“Well, then it’s even better,” she laughs. “You’ve never been particularly attracted to good boys anyway.”
We’re getting closer to her house, and I don’t want to lose my chance. I pull her to a stop. “I’m so glad you’re with Derek,” I say, giving her arm a squeeze. “He loves you so much. All of these good things that have happened for you make me so happy.”
“Thanks,” she nods, glowing again. “It’s all coming back around I think.”
“Have you convinced him to move here yet?” On her back porch, we stomp lightly to get the sand off our dry feet.
Derek and Mel have been arguing Princeton versus Wilmington since before they got engaged. Now it’s the only thing they don’t agree on… when they’re not debating baby names.
“I think so,” she says, arching a thin, dark brow. “Patrick being here helps me a lot. Another reason he’s my boy.”
I shake my head, but my phone is buzzing. “Hang on.”
Dashing back into the kitchen, I scoop it up.
“It’s been doing that since you left.” Bea’s leaning down, checking the contents of Melissa’s double oven.
“Thanks, Bea!” I sweep my finger across the face, continuing into Melissa’s living room. “Hello?”
“Elaine, finally!” Patrick’s voice sounds slightly panicked, and my pulse ticks higher.
“What’s going on?”
“Kenny’s in labor. I’ve got to go to Bayville now,” he says. “I hoped you’d come with me?”
My eyes fly around, searching for Melissa. I hear her in the kitchen, and step bac
k into the room. “Kenny’s having the baby,” I say, covering the phone. “Patrick wants me to go with him—”
“Go!” She cries, shooing me with her hands.
“Can you pick me up here?” I say into the phone.
“Be right there.”
* * *
Labor is not what it looks like on television shows. It’s fits and starts and awful and scary and ultimately incredible.
We spent the first few hours making small talk. Kenny’s labor started a week earlier than predicted, catching her parents in California. They’re flying back, and we hope they’ll make it in time. Patrick paces around the room, nervous. First he stands behind me, massaging my shoulders too hard, then Kenny grimaces and doubles over in pain, and he’s out in the hall trying to find a nurse.
Finally, her contractions become more regular and the labor really starts. I keep trying to leave the room, but with Kenny’s mother still somewhere between here and the West Coast, she keeps reaching for my hand. I stand by her shoulder, smoothing back her light brown hair. It’s grown much longer through her pregnancy. Her cheeks are rounder, too, and everything about her seems so young and vulnerable. I try to think of anything distracting to say.
“Patrick snores like a lumberjack.”
“He does not,” she laughs, but quickly gasps, cringing in agony.
“Are you sure you don’t want an epidural?” My voice is high, afraid, and she shakes her head fast.
“I don’t want him coming into the world all drugged up.” Then she screams, and my heart hits the floor.
Nurses are moving rapidly around the lower half of her body, sweeping mattress pads away and holding her legs.
“Oh, shit.” Patrick’s face is white as a ghost.
“Patrick! Get. Out!” Kenny yells, and he turns on his heel, pushing through the door at once.
Her face is wild, and I wonder if she wants me to go away, too. But then she’s back to shaking and crying and breathing fast—and squeezing the crap out of my hand.