Page 88 of Holiday Romance
Cara takes up her position at the back of the chair, looking at us expectantly. “Do you want to follow me?”
It takes us all a moment to realize she’s talking to Andrew.
“I’m not the father,” he says, startled.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought—”
“I’m a single mother,” Zoe interrupts, texting furiously into her phone. “Modern and strong and brave. Can we wait for my mam?”
The nurse is already wheeling her through the doors. “If she makes herself known when she arrives, we’ll be sure to—”
“No, we need to wait for them,” Zoe says, starting to panic again. “We need to— Mam!”
At that moment, our mother chooses to stride through the reception doors, coatless and hatless despite the weather outside.
“I’m here, love. I’m here.” Her previously blonde hair is now a white-silver and there’re more lines around her face than I remember, there always are whenever I see her, but she looks as strong as ever as she hurries over to us, her gaze taking me in briefly before they snap to my sister.
Zoe grasps her wrist, holding her to her. “I think I’m having my baby,” she says, like she’s confessing something.
“We’ll see what the doctors say.”
“Where’s Dad? Is Dad coming? Where—”
“He’s gone back to the house to get your things, but we thought it best that I come straight in.”
“Yes,” Zoe says. “Yes, stay with me.”
“I’ll be there the whole time,” she says, squeezing her.
“Are we ready to go now?” Cara asks with the patience of a saint. My mother nods and, with a frantic smile my way, she wheels my sister through the swinging doors of the labor ward, leaving us to stare after them.
“Is this the part where she finds out she’s suddenly having triplets?” I say to Andrew who looks a little out of breath.
“I was having visions of her going into full labor in the car,” he says, running a hand down his face. “I always thought I was pretty good in an emergency, but…”
I laugh a little manic laugh and look around the waiting room. No one seems particularly bothered by our few minutes of drama, all too concerned with whoever they’re waiting for themselves. “Well, I guess we should… Shit! Your bus! If you need to—”
“I’ve got plenty of time,” he interrupts. “I can stay here if you like.”
“Really?”
“On the hour, every hour,” he reminds me, and I nod, relieved.
“At least until my dad gets here?”
“Of course.” He drapes an arm over my shoulder, drawing me into him as he leads me to a row of empty chairs along the back wall where it looks like I’ll be spending the rest of my Christmas Eve.
* * *
At some point, we sit there long enough that I fall asleep. I don’t remember feeling tired, but the events of the last few days must be catching up with me because one moment I’m gazing blankly at a poster for quitting smoking, and the next I’m horizontal, staring at the legs of one of the expectant fathers across the room.
I’m twisted along three seats in a very awkward position, one I know I’ll be feeling in my back for days seeing as I’m no longer twenty and reaching down to pick up a sock too quickly has the potential to put me out of commission. But I don’t move right away and not just because my left leg is dead and about to break into a thousand pins and needles. No, I stay where I am because there’s a pleasant scrape against my scalp, a frankly semi-orgasmic experience that I never want to end.
Andrew’s playing with my hair.
I open my eyes to see his own closed, his head tipped back against the wall as he runs his fingers absently across the crown of my head. One particular tug sends a shiver down my spine and he opens his eyes as I shift, looking down at me as though surprised to find me there. He immediately stops touching me, returning his hand to rest on his thigh.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and I shake my head.
