ER should come with a warning label. It’s disturbing. If you’re a mild hypochondriac or a parent to be, expect to lose a shitload of sleep after just one episode.
“I know, but-“
Roberta puts her hand up. “Look, I know how you feel-“
“Do you?” I ask sharply. “Have you ever taken your whole life and put it in someone else’s hands and asked them to take care of it for you? To bring it back to you in one piece? ‘Cause that’s what I’m doing here.” I push a hand through my hair and look away. And when I speak again, my voice is shaky. “Kate and this baby . . . if anything ever . . .”
I can’t even finish the thought, let alone the sentence.
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Drew, you have to trust me. I know it’s difficult, but try and focus on the positives. Kate is young and healthy-we have every reason to believe that this delivery will progress without any complications at all.”
I nod my head. And the logical part of my brain knows she’s right.
“Go back to Kate. Try and enjoy the time you have left. After tonight, it’s not going to be just the two of you anymore-not for a long time.”
I force myself to nod again. “Okay. Thanks.”
I turn and walk back toward the room. I stop in the doorway.
Can you see her?
Surrounded by pillows-buried under the puffy down comforter she insisted on bringing from home. She looks so tiny. Almost like a little girl hiding in her parents’ bed during a thunderstorm.
And I need to say the words-to make sure she knows.
“I love you, Kate. Everything that’s good in my life, anything that really matters, is only there because of you. If we hadn’t met? I’d be fucking miserable-and probably too clueless to even realize it.”
She looks at me, totally straight faced. “I’m having a baby, Drew-I’m not dying.” Then her eyes widen. “Jesus Christ, I’m not dying, am I?”
And that’s all it takes to snap me out of my panic.
“No, Kate. You’re not dying.”
She nods. “Okay, then. And just for the record, I love you too. I love that you’re funding Mackenzie’s future because you won’t stop cursing. I love how you tease your sister unmercifully but would kill anyone who hurt her. But most of all . . . I love how you love me. I feel it every moment . . . every day.”
I walk up to her and cup her cheek. Then I lean over and softly kiss her lips.
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. And then her jaw tightens with determination.
“Now, let’s do this thing.”
Images
Turns out all the worrying was for nothing. Because at 9:57 this morning, Kate gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. And I was right next to her the whole time. Sharing her pain.
Literally.
I’m pretty sure she broke my hand.
But who cares? A few broken bones don’t mean much-not when you’re holding a seven-pound, nine-ounce miracle.
And that’s just what I’m doing.
I know every parent thinks their child is adorable-but be honest-he’s one good-looking kid, don’t you think? A patch of black hair lays smoothly on top of his head. His hands, his nose, his lips-looking at them is like looking in a mirror. But his eyes, they’re all Kate.
He’s exquisite. Perfection made flesh.
Granted, he didn’t come out looking like this. A few hours ago, he bore a strong resemblance to a screaming featherless chicken.
But he was my screaming featherless chicken, so he was still the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
It’s unreal. The adoration. The worship that’s so overwhelming, it almost hurts to look at him. I mean, I love Kate-more than my own life. But that took time. I gradually fell in love with her.
This . . . was instantaneous. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I knew I’d gladly jump bare-assed into a pool of battery acid for him. Insane, right? And I can’t wait to teach him things. Show him . . . everything. Like how to change a tire, and sweet talk a girl, how to hit a baseball, and throw a right hook. Not necessarily in that order.
I used to make fun of those guys at the park. The dads with their strollers and goofy smiles and man purses.
But now . . . now I get it.
Kate’s voice pulls me from my baby gazing. “Hey.”
She sounds worn out. I don’t blame her.
“How are you feeling?”
She smiles sleepily. “Well . . . imagine peeing out a watermelon. “
I flinch. “Ouch.”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes fall to the pale-blue-blanketed bundle in my arms. “How’s the little guy?”
“He’s good. We’re just hanging out. Shooting the shit. I’m telling him about all the important things in life, like chicks and cars and . . . chicks.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep.”
I look down at our son. And my voice is awed. “You did such a great job, Kate. He has your eyes. I love your eyes-did I ever tell you that? They were the first thing I noticed about you.”
She cocks one brow. “I thought my ass was the first thing you noticed?”
I laugh, remembering. “Oh yeah, that’s right. But then you turned around and just . . . blew me away.”
The baby lets out a sharp squawk, capturing our attention.
“I think he’s hungry.”
Kate nods and I pass him over. She undoes the clasp of her pajama top, exposing one ripe, juicy breast. She brings the baby close and he latches onto her nipple-like an expert.
Did you expect anything less? This is my son, after all.
I watch them for a moment. Then I have to reach down to adjust the tent pole that’s sprung up in my pants.
Sick. Yeah-I know.
Kate throws me a smirk and glances toward my crotch. “Got a problem down there, Mr. Evans?”
I shrug. “Nope. No problem. Just looking forward to my turn.”
See-there’re two kinds of women in this world: The ones who figure if they can’t get any below-the-waist action for six weeks after giving birth, neither can their guy. Then there’s the second group. The ones who look forward to those hand jobs, blow jobs, and then some-because they know the favor will be returned when the ban is lifted.
Kate definitely falls into the second group. I know this, and apparently so does my cock.
“After the massacre you witnessed in the delivery room? I didn’t think you’d ever want to have sex with me again.”
My mouth falls open. In shock.
“Are you frigging kidding me? I mean, I thought your cunt was magnificent before, but now that I’ve see what it’s really capable of? It’s reached superhero status in my book. In fact, I think that’s what we should name it.” I lift my hands, envisioning a giant billboard. “Incred-a-Pussy.”
She shakes her head. And smiles down at the baby. “Speaking of naming things . . . we should probably come up with one for him, don’t you think?”
Kate and I decided to wait on the name game until after the baby was born-to make sure it was a good fit. Names are crucial. They’re the first impression the world has of you. That’s why I’ll never understand why people curse their kids with labels like Edmund, or Albert, or Morning Dew.
Why don’t you just cut to the chase and call the kid Shit Head?
I lean back in the chair. “Okay-you can start first.”
Her eyes roam the baby’s face. “Connor.”
I shake my head. “Connor’s not a first name.”
“Of course it is.”
“No-it’s a last name.” In my best Terminator voice I say, “Sarah Connor.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.