Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Despite the lightness of his tone, his face was pale and his attention was entirely focused on the woman sitting in the birthing pool instead of the screen.
Phoebe was leaning back, looking fairly comfortable at the moment. Her hair was in braids and she appeared to be wearing a sports bra, a towel and probably nothing else.
“How long has she been in labor?” I asked.
“She was having contractions all afternoon, but they were irregular and pretty far apart until about nine o’clock. The doula says she’s been in active labor since midnight.”
Bernie was sitting on a cushion beside Phoebe, and beside her was the doula—who, unbelievably, was crocheting a blanket of some sort, her hook looping through the variegated pastel yarn at a steady pace. Wasn’t she supposed to be boiling water or tearing up sheets to make bandages or something?
On the other side of the pool, two women I assumed were Todd’s mother and grandmother—the quiet one and the mean one, according to Phoebe—sat on opposite ends of the couch, looking uncomfortable but determined to stick out this very intimate event.
I squeezed Wade’s arm. “We should go say hello to Phoebe.”
“I’m only seeing women. Should I not be here?” he asked warily.
“You’re not the only man at the party. Todd’s in the kitchen making snacks and coffee with Yvonne,” Morgan said. “I’ll be right back. She asked me to get the pillow from her tub.”
Yvonne was here?
After she disappeared down the hallway, I told Wade, “Phoebe wanted you here. That’s all that matters.”
“Right.” He snagged my hand before starting forward, looking like he was headed into a war zone.
Bernie nodded at us, her expression serene as we knelt down on the nearest open cushions.
“Hey, munchkin.” He sounded choked up. “How are we doing?”
Phoebe smiled and held out her hand to him. “All quiet for the moment. Sorry about the early-morning jamboree.”
He pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Don’t you worry about it.”
“Phoebe’s doing great, Uncle Wade,” the doula said with a fond smile. “She’s in excellent shape, so her labor is progressing pretty rapidly for a first-time mom. Seven centimeters dilated and fully effaced, so she’s just about to enter the transition phase. Things will get pretty intense then.”
Wade looked terrified. “That’s…great?”
“It sure is! I’m guessing we’ll have a new member of the family to cuddle within a couple of hours.”
He let Phoebe go and moved down to the next cushion so I could take my turn holding her hand. Just in time too—she closed her eyes, leaned her head back on the side of the pool and drew her knees up, taking deep breaths and blowing them out through her mouth as she squeezed my fingers just hard enough to let me know she was in pain.
“You good, sweetie?”
“Mmm.” She nodded, taking a faster breath and blowing harder. “They’re getting a little uncomfortable.” Another breath. “And lasting longer. Oh shit.”
I didn’t understand anything she said after that, but it got pretty loud and my fingers were yelling right along with her. “A little uncomfortable,” my ass. More like “a little unbearable.”
Bernie reached out to stroke her hair. “You’re doing so great, Pheebs.”
An eternity later, her hold on my hand eased and she opened her eyes, looking tired but relieved. “Now I know how the wishbone feels at Thanksgiving.”
“Ow,” I said, meaning it with all my heart and needing to distract the both of us. “That pool sure looks cozy, though.”
She snorted. “I know you think I’m nuts for not doing this in a hospital with ‘the good drugs’, but it’s so relaxing, I’m thinking of keeping it after the baby comes and watching television like this every night.”
“So relaxing. Apart from the explosions onscreen, and the contractions, where she yells in another language,” Bernie added.
“That’s normal,” the doula told her, still crocheting away like she had nothing better to do.
Bernie and I shared a look over the pool.
“I heard you gave birth yesterday, August,” Phoebe said with a fatigued but mischievous grin. “Maybe you should join me in here.”
“Well, sure,” I said wryly. “Because sending an email attachment is exactly the same thing as pushing an entire human out of your vagina in front of a live studio audience.”
Wade choked beside me while Phoebe giggled.
I patted his back with my free hand. “You want a water or a coffee? I need a coffee.”
“Coffee would be great, thanks.” He leaned over and kissed me absently before returning his focus to his niece.
Ignoring Bernie’s knowing gaze and Phoebe’s wide eyes, I got to my feet with very little grace and a few winces.
Do not limp in front of them.
I opened the kitchen door and startled when a pair of skinny arms and the smell of sandalwood immediately engulfed me. “Cutie pie!”
“Yvonne. I didn’t know you were coming.”
Wade’s seventy-year-old stepmother flung her hands in the air, the colorful bracelets on her wrists clicking together. “Flew in this afternoon. I guess it’s yesterday afternoon now. I had a feeling today was the day. Or Phoebe did when I called and she mentioned having twinges in her back. That’s always a telltale sign. I got here as fast as I could.”