Page 70 of Better as It

“You are doing this,” I tell her. “You’ve done harder things.”

“I’ve never done this!”

“Well, I hate to tell you, darlin’ you got no choice. He’s ready to meet his momma. You’re doin’ this.”

She’s sweating, shaking, but her eyes are on fire. “When I get done here, I’m going to punch you in the junk, Justin Miller! You don’t get to be a sexy smartass when my vagina is about to be ripped in two pieces!”

I lean close, press my forehead to hers. “You’ve got me. You’ve got the club. And you’ve got that kid in you who’s already a damn fighter.”

Tears stream down her face, but she nods.

And when the doctor says push, shepushes.

She groans but doesn’t scream.

I cry. Yes, the tears fall watching her in pain helpless to take it away. I’m enamored by her strength as wave after wave of contractions roll through her.

And then.

He’s here.

A rush of movement. Wails.

A wet, squirming little miracle placed on her chest. As fluids of the bodily variety continue to ooze from her, I watch as the doctor’s clamp the cord handing me scissors.

As I cut the lifeline of my son to his mother, she watches me nodding her encouragement.

Dia sobs.

I can’t breathe.

The baby—our baby—is pink and screaming and perfect. His little fists curl tight, his mouth wide open, voice already louder than life.

I place my hand on his back, trembling.

And just like that, everything changes.

My entire life means so much more. I won’t miss a single moment of life with them.

Hours later, it’s quiet.

Dia’s sleeping in the hospital bed, pale but glowing. Strong. God, she’s strong.

The baby’s tucked against her side, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, skin perky pink, dark hair matted down against his tiny head.

I sit in the chair beside them, my hand still in hers.

A nurse comes in and says gently, “Have you two settled on a name? We have to get the birth certificate set up.”

Dia stirs.

Then she looks up at me, eyes glassy with love and exhaustion.

“You say it,” she whispers.

“Did you decide for sure?” I know she’s talked about a few things and I didn’t want to push her. Out of respect for Clutch, I didn’t want Dia to feel obligated to give their baby by blood my name because I have the lifetime of experience with him.

“Benjamin Ward Miller.” She says it and immediately I know where it comes from. A piece of Clutch, a piece of Tripp as it’s his middle name and BW’s, and a piece of me. All the men who matter to Dia.

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