Page 87 of Holiday Romance
“I’m not due for three weeks.”
“It’s not like the baby is checking its calendar!”
“The hospital?” Andrew asks.
I start to nod before remembering how little I have with me. “I don’t have my license.”
“I can drive her.”
“Hello?” Zoe calls, waving a hand. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
“Stop being a dumbass,” I counter. “Where’s Mam and Dad?”
“They’re dropping Mary at the church.”
“Which church?”
“I don’t know!”
“Well, how long will it take them to—”
“Maybe they should meet us there?” Andrew asks.
“This isn’t happening,” Zoe groans as Andrew and I share a look over her bent head.
“Look, if they’re fake, then they’re fake,” I say. “No problem. But it won’t hurt to hear it from someone who didn’t learn their medical knowledge fromGrey’s Anatomy. Please just let us take you.”
Zoe gives me a look likeI’mthe unreasonable one in this situation, but something in my face must convince her that she’s not getting out of this.
“Maybe they’ll give me painkillers,” she says, and I nod encouragingly.
The contractions seem to ease once we get her into the car and she calms down when we’re on the road, texting our parents as well as a few of her friends to let them know what an idiot I’m being. Despite her refusal to believe this is happening, she thankfully has the directions saved on her GPS and Andrew makes quick work of the traffic as he drives us back into the city. The maternity hospital is right in the center of town and we end up paying an extortionate amount for parking three streets away but, right now, I couldn’t give a crap.
In reception, a nurse with Christmas puddings as earrings takes one look at us and immediately jumps into action.
“I’mfine,” Zoe says for the millionth time as the woman, Cara according to her lanyard, tries to lead her toward a wheelchair. “I’m not even having them anymore.”
I clamp a hand around her forearm when she tries to shrug me off. “Can we maybe listen to the nice medical professionals?”
“Iwillwhen it’stimeto.” But she gets into the chair, her eyes wide and her face pale, and I see her attitude for what it really is, sheer undiluted terror.
Despite her jokes about baby daddies, she’s never wanted to be in a relationship. I’ve never seen her go out with someone for more than a few weeks, and even then, I think it’s because she was curious about what all the fuss was about. But she wanted to be a mother, so she became one. It would never have occurred to her that she couldn’t at least try. And like everything else she did, she tried her best.
As a single parent, that meant plans. Five-year plans and ten-year plans, complicated financial charts, and a tight network of friends and family to help her out. I know she planned for so long and tried for so long that a part of her had forgotten about the actual event, especially when that event was two and a half weeks early.
“Are we going to another waiting room?” she asks, sounding very young as she blindly signs a form.
“We’re going to the labor ward,” Cara says.
“The… Why?”
She doesn’t even blink. “Because you’re going into labor.”
“This can’t be happening,” Zoe repeats for the twelfth time. She passes the clipboard back and turns her wild gaze to me. “I can’t have a December Capricorn.”
“It turned out okay for Jesus.”
“The man wascrucified,Molly!”
