Page 148 of Call You Mine
Anderson was supposed to be here, and I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay, but this pain is the only thing my mind can focus on.
“I want the epidural,” I hear myself say, even though I specifically put in my birth plan that I wanted to avoid it at all costs—but that was before I knew my labor was going to move excruciatingly slow and my husband would be impossible to get a hold of.
The nurse nods. “I’ll go get the anesthesiologist.”
“And I’m going to go find Jack,” Rumi says, pressing akiss to the top of my head and giving me a soft smile. “You can do this, Ava.”
I manage to nod my head, my lips curving into a small smile, before I brace for the pain building quickly again, barely giving me any moment of reprieve.
Once the epidural is in, it’s like I have a new lease on life.
I hate that nurses need to move my legs for me and that there’s a bag of my pee hanging off the side of my bed, but I can finally string together my thoughts.
I thought an epidural would make it feel like the lower half of my body was nonexistent, but it’s more of a numbing feeling, like my legs are asleep. It’s unpleasant, but it’s like heaven compared to the contractions.
Georgie went with Rumi to find Jack while Emerson stayed with me during the epidural. Now that the anesthesiologist is gone and my nurse will be back to check on me in an hour, my mind finally catches up to what’s happening.
Emerson comes to stand next to my bed. I look at her, knowing she’ll tell me the truth. “Where’s Anderson?”
CHAPTER 55
ANDERSON
My wife has beenin labor forhoursby the time I reach my car in the hospital parking lot.
When I fell asleep by Auggie’s bed, I didn’t realize how much time passed before I woke up to the police officers telling us what happened, and I wasn’t there when she needed me.
This isn’t what was supposed to happen.
We were supposed to go to the hospital together, share every moment of our daughter’s birth. Commit it all to memory to revisit for the rest of our lives.
I wasn’t supposed to be peeling out of a parking lot and speeding to the highway.
I realized my phone was dead when I got to the car, and it felt like years before I had enough charge to make a call. When the damn thing finally turns on, I have missed calls and texts from Georgie, Rumi, Emerson, and Jack, but I bypass all of them to try to call Ava
Her phone goes to voicemail. And I try again and again before my brain, sleep-deprived and panicked, catches up to my body.
If Ava is in labor, I’m sure Georgie is either with her orRumi and Emerson. And I don’t know a world where Rumi and Emerson wouldn’t be within feet of Ava if she’s in labor—especially if I’m not there.
My thoughts land on Jack, who wouldn’t let any of the girls out of his sight.
The stop light just before the highway goes from green to yellow, causing me to slam on my brakes. When I’m finally stopped, my leg bouncing with anticipation, waiting for the light to turn, I tap Jack’s contact.
“Anderson,” Jack barks into the phone as I merge onto the highway. “Where the hell are you?” His voice comes out harsh and I have to fight the urge to flinch.
“My hometown. My little brother is in the hospital. Is Ava okay?” My voice is shaky, and it takes everything in me not to press the gas pedal until it touches the floor.
Jack sighs harshly. “She will be. Rumi says she’ll feel better after the epidural.”
“She’s getting an epidural? Now?!” I run a hand through my hair. I know Ava’s birth plan like the back of my hand. She explicitly said no epidural, even making me promise not to offer it to her—she wanted to be the one to ask for it if she felt she needed it.
“Yeah, I’ve never had a contraction before, but I can’t imagine they’re too pleasant to have for hours on end,” Jack deadpans, and my stomach knots.
I hate that Ava is in so much pain—or was. Jack is making it sound like she’s doing okay now. Or that she will be.
I was supposed to be there—she wasn’t supposed to do this alone.
“How did she get to the hospital? Don’t tell me she drove herself.” I weave through a few cars, picking up speed in the left lane and praying to the universe that there’s no cop on duty on this stretch of the highway.
