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“What is it? What’s going on?” My mom’s voice has joined my dad’s, in the background.
“Do you want us to come to the hospital?” my dad asks.
Mom gasps. “Collins is in labor?”
“I’ll let you guys know,” I say. “Collins’s parents are there with her. I’m not sure how big of a crowd …”
“Understood,” Dad replies. “Just keep us posted, okay?”
“I will.”
“I love you, son.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
I hang up, then press the accelerator harder. I make the remaining drive in just under an hour. Parking is an excruciating process as I force myself to drive slowly and scan for an open spot.
The New Haven hospital has countless entrances, and I have no clue which one is closest to the delivery room. I ask the first person I see wearing scrubs where to go for labor and delivery, and she directs me to the third floor. I give up on waiting for the elevator after a few torturous seconds, opting to sprint up the stairwell instead.
“Collins Tate,” I say as soon as I reach the nurses’ station. “Which room is she in?”
“Kit!”
I turn. Collins’s mom is halfway down the hallway, waving at me.
I run in her direction.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Amanda says. “She’s been asking for you nonstop.”
“Is she okay? What?—”
“She’s fine,” Amanda says soothingly “But things are progressing quickly, and she was worried you wouldn’t make it on time. I don’t know what possessed her to come all the way here so close to her due date. Gerald and I would have been happy to visit New York …” Amanda’s voice trails off as Gerald steps out of one of the closed doors ahead.
His eyebrows are pinched tight together with worry, but it relaxes some when he sees me.
“You’re here. Phew. I was getting worried.” He holds out a hand,which I quickly shake. “That room.” He points toward the door he exited.
I nod and rush toward it.
Collins covers her face with her hands and starts sobbing when I enter the room. She’s alone, no sign of any doctors or nurses. She’s also wearing a hospital gown, which freaks me out even though I know it’s normal.
“I thought you’d behappyto see me,” I tease, walking over to the chair pulled up by her bedside and kissing the top of her head.
“I-I am.” She hiccups, reaching for my hand. “But aren’t you”—sniffle—“mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?” I ask.
“Because you told me not to come here, and I did, and now?—”
“Did you talk to your dad?”
“Yeah,” she whispers.
“Was it a good talk?”
Collins nods.
“Then I’m glad you came. A hospital room is just a hospital room, Monty. Here, in New York—doesn’t really matter.”