“I saw something on the news. They’re not letting planes land at the airport.” He pauses.
“Drew’s flying into SFO, right?”
I nod, unable to form words.
“I guess there’s some sort of cargo plane on the runway that caught on fire. No big deal, they put it out, but it’s pretty much shut down the airport while they clean it up real fast.”
“You’re kidding. Right?” Holy hell, he’d better be kidding. Though this isn’t the time for jokes, that’s for sure.
“I wish I were,” Owen says grimly.
I can’t even believe it. Drew was set to land at 4:10. He called with all his flight info right as he boarded the plane. Glancing at the clock on the table beside the bed, I see it is …
A little after four. Yeah. The timing on this is like a bad comedy.
“Hand me my phone, would you?” I left it on the table on the far side of the clock and since I’ve been having contractions, I haven’t been able to reach it. I need to just keep it by my side always. Drew will call me any minute, I hope.
Oh man, do I hope.
Owen gives me my phone and I check for texts from Drew. Nothing. I send him a quick one, asking if he’s all right and has he landed yet, but no reply. I check for a voice mail. Nothing. I call him.
No answer.
“Turn on the TV,” I say, waving my hand toward the television mounted in the corner of the room. “Put on the news or whatever it was where you saw the report.”
“Are you sure you want to watch it? It might just make you angry,” Owen says with a wince.
“Turn it on,” I practically growl and he grabs the remote, clicking on the TV without a word.
Owen finds the news report quickly, a reporter standing out in front of the airport, droning on about flights being diverted to other airports, Oakland or San Jose. Some of the planes are still circling in the air above SFO, hoping to land soon. It’s a giant mess, with the cargo plane still lying like a burned-out carcass in the middle of the runway, the giant yellow fire engines everywhere with their sirens flashing.
And my husband is most likely hovering above in a plane, anxious to land so he can get to the hospital.
“I feel like I’m in a really bad movie. Some stupid sitcom where everyone is supposed to find this funny,” I mutter, snagging the remote out of Owen’s hand and turning the television off. “I can’t take it.”
“I’ll watch it out in the lobby,” Owen says solemnly, his expression stoic. “I’ll wait out there. Let me know if you hear from Drew, okay? Send me a text or something.”
“You do the same.”
He leans over and kisses my cheek, then ruffles my hair much like I used to do to him when he was younger and shorter than me. That was a long time ago. The memories flood me of a bedraggled Owen, dressed in clothes from the local Goodwill, his jeans too high, his shoes worn out. Wishing so hard his mom cared about him, while I was bitter and desperate to get out of there.
I ran away when I was fifteen or sixteen, I can’t remember now. I tried my best to escape and I didn’t plan on looking back. I had a stash of money I’d saved for myself, keeping ten bucks from the grocery money Mom gave me every week since I was the one who did all the shopping. She was too busy drinking and sleeping with her variety of boyfriends.
So I left. Snuck out in the middle of the night, hopping out the window of our apartment and eager to flee my prison. And I immediately felt guilty for leaving Owen behind. I couldn’t let her raise him. She was already doing a piss-poor job and I knew if I was gone, he didn’t have a chance.
I went back. For Owen. I raised him. He’s more mine than he was ever Mom’s. I love him, and I’m treating him like a pain in my ass because I’m in labor and missing my husband and scared.
“Owen.” I grab his hand to keep him from leaving me, and he turns to meet my gaze, his expression questioning. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being a bitch.” I don’t try to candy coat it because it’s true. I’ve been a total bitch and it’s not fair.
“You’re in labor.” He shrugs. “That shit can’t be easy.”
I laugh, then grimace when another contraction stretches across my stomach. I squeeze his hand tight and he lets me, never saying a word of protest. “Thank you,” I finally say when the contraction passes. “For everything.”
“I should say the same to you, Fabes.” His voice is quiet, his eyes full of a mixture of sadness and love. “You’ve always been there for me. You’re going to be a great mother. You already are.”
Tears shimmer, blurring my vision. Looking at him, how great he turned out, pride suffuses me, making my heart grow. I’m so proud of him. He’s not perfect, but who is? I told him to apply to Stanford. They have an excellent football team and he could’ve got in. Bonus? He could have moved closer to us.
He chose to go to the same college that Drew did instead. He wants to stay home. I think he’s afraid to live. I also think it’s a mistake but it’s not my life, it’s his. That means where he goes to college is ultimately his choice. He’s still a kid. He’s allowed to make mistakes.
But he was never my mistake. He’s my little brother, the kid I raised and took care of and never abandoned. I’m a better mother than our mom ever was.
For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I feel like I’ve got this. I’m going to be a mother. This little girl is going to be coming into the world sooner rather than later and I’m ready.
Owen’s right. I’m going to be a damn good mom, too.
Chapter Ten
Drew
I’m not only being tested, I feel like the entire world is against me, a giant obstacle in my race to get home and be with my wife when she gives birth.
Getting a flight back to San Francisco was easy. Too easy. I paid for my first-class seat and waited only a few minutes before boarding the plane, relaxing in the soft, oversized leather seat, refusing anything to drink from the flight attendant beyond a glass of water. I’m anxious enough. I don’t need liquor or caffeine flowing through my system to make it worse.
A woman sat next to me who’s a total Cowboys fan and she recognized me, giving me grief about being a 49er. I listened to her at first, trying my best to nod and be polite, but after her constant nagging of my team—and my game play—I pulled my earbuds out of the front pocket of my jeans and plugged into my iPhone, listening to music so I could tune her out.