Out in the waiting room, Marco, Patricia and Dad have already assembled, ready to meet the newest member of the family. Marco slapped me on the back when we arrived, and Dad pumped my hand, telling me to be strong, that we’d get through this soon. Patricia just hugged Melanie and offered her a knowing look, before Devan arrived to take her place at Mel’s side.
Now it’s all down to her.
Another groan erupts from her side of the hospital bed, and my whole body tenses with worry. I dart to her side and smooth back stray hairs from Melanie’s forehead. “Come on, you can do this,” I whisper. “I love you.”
She flashes me a look that’s part anguish, part gratitude, and reaches for my hand. “I love you too,” she whispers back, until another contraction hits. “Fucker,” she adds, with a growl, and I can’t help it. I laugh, and look up to find Devan snickering too, though she keeps her gaze averted from mine, trying to pretend she isn’t.
Eventually, though, she can’t resist, and Devan shoots me a conspiratorial grin. I grin back, thinking about Andrew and the ring box I spotted in the front seat of the car the other day when he was climbing out of it to leave after work at the end of a drive. It makes me happy, to know they found one another. Andrew has always been one of my best, most reliable employees, not to mention a truly good person. And Devan seems to be much the same. She’s a hard worker, already working her way to the top of the bar she’s been tending. Her name has appeared in several foodie magazines as the top mixologist to visit in the city, in only the less than a year that she’s been living here.
She’ll go far. And Andrew with her, too. I can’t wait to attend their wedding, the same way they came to ours.
Melanie groans again, and I refocus my attention on her. The doula glances up at me. “Any moment now,” she murmurs, low enough that Mel can’t hear through her own screams.
She pushes again, and that’s when I hear it. A faint, wailing cry that nearly stops my heart in my chest. Our baby.
Melanie looks at me, her eyes huge and wide, then darts a glance to the lower end of the table. The doula sweeps the baby away to clean it quickly, and a doctor steps in to examine Mel. But neither of us are paying attention. We’re bent close to one another, our breaths held, waiting.
We never found out the sex of the baby. We decided, after careful consideration, that we wanted to keep it a secret from ourselves. After all, we’d kept the baby itself a secret from the rest of our family and friends for the months it took until we were sure things were going perfectly. It seemed only fair that we suffer a little with curiosity too—that we leave ourselves a secret to uncover soon.
We turned the guest room of the penthouse into a baby room already, keeping the colors gender neutral until we knew. Cheerful yellow walls, a green crib, red stuffed toys and matching bedding. Everything is ready. We even have two names picked out—either her mother’s name, for a girl, or my grandfather’s name, an old family name, for a boy. Either way, it will be perfect.
The doula steps into our line of sight, with a bundle wrapped in her arms. My heart nearly stops beating in my chest, I swear. Melanie, though, she’s always been the stronger one of us. She lets go of my hand and reaches out for her child. For our child. This little miracle, who will turn our marriage into a whole family.
“Congratulations,” the doula says, her own eyes swimming with emotion. “It’s a girl.”
“Beth,” Melanie breathes, her face lighting up. Elizabeth Marie. Elizabeth for her mother and Marie for mine. I drop into the chair beside the bed, unable to keep standing any longer, and lean in beside Melanie to marvel at our daughter’s beautiful, perfect face.
Her lips crack open and she lets out a little sigh, right before her tiny blue eyes peek open a crack to squint at me.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” I whisper. “I’m your father.”
Her lips quirk wider. Then she sneezes, and we both laugh. I tighten my grip around Melanie’s shoulders at the same time that I reach out to wrap my other arm around our child. I hold them both close to me, unwilling or maybe just unable to ever let them go.
“God, she’s perfect,” I murmur, gazing on the little girl we made together. The baby we created. Then I glance at Melanie and grin. “Just like her mother.”
Melanie laughs softly, finally tearing her gaze from our baby to look up at me once more. “Oh, I don’t know. She looks an awful lot like you.”