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“Well, Monica…” my editor said with a slow smile spreading across her lips.
“Sarah…” I said curiously, nibbling on the Danish.
“I have some exciting news.”
“Really? What is it?” I sat up a little straighter in my seat.
“You’ve been writing for us for a little while now. You’ve built a hefty fanbase who buys our paper solely because of your short stories.”
“Mhmm…”
“And I know your previous publisher cut ties a few months ago.”
I nodded, remembering the call from my agent. I knew it was coming. I hadn’t written anything new in almost a year, and her patience, along with my publisher’s, had grown thin. They had to let me go. It had been a blow, but it was understandable.
“Well, there is another publisher, a big one, that wants to sign you.”
“Wh-what?” I exclaimed.
“They want to publish all of your short stories in a coffee table style book.”
“Oh, my gosh,” I squealed. “Sarah! This is amazing!”
She smiled at me. “I thought so, too.”
I pushed back from the table, and stood up, eager to give her a hug, but stopped short when I felt a burst of water between my legs, splashing onto the wood floor below me.
“Oh, my God!” I said loudly, putting my hands to my face as I looked down at the puddle below me.
“Monica! We have to get you to the hospital!” said Sarah, rounding the table and putting her arm around me. She threw cash on the table and led me outside to the curb. She shot up her hand and frantically waved down a cab. On the cab ride to the hospital, Sarah called Troy’s office to let him know what was going on.
Eight hours later, he was here with me in the low glow of the hospital lamp, the sky darkening outside reminding us how much had changed within a day. While we were in the thick of labor, it felt like time was moving slowly and quickly all at once. The nurse was coaching me as I pushed for what felt like the hundredth time, and Troy held my hand the entire time, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. He had been so calm, so confident. My teammate.
It wasn’t until our son let out his first cry that I saw something beautifully break inside of Troy. I swore I fell even more in love with him in that moment. He was a father. I knew right then he would be a good one. All of his fears could subside, and I hoped they would. I hoped he could see himself how I saw him.
“So, what should we name him?” asked Troy, looking down at our baby in my arms.
His eyes fluttered open for a moment before he stretched his little arms out and settled back against my chest, making a grumpy little face. I laughed softly. We hadn’t really talked much about names. We had decided to wait and figured we could decide on a name once we officially met the baby. Now that I looked down at him, and saw so much of Troy in him, a name came to mind.
“What about Troy Jr.?” I asked, looking up at Troy.
His eyes widened slightly and he repeated the name back, as if trying it out on his tongue. Without saying anything, I knew it meant everything to him. I could see it in the way his eyes glassed over as he stared down at his son.
“We could call him T.J. for short,” I said.
All he could do was nod as he reached out and ran his fingers through the soft, dark hair of our beautiful baby boy.
“T.J.,” he whispered. “I love it.”
“Me too.”
He leaned in and kissed me, before giving T.J. a kiss on the cheek. We stayed there for a while, just admiring our baby boy, completely in awe of every movement, every facial expression. We were completely enamored by him.
At around midnight, my hunger caught up with me, and my stomach grumbled loudly. Loud enough for Troy to notice and for little T.J. to stir in his sleep.
“I’m hungry too,” said Troy with a smile. “Why don’t I go down to the cafeteria and get us some dinner?”
“Yes, please.”