Page 43 of Wicked Things
“Fuck naturally. Naturally is sucking, you said so yourself.”
“Just shut up and drive, Zeth Mayfair, before I try and strangle you.”
I drive, my jaw set, refusing to blink. I’ll never admit this out loud, but I’m fucking scared. Things go wrong childbirth all the time. Women still die. I read about it online. It’s uncommon, but it happens.
Another mile closer to the hospital. Another.
“You’ve gone quiet,” Sloane says softly.
I wring the steering wheel with both hands, exhaling in a huff down my nose. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”
******
“It’s been four fucking hours. How long does this usually take?” Mason asks, fidgeting in his seat.
Kaya, sitting next to him, elbows him, her eyes doubling in size. “You wanna go shit out a watermelon and see how long it takes you?”
“It’s not like that,” Mason retorts. “Women’s bodies are primed for childbirth. The cervix dilates, the vagina expands like elastic, and—”
“Fuck, please stop.Please.” Michael puts down the apple he was about to take a bite out of, eyeing it balefully before tossing it into the trash can beside his seat.
Mason smirks. I watch them chatter between themselves, but I can’t distance myself from the nerves that have taken over my body. I didn’t know it was going to be like this. I had no fucking idea. It’s a fucking miracle couples ever have more than one child, if they have to living through this nightmare each and every time.
Luckily, Oliver wasn’t the doctor on call when we arrived at the hospital. Ramesh, one of Sloane’s friends, wheeled her into the delivery room, telling me not to worry, to relax, to go grab a coffee, and I felt like slamming my fist repeatedly into is face. Relax. Ha! Fucking sadist.
Michael passes out, and then so does Mason, until it’s only me and Kaya left holding our vigil. At around seven in the morning, Pippa comes rushing into the waiting room, panic all over her face. She beelines straight for me, patting down her un-brushed hair. “I’m sorry, my battery died in the night. I didn’t get your message until half an hour ago.”
I look her up and down, trying not to smile. “You’re still wearing your pyjamas,” I tell her gruffly. If you’d have told me a year ago I’d be happy to see Pippa Newan standing in front of me while I was waiting for Sloane to give birth, I would have fucking laughed my ass off. But over the past six months, she’s been there for Sloane. Unquestionably. She’s been understanding, and while she may not have approved of every single one of our life choices, she’s kept a civil tongue in her head. More than that, she’s made an effort to get to know me. I’m never going to be her best fucking friend, but that doesn’t matter, because Sloaneis. And if Pippa is important to the woman I love, then she’s important to me, too.
Pippa looks down at herself, her brow wrinkling. “Yeah, well, I kind of dashed out of the house before I had time to change.” She slumps down into the seat beside me. “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” she says. “I can’t believe the two of you are going to be parents.”
I’ve been mirroring that exact sentiment since we arrived at St. Peter’s and everything got very, very real. The idea of this…this newpersonI’m about to meet…I can’t wrap my head around it. I’m going to be someone’s father. It’s just too damn surreal.
“Are you glad you waited? To find out?” Pippa asks quietly.
“We just didn’t need to,” I answer. “We’ve known from the beginning that we were going to have a boy.”
“So sure of yourselves,” Pippa muses. “It’d serve you right if you end up being wrong. I bet you haven’t even thought of a name for a girl, have you?”
“Nope.” Thereisevery chance we’re wrong, of course. Doctors have told expectant parents they’re having a boy or a girl and been wrong before, so our guesswork could easily be false. But I don’t know. I’m certain of it, down in my bones. So is Sloane.
My knee begins to bounce. Pippa places her hand on my thigh, stilling me. “Talk. Say something. Take your mind off it,” she says.
I have so few words inside of me, saved up for other people. I can talk to Sloane about anything, but outside of our two-person unit I can’t fucking bear holding long, elaborate conversations. Not even with Michael. I’m just not…capable. Pippa’s right, though. Right now I need the distraction. If I don’t take my mind off what’s going on through those double doors right now, I’m going to end up fucking charging through them to find out what the fuck is going on, and Sloane was insistent. She refused to let me step foot into the delivery room. Said her I’d never look at her pussy the same way again if I saw a living human being pushed out of it. Not gonna lie. I didn’t argue with her.
So I take a deep breath and I say the first thing that comes into my head. “I used to come here. Before.”
“Before?”
“Before Sloane and I were together. But…after…the first time we met. I needed to see her. To see if she was okay. And…Iwantedto see her.”
Pippa sits heavily back into her chair. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m a creepy fucking stalker.”
Pippa looks down at her hands. Her right hand is scarred, her ring finger permanently bent at a crooked angle, but she has the use of it. She’s figured out how to write with her left. She’s quiet for a moment, then she says, “Do you believe in soul mates, Zeth?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
