Page 33 of Best Friends

(That same night)

Then I feel another gush of warm fluid, and my heart starts hammering.

“Oh shit,” I whisper, carefully sitting up. The sheets beneath me are soaked, and there’s no mistaking what this is. My water just broke. Three weeks early.

I shake Malcolm’s shoulder gently. “Malc. Malcolm , wake up.”

He stirs, mumbling something incoherent before his eyes flutter open. “What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, his voice thick with sleep but already alert.

“My water broke,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm even though my pulse is racing.

He sits up so fast I think he might give himself whiplash. “What? Are you sure? Oh fuck, okay, we need to—where’s your hospital bag? Did you call Dr. Harrison? Should I call an ambulance?”

“Malcolm, breathe,” I say, even though I’m fighting my own panic. “I haven’t done anything because I just woke up too. But we have time. First babies take hours, remember? Dr. Harrison said so.”

He’s already out of bed, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt with shaking hands. His shirt is inside out, but I don’t bother commenting on it. “Right, right. But we should still call him. And time the contractions. Are you having contractions?”

I take inventory of my body. There’s a low, cramping sensation across my belly, different from the Braxton Hicks I’ve been having for weeks. “I think so. They’re not bad yet.”

“Okay, good. That’s really good.” He’s moving around the room like a man possessed. “I’ll get your bag, and we’ll head to the hospital. Should we shower? Should we eat breakfast? You might need food to keep up your strength.”

“Malcolm.” I catch his hand as he passes the bed. “Stop. Look at me.”

He freezes, his blue eyes wide and scared. His scent is sharp with anxiety, almost overwhelming.

“We need to stay calm,” I tell him firmly. “The baby’s okay. I’m okay.”

He takes a deep breath, his grip on my hand tightening. “Fuck. I knew this was coming, but I… I don’t feel ready.”

“Me neither,” I agree, but despite the fear, I feel a flutter of excitement. “But apparently the baby is ready. So we just have to go with it.”

He sucks in a calming breath and seems to get control of himself. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry.”

I smile. “It’s fine. This is a big, scary deal. But it’s also exciting.”

He nods. “Yeah, very exciting.” He grins sheepishly. “I’ll calm down now.”

The next hour passes in a swirl of activity. Malcolm calls Dr. Harrison while I change into clean clothes, and the doctor confirms that we should head to the hospital since my water broke. The contractions are coming every ten minutes now, manageable but definitely getting stronger.

By the time we’re in the car, I’m gripping the door handle through each contraction, breathing through the pain like we learned in the birthing class. Malcolm drives carefully but quickly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“It’s going to be just fine,” he keeps saying, reaching over to squeeze my hand between contractions. “You’re so strong, C.”

The hospital is quiet at this hour, the emergency entrance lit with harsh fluorescent lights. A nurse with kind eyes and graying hair meets us with a wheelchair, even though I insist I can walk.

“First baby?” she asks as Malcolm fills out paperwork with trembling hands.

“Yeah,” I manage, another contraction building. I close my eyes and breathe through it, feeling Malcolm’s hand on my shoulder.

“You’re doing beautifully.” The nurse smiles at me. “I’m Linda, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Now that the paperwork I out of the way, let’s get you settled in a room.”

The labor and delivery room is larger than expected, with a bed that can be adjusted, monitoring equipment, and a chair where Malcolm can sit. The lights are dim and soothing, and there’s a window that will show the sunrise in a few hours.

“Let’s see how things are progressing,” Linda says, helping me into a blue hospital gown.

The internal exam is uncomfortable, despite Linda’s gentle touch. “You’re about four centimeters dilated,” she announces. “Still have a ways to go, but you’re making good progress.”

Four centimeters. Six more to go. I try not to think about how much stronger the contractions will get. I don’t want to psych myself out before I even get there. Besides, the calmer I am the calmer Malcolm will be.

“I requested an epidural.” I grimace. “I’m not one of those brave omegas who can push a baby out without pain medication.”

“Honey, you don’t have anything to explain to me,” Linda says kindly. “I had epidurals for all four of my babies. Who said we have to be in agony just because we’re having a baby?”

“Yeah.” I smile weakly. “Maybe I don’t feel like suffering more than I have to today. That doesn’t make me a wimp.”

“Not at all.” She nods. “We’ll get the anesthesiologist in here as soon as the time is right. It’s a little early for that. For now, let’s get you hooked up to the monitors so we can keep an eye on the baby.”

The next few hours blur together. The contractions get stronger and closer together, each one requiring all my focus to breathe through. Malcolm never leaves my side, holding my hand, rubbing my back, offering ice chips when my mouth gets dry.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers during a brief lull between contractions. “I’m so proud of you, C.”

I start to tell him I’m proud of him too, but another contraction hits and all I can do is squeeze his hand and try not to scream.

I swear, from the tortured look on his face, he’s suffering every contraction with me.

Even though he can’t stop my pain, just having him near me comforts me.

His scent and soothing voice help focus me.

By 6:00 a.m., I’m dilated to seven centimeters and it’s time for my epidural. The anesthesiologist, a calm woman named Dr. Patel, explains the procedure while I try to hold still through another contraction.

“This might sting a bit,” she warns, and then there’s pressure in my back and a strange tingling sensation.

Within twenty minutes, the relief is incredible. I can still feel pressure and the tightening of contractions, but the sharp, breath-stealing pain is gone.

“Better?” Malcolm asks, smoothing my sweaty hair back from my forehead.

“So much better,” I breathe, finally able to relax between contractions.

Dr. Harrison arrives around 8:00 a.m., looking fresh and professional despite the early hour. “How are we doing?” he asks, washing his hands at the sink.

“Better since I got my epidural,” I tell him. “Ready for this to be over.”

“Don’t blame you one bit.” He pulls on gloves and checks my progress. “Nine centimeters. Almost there. Another hour or two and you’ll be ready to push.”

Two hours. I can do two more hours.

Malcolm dozes fitfully in the chair beside my bed, jerking awake every time I make a sound.

I watch him sleep and think about how everything is about to change.

In a few hours, we won’t just be Carrick and Malcolm anymore.

We’ll be parents. That’s such a surreal thought.

I don’t feel mature enough to be a parent.

I still don’t have so many things figured out in life.

Around 10:30 a.m. the pressure between my legs becomes overwhelming, despite the epidural. I grip the side of the bed and groan, “I… I think I need to push.”

Linda checks me quickly. “Ten centimeters. You’re ready. Let me get Dr. Harrison.”

Everything happens quickly after that. The room fills with people—Dr. Harrison, Linda, another nurse, and a pediatrician who’ll check the baby after delivery. The lights get brighter, and someone adjusts the bed so I’m sitting more upright, feet in the stirrups.

“Okay, Carrick,” Dr. Harrison says, positioned between my legs. “On the next contraction, I want you to take a deep breath and push for ten seconds.”

Malcolm grips my hand, his face pale but determined. “You can do it, C.,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

The contraction builds, and I bear down with everything I have. It’s exhausting work, even with the epidural, and sweat drips down my face.

“Great job,” Dr. Harrison encourages. “I can see the head. One more push like that.”

I push again, and again, losing track of time and everything except the overwhelming need to get this baby out. Malcolm counts for me, his voice steady and strong. He trusts me to get this done and I want to make him proud.

“The head’s out,” Dr. Harrison announces. “One more push for the shoulders.”

I push with everything I have left, muscles straining, lungs burning, and suddenly there’s a rush of relief and the sound of a baby crying fills the room.

“It’s a boy,” Dr. Harrison says triumphantly, lifting our son up so we can see him. “A beautiful, healthy boy.”

“A boy?” I whimper, exhausted but happy. “I had a feeling it was a boy.”

The infant is covered in blood and vernix, his face red and wrinkled, and he’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. The nurse has Malcolm cut the umbilical cord, and the pediatrician takes the infant to clean him up and check him over.

“The baby’s okay?” Malcolm asks, his voice choked with emotion as he hovers.

“He’s perfect,” the pediatrician confirms. “Good lungs, good color. A little early but everything looks great.”

They place him on my chest, skin to skin, and I’m overwhelmed by the weight and warmth of him. He’s so small, so fragile, but his grip is strong when he wraps his tiny fingers around mine.

“Hi, beautiful boy,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face.

Malcolm leans over us both, his own eyes wet with tears. “He’s so small,” he says wonderingly. “Look at his little feet.”

Our son opens his eyes, blinking up at us with that unfocused newborn stare. His hair is dark like Malcolm’s, and he has the most perfect little nose.

“What should we call him?” I ask, unable to look away from our baby’s face.

Malcolm is quiet for a moment, studying our son’s features. “What about James? After your grandfather?”

I consider it, testing the name in my mind. James. “James is so formal,” I say softly. “What do you think of Jamie?”

“Jamie,” Malcolm repeats, smiling. “I like it. Hi, Jamie. I’m your other dad.”

Jamie makes a small sound, not quite a cry, and nuzzles against my chest. The simple gesture makes my heart feel too big for my body.

“I can’t believe he’s here,” I whisper, kissing the top of his downy head. “I can’t believe we made him.”

“He’s the best of both of us,” Malcolm says huskily, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “You were incredible, C. I don’t think I could have been half as brave.”

I laugh weakly. “I didn’t feel brave. I… I felt desperate to get the baby out of my body.”

The next hour passes in a haze of tests and measurements, hospital staff checking on us, and me trying to figure out how to breastfeed. With the help of a lactating coach, Jamie latches on after a few tries. I yelp, because the feeling of feeding him is both strange and wonderful and painful.

Malcolm barely leaves my side, alternating between staring at Jamie in wonder and fussing over me. When the nurses finally declare that we can all rest, he settles into the chair beside my bed, but I can tell he’s not going to sleep.

“Hard to believe he’s finally here,” I say softly, adjusting Jamie in my arms. He’s sleeping now, his breathing soft and even.

“Funny how our son came early when we tend to be late everywhere we go.” Malcolm gives a tired grin.

I grab Malcolm’s hand, squeezing his fingers. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Malcolm frowns. “Why?”

“Because this is just all so perfect. You. Our son. I don’t understand why I get to be so happy. Why do I get to have you, Malcolm? Do I even deserve you?” Tears spill over onto my cheeks and Malcolm looks horrified.

He stands up and leans over, kissing my forehead. “Don’t cry, C. God, please, don’t cry. This is a happy moment. No need for tears.”

I sniff, wiping roughly at my damp eyes. “I’m confused about why I’m so damn lucky. Other than you, Malcolm, I haven’t had a lot of luck in my personal life.”

“You don’t need a lot of luck,” he says softly. “You just need the right kind of luck. And we’ve got that in spades, C.” He smiles encouragingly at me.

“Yeah.” I nod. “You’re right. Moving next door to you was the first stroke of luck. The day I met you, everything changed for me, Malc. Everything got so much better.”

“Same. Oh, sure, I had friends. Lots of friends .” He makes quote marks as he speaks. “But what was missing from my life was my best friend .”

I smile and whisper, “Yeah. Best friends for life, right, Malc?”

His eyes gentle as he reaches out, placing his hand over mine where it rests on Jamie’s back. “Best friends for life, C.”