse, Josiah, tells her while scribbling down her vitals.

  “You’ll see what you can do?” Zoey shouts, the shrill in her voice echoing through the room. “Of course, you don’t care. You don’t have a vagina you need to push these babies through!”

  “Zo.” I squeeze her hand trying to divert her attention to me. “Deep breaths.”

  It didn’t take long for the anesthesiologist to be called by a terrified Josiah. The poor guy needs to harden the fuck up if he plans to make a living in this field. Within minutes, they prop Zoey up, requesting she arch her back and remain perfectly still. I know this position is vital for preventing problems and increasing the epidural effectiveness.

  Dr. Malik, anesthesiologist, uses an antiseptic solution wiping Zoey’s waistline to mid-back area to minimize the chance of infection. He remains focused on a small area on her back, and with both her hands clutched in min
e, he inserts the needle into the numbed area surrounding the spinal cord in the lower back.

  “Are they done?” Zoey whispers, head down and eyes closed.

  “The worst is over,” I reassure her.

  Dr. Malik threads a catheter through the needle into the epidural space. The needle is then carefully removed, leaving the catheter in place to provide medication through periodic injections or by continuous infusion depending on the progress of the labor. Zoey’s breathing slows, the pain subsiding instantly. The final step is taping the catheter to her back to prevent it from slipping out.

  “All done,” he announces. “Feeling better?”

  Zoey nods. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good luck, Dr. Baldwin. I’ll be back shortly to make sure everything’s working okay.”

  I thank him for his time. With Zoey’s lower body numb, I help her get settled into a comfortable position willing her to rest. It only takes a few minutes for Zoey’s eyes to droop and fall into a much-needed sleep.

  My thoughts drift as Zoey sleeps. I want to capture this moment, this image of her because the fear of losing my wife is overshadowing what should be a life-changing moment. The surgeon in me knows that fatality during labor is extremely rare unless there’s a pre-existing condition. The husband in me fears the worst.

  I recall the beach, the moment I thought I was losing her.

  “She got caught in a riptide. I got scared, and I didn’t know what to do,” Rob stutters in a rush, pacing beside me with his hands frantically running through his hair.

  Three, two, one.

  Nothing.

  “C’mon, Zo. I was lying about the carrot sticks. Wake up please,” I beg softly.

  My heart is racing a million miles a minute. I’m thinking about how if anything happened to her, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Get your shit together. Follow the CPR steps again.

  I place my lips onto hers, blowing into her mouth, desperately trying to resuscitate her, all the while praying she can hear my thoughts. Fucking wake up, Zo. I wouldn’t know what to do without you. I need you.

  Everything I’ve ever complained about, I want back—her annoying quirks like singing Madonna off-key in the shower, dropping crumbs on the sofa, her loud snoring, her hairpins scattered all over the apartment, and the way she lies in my bed talking to me for hours about her day or some random television show she landed on while channel surfing. Oh, and her obsession with fictional characters.