The Ex (23 page)

“No.” I said it without hesitation. “You raised your daughter to be a kind, empathetic human being. If I know Emma, she’s going to be beyond pissed off when I tell her, but not at you.”

“I wish there were some way that I could tell her without telling her. It doesn’t make sense, but…if there were a way for her to know, without ever having to hear it.” Neil had never looked so utterly broken in the entire time I’d known him. If this was the low point, I hoped nothing ever took him lower.

I noticed the bottle from the corner of my eye. It was tucked beside the back wheel of the car, and I wouldn’t have seen it if Neil hadn’t gotten to his feet. Something sharp twisted in my chest. “What’s that?”

The color drained from his face.

“I’m not…” I couldn’t say, “I’m not mad,” without lying. I was mad. Just not at him. “Can I put that away?”

“Yes, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his elbow tucked to his side. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just—”

His shoulders slumped and shook, and I went to him. I couldn’t help the tears that sprang to my eyes as I held him. “You’re all right, Neil. This doesn’t mean you’re failing. You messed up one time. Do you know how many burger wrappers I had to hide in the kitchen trash when I was supposedly going vegan with you? You’ve clearly quit doing worse things in your past. You told me about all the coke you did in your twenties and thirties.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a bump, right now,” he said with a little laugh that did not reassure me.

I decided to steer the topic away from drug addiction, into safer territory. “Baby, you made it through leukemia. You can make it through this. There’s definitely going to be less puking.”

He lifted his face and gave me a weak smile. “Do you realize that you often give me credit for always saying the right thing to you when you’re emotionally down, but you never give yourself credit for providing the same support to me?”

“That’s what makes me the humblest person in all of humanity, worldwide.” I responded to his quizzical pause with, “Also on the space station.”

He went to the bottle and picked it up then brought it to me. He covered my hands with his as I held it. “You’re right. I can get through this.”

As bold and positive a statement as that was, I still had to ask, “Do you have any other bottles stashed around?”

He shook his head. “Not a one.”

I mentally sighed in relief. “Okay. What do you say we go back to the house and snuggle up in front of the fire while it’s still the right season to do so? You can read, and I can waste an hour on Tumblr.”

“All you look at on Tumblr is pornography of men in suits forcing their fingers into the mouths of hot brunettes,” he observed with an arched brow. “I would hardly call that a waste of time.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” I tilted my head to the side. “I want to make you feel better, but I don’t know exactly how. So, if you need me to do something for you or say something or stop saying things, tell me.”

His expression contorted into one of mock horror. “If you’re going to be the person giving me advice on how to communicate my feelings, I’m clearly worse off than I thought.”

I scowled at him. “Looks like
someone
doesn’t want to be forcing his fingers into a hot brunette’s mouth tonight.”

Growling playfully, he pulled me to his side, and we tripped over each other on our way down the row of gleaming carbon-fiber machines. There was more I could have said to him, and more that I’d eventually need to say. But, for now, this moment was enough.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Though our plan to spend some nights in the city, some at home, had put a teensy strain on us as we tried to adjust, by the end of May, we’d started to find the arrangement really convenient. Neil was able to meet with his tailor as often as necessary for him to be happy with his tux. I took the time usually lost in commuting to work extra hard—and get as ahead of work as I possibly could. I was thankfully nearby when Holli would have “inspirations” about the bridesmaids’ dresses. And, instead of coming home from work to an empty, barely stocked apartment three nights a week, I came home to, well, a home.

After a particularly stressful day, we were releasing some tension when Neil’s phone rang.

“Fuck it,” I gasped, still panting and rocking on top of him. “Call them back.”

But, just a few seconds later, my phone vibrated on the nightstand. Then, the house phone rang.

Neil grasped my hips to still me. “Someone…apparently needs us.”

“Yeah, and I need
this
,” I grumbled, but I rose, easing him from my body, and flopped onto the bed beside him. We both reached for our cell phones and said, almost in unison, “It was Michael.”

Neil’s phone rang again while he was grabbing his glasses so he could see to dial back. He fumbled his phone and barked, “Michael! Is everything all right?”

I sat up and ran a hand through my sweaty hair. Neil listened for a moment then he was up and moving, fast. I jumped up, too; something was definitely happening.

Oh god. Please let the baby be all right
. I thought of my mom’s friend, Ricki, and how she’d had three premature stillbirths. Eventually, she’d been happy to adopt a toddler out of a foster home, but that didn’t make my gut feel any better. I always had a talent for remembering stuff at the worst time.

I bolted from the bed and grabbed my comfy after-work yoga pants and oversized, thin gray cowl neck sweater. I struggled into a bra and cami and hopped around on one foot as I tried to get my undies on. I was pulling the sweater over my head when Neil hung up.

He’d already put his jeans back on, and he zipped them as he spoke. “We have to go. Emma is in labor.”

“It’s too early,” I protested, though my heart resumed normal beating at the fact that the news hadn’t been worse.

“Yes, it is,” Neil said, all quiet intensity and coiled anxiety as he put on his sweater. He snatched his keys, glasses, and wallet from the fireplace mantle. “Get your coat.”

Neil drove like a maniac. We were going to get to the hospital one way or another.

Because of the late hour, the main entrance was closed. We had to enter through the emergency room. They directed us to the obstetrics department waiting room while a nurse went to fetch Michael.

“I wish we knew what was going on. Do you think they’ll let us see her?” Neil’s gaze darted to the door we’d just come through, as though expecting a full team of nurses and doctors to burst in with urgent news.

We sat in two of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, trying to ignore the television stuck on Fox News, its volume quiet enough to make our ears naturally strain, but loud enough to be unignorable. I’d gotten really good at surviving waiting room hell when Neil had been in the hospital, but waiting
for
Neil and waiting
with
Neil were two different situations entirely. His knee bounced constantly. He kept checking his watch, then his phone, then his watch again, as though it would make the time go faster. When I got him a cup of coffee, he took it from me with trembling hands.

The waiting room door opened, and Michael stepped through. I looked for any trace of anxiety on his face, but he exuded pure excitement. “Mr. Elwood, Sophie. Big day, huh?”

I went to him and hugged him. His joy was contagious, so I took it as a cue and upped my enthusiasm. “Congratulations!”

It seemed that Neil had an immunity to Michael’s infectious enthusiasm. “What are they saying? It’s too early. Are they going to try to halt her labor?”

Michael shook his head. “Nah. They did another ultrasound, and the doctor estimated the baby is about six, six-and-a-half pounds.”

“Forget about weight, what about the, uh, the…” I raised my hands and opened them and closed them, too worried to come up with the right word.

“Lungs,” Neil supplied for me. “The baby’s lungs are—”

“They gave Emma some steroids, just in case. But the baby is thirty-five weeks, so she’s almost full-term.” Michael spoke with the quiet authority of a man who would accept nothing but the best possible outcome. “Emma says the last month of pregnancy just packs the baby fat on, anyway.”

“Well, Emma would know,” I said lightly, hoping to calm Neil down some. Neil and Michael were more alike than either of them—or Emma—was comfortable admitting, so I assumed that whatever she had told Michael was a slightly condensed version of the truth meant to comfort him.

Neil slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked on the balls of his feet. “She’s doing fine. She’s dilated to four.” Michael paused. “You haven’t heard from Valerie, have you?”

“I haven’t.” Not that I would have expected to. “I thought she was here with Emma. Isn’t she her coach or something?”

“No, she was the back-up coach that Emma hoped not to have to call.” Michael scrubbed a hand down his face. “Her friend, Amy, was supposed to do it, but she’s in India on a spiritual retreat, and Valerie isn’t answering her phone.”

Neil already had his cell out. “I’ll call her assistant.”

“Maybe you guys could come back there?” Michael’s eyes widened in pleading hope. “I don’t want to leave her alone for very long, but I need to take a walk or something to burn off some of this energy.”

This must be what Botox feels like.
Though I was standing still, expression frozen, in my mind, I was stretching one arm out to brace against the wall, my other arm wrapped around my stomach as I tried not to vomit.

It’s not that I hate babies. I’m just super afraid of them, and pregnancy grosses me out. I guess because I don’t want kids, I don’t understand what would motivate someone to put themselves through all that. But it was what Emma wanted, so I had to be supportive, right?

But if I saw blood or anything crowning, I would pass the fuck out.

“Valerie’s assistant says she’s at the London office,” Neil said, running a hand through his hair. “That would explain why she’s not answering her phone. It’s four in the morning there.”

“Let’s go back, so you can see Emma.” Michael gestured over his shoulder.

The maternity ward wasn’t what I expected at all. I’d thought there would be more screaming, but it was strangely quiet. It still had that hospital smell, though, and that didn’t help my increasing queasiness.

I’d also expected Emma to be sleeping or sickly looking. She wasn’t even lying down. She was sitting up with the head of the bed raised, reading on her phone. She looked totally fine. She didn’t even have an IV or anything.

Neil rushed to her side like she was dying. He kissed her forehead, and she rolled her eyes. “Daddy, I’m fine. Don’t overreact.”

“You’re not in any pain, are you?” he asked, looking her over as though she would have the bloody end of a broken bone sticking out of her somewhere.

She tipped her head back with a frustrated groan. “I’m in labor. Of course I’m in pain.”

“Emma wants to do this ‘naturally’.” Michael crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I think it’s a little crazy—”

“We have been over this,” she warned. “Why don’t you get out of here? You’re driving me nuts.”

“That’s my excuse to go.” He rolled away from the wall and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Neil put his hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Don’t you think you should have something? I’m sure it’s perfectly safe—”

“Sophie,” Emma began reasonably. “Could you please explain to your idiot fiancé that this is my bloody body, and if I don’t want to take any bloody pain medication, I’m bloody well not going to!”

Neil turned to me, and I just shrugged.

Emma let out a soft “phew” of air between her lips. She dropped her phone in her lap, arms going rigid as her face scrunched up. The very important-looking machine parked next to the bed showed a green line that had spiked sharply and plateaued as it moved across the screen.

Neil leaned down beside her, asking, “What’s the matter? Do you need something?”

I shook my head. “Neil. Shut up. She’s having a contraction.”

How was it that
I
was the calm one? He’d already had a baby. Well, Valerie’d had a baby. He’d just been there. Had he been this worked up, then?

The line finally dipped, and Emma flopped her head back and took a few shaky breaths. “Thank you, Sophie.”

“I’m sorry.” Neil patted Emma’s hand. “It’s difficult to see your child in pain.”

“Yeah, this must be really hard for
you
,” she snapped. “Where’s Mum? She won’t answer her goddamned phone.”

“Your mother is in London. Her assistant is going to keep trying, and she’ll be on the first flight possible,” Neil promised.

“She’s my backup!” Emma started to push herself up from the bed, as though she could just march over to England and get Valerie, but Neil gently urged her back down. She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t do this with just Michael! He’s so fucking stupid!”

“You’re just saying that because you’re in labor,” Neil interjected. I widened my eyes and slowly shook my head at him, but it was too late. He’d already been patronizing enough.

“Hey, uh, maybe we should…” I motioned toward the door.

Emma fixed a hopeful gaze on me. “Stay, Sophie? Please?”

That knocked me back a step, literally. Emma and I had come a long way toward liking each other, but I had no idea we were on stay-with-me-while-I-suffer-through-labor terms. If I didn’t rank as high as Neil or Michael, and she was saying all these horrible things about and to them, what the hell was she going to say to me? “Are you sure?”

“I just need somebody who is actually sympathetic and not a dismissive male ass.” Her mouth turned down in the saddest face I’d ever seen on her. She looked like she was going to cry.

I thought back to the July before, when Neil had been so super sick and the due date of my terminated pregnancy had rolled around. At the time, Neil’s survival had still been touch-and-go, and I’d thought about what it would have been like if I’d kept our baby. Would I have delivered alone, without any support system at all?

No. Emma would have stayed with me.

That hypothetical created an obligation I couldn’t ignore. I motioned Neil away and took the armchair beside Emma’s bed. “Go on. Go find Michael, and you guys can worry together.”

He lingered uncertainly, reluctant to go. “If you need anything—”

“I’ll come get you,” I assured him. I was so proud of myself for taking charge and helping Emma out that my confidence swelled to epic proportions.
Wow, maybe I could do this. I could be a nurse or something, if I weren’t doing the whole fashion magazine thing. Or a doctor! What if I went to medical school and became an obstetrician?

“Oh, fuck me, another one already?” Emma sat up then doubled over and groaned. The spiky line thing went way higher this time and plateaued for longer. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Rub her back? Talk her through it? Tell her to bear down, like they did in the movies?

Well, there went that confidence.

There was a knock at the door, and I hoped, though I knew it was extremely unlikely, that Valerie was on the other side. It was a nurse, a young woman with dark hair pulled back in a thick French braid. “How are we doing?”

“Fine,” Emma said, though she was still out of breath. “Is this about as bad as it gets?”

“Um…” The nurse looked away quickly, fiddling with something on the monitor cart. “You know, I wouldn’t know? I’ve never had a baby.”

I could practically hear the nuclear detonation of fury going off in Emma’s head.

“Can I get you anything?” the nurse asked. “Ice chips? Some water?”

“Sure, whatever.” She closed her eyes again. “Can we turn the lights down? My head is doing me in.”

“You’re in labor,
and
you have a headache?” I blurted. “That sucks.”

“Do you really think so, Sophie?” Emma snapped, and I figured I should probably hold my tongue.

Labor apparently takes longer than it does in the movies. Emma dozed off when she could, as the hours ticked on, but because of her headache, they made her keep a blood pressure cuff on. It would randomly swell up and piss her off, which was super helpful. Sometimes, Michael went out for coffee, sometimes, I did. The smell made Emma sick, so we took turns stepping into the hallway to chug it and chew some gum before we went back in.

I checked on Neil every now and then, to get an update about Valerie’s geographical location and also to make sure he hadn’t chewed all of his fingernails down to nubs.

“How is she doing?” he asked when I came out the third time.