Page 141 of What if It's Us

But underneath every word I say, I’m fucking terrified, like there’s a stone in my chest vibrating so fast it could split my ribs apart. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t know what any of the people in this room are doing, yet I’m supposed to trust them with the lives of everyone I love the most.

What if they mess something up?

What if there’s a mistake?

What if something happens to one of the babies?

What if something happens to Marlee?

Bile rises in my throat but I force myself to swallow it back and hide every possible fear from the woman lying on the cold table in front of me.

I did this to her.

She’s in this predicament because of me.

If something happens to her I’ll never forgive myself.

“Okay, Dad, you ready?” It takes me a second to realize they mean me. The OB’s face is partially obscured by a mask and a face shield, but her eyes are kind.

Fuck no, I’m not ready.

I nod anyway, or maybe just bobble my head like one of those dogs in a car window. “Yes. Yes, what do I do?”

“Just be here,” she says. “First baby’s coming.”

There’s a wet sound, a suction, then air, and the room changes. The yelling stops just long enough for a sticky, furious squawk to slice through the walls. I’m crying, and I don’t even feel it start. They hold up a tiny, purple, writhing shape, andMarlee sobs, open-mouthed and wild, and I get my first look at a person I already love more than the bones in my body.

"Baby A, 3:13 P.M.,” someone says, and then they’re hurrying that baby to a table, nurses closing in, a whole aviation ground crew for a passenger the size of a squirrel.

Marlee’s voice rattles. “Ledger, did you see her? Did you?—?"

“She’s perfect,” I choke, not knowing if she’s perfect or not, but to me she is. “You did it, Mar, you?—”

But they’re already on to the next one. More suction, more percussive panic. The team works fast, blood soaking and suctioning, a blur of blue gloves and red pads.

Then there’s this grim silence. It’s like a black hole of gravity on the other side of the curtain. My vision tunnels and the scent of antiseptic and blood lingers in my nose, making my head ache and my stomach turn.

“Second baby’s breech!” the surgeon announces and something raw rips loose in my throat as my heart sinks.

I only barely know what those words mean.

Whoever told us “childbirth is natural” never saw what they do to a body to get a baby out when nature decides to be a fucking sadist. The OB’s arms are red to the elbows. Marlee tries unsuccessfully to lift her head, her eyes darting around the room looking for any kind of understanding of what’s going on.

“Ledger,” she groans. “Ledger?—”

“I’m here, I’m here,” I say, chanting it like a prayer for her, but also for myself.

“There she is!” the doctor says just before a rush of fluid hits the linoleum with a slap.

Baby B is out but silent, limp. I don’t breathe until the nurse starts briskly patting her back, her voice unfazed, as she urges, “Come on, little one, get mad at me. Make some noise.” Marlee clutches my hand like a life preserver while all I can do is stare at that unmoving scrap of our hope, our love, our luck…our blood.

She’s so fucking small.

How can anything that small make it in this world this early?

Finally, a sound comes, shrilling, then growing in volume and defiance as the baby finds her lungs. The hush in the OR splits open and everyone sighs and laughs. Air comes rushing back into my own lungs, my knees going weak as I realize I’ve been holding on to everything except my own life. The nurse holds the tiny beautiful little princess up and I see her face.

My God, she’s most beautiful little thing I’ve ever seen.

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