Page 15 of Venus
She nods, tears streaming down her red cheeks. As most men are in the delivery room, her husband hovers over her looking like the baby is coming out ofhisbody and complaining about how hard his wife is squeezing his hand during the most painful experience of her life. My eyes flicker to him, giving him a stern glare to hold it together. “Almost there, just keep holding her hand.”
This has been a long labor. Mama opted to go through it naturally, so she’s been in pain, moody, sometimes rude, but it doesn’t bother me. This is one of those deliveries that makes me proud to be in this field. This couple has been trying to have a baby for years. They’ve been through everything. IVF, chemical pregnancies, miscarriages soon after getting the two lines they’ve been praying for.
They’ve been desperate, and anxious, for this entire pregnancy. Now that they’re here, in the delivery room, moments away from meeting their first baby, all of that fades away.
These moments make me feel alive, and it helps me get over the grief of knowing I’ll never have it myself.
As the doctor helps mama through her final pushes, I move to her side to coach her, but I do it almost on autopilot. My mind drifts to Vulcan. Carter.
He’s a bit irritating, really, always lingering in my mind like the smoke he’s so familiar with. He’s sweet and charming, but respects my boundaries, which is a nice change from other men I’ve been with. He doesn’t back down from my challenging teasing, and the push and pull between us is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I think I like him, and that is a problem.
My thoughts come back to reality when I hear mama cry out for a final time. A blink of silence passes, and then the beautiful wail of a new life fills the room.
Mama sobs in disbelief as her new baby is laid gently on her chest. Her husband kisses her forehead and looks at his new son with pride and tears in his eyes.
This is the best part. Handing a baby to new parents so they can feel their tiny fingers and soft skin for the first time. It’s a momentous time in life, like nothing else matters in the world except for what’s happening in this delivery room.
I’ll never experience that feeling myself, so I dedicate my life to giving it to others.
I help mama with her first feeding, and as they drift into that lovely little bubble of newborn bliss, I slip away to the breakroom.
I collapse into a chair and roll my shoulders as I pop some green grapes into my mouth as if I’ll never eat again. You never know with this field, so we’ve all mastered the art of eating full meals in five-minutes flat.
I pull out my phone to check Facebook, when I notice a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Miss me yet?
I furrow my brow and text back asking who they are. I see the typing bubble pop up, and my phone buzzes a second later.
Unknown: It’s Carter. Have you already forgotten about me? Wow. Wounded.
Me: Sorry, I don’t know any Carters. I only know Vulva.
Unknown: VulCAN.
Unknown: You didn’t answer my question. Do you miss me enough to let me take you out?
Me: Depends. Do I get to throw water in your face?
Unknown: If you wanna get my face wet I know better ways.
I giggle to myself and roll my eyes before replying.
Me: Fine. But there better be snacks.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and finish my shift with a smile on my face.
Carter picks me up in his beat-up truck to take us to the drive-in movie theater. It’s a pretty empty lot, so we get to come to a stop right in the middle of the screen to get the best view. The sky is streaked purple and blue from a fading sunset, and soon it will be filled with millions of glittering stars.
I’m wearing an old sweatshirt and a pair of leggings, with my hair pulled up into a high, messy ponytail. I told Carter to bring snacks, but I didn’t trust him to get the right ones, so my mini backpack is filled to the brim with my favorites. Barbecue chips and black licorice.
When I pull them out of my bag, Carter’s mouth falls open. “You like black licorice?”
“Yeah. Why? You think it’s gross?”
He opens the center console of his truck and pulls out a bag of his own black licorice, popping a piece into his mouth. “You kidding? It’s my favorite!”
I recline back into my seat and the drive-in employee delivers our order of popcorn, soda, and nachos to the truck. Carter looks like a man starved when he opens the lid of the nachos, only to lift one out of the box and painfully tell me they’re not cheesy or jalapeño-y enough for him.
