I know it.
But I’ve been through too much shit in my life. I’ve had bad thing after bad thing dropped on top of me out of nowhere. People we love have left. Have been hurt. Have died. For all I know, it’s just more of the same.
Again and again and again.
So I think I’m forgiven when the first thing I say is “What the fuck has happened now?”
The kids in my class gasp dramatically, because apparently Mr. Thompson knows the goddamn f-word.
The principal groans, putting
his face in his hands.
The lady from the front office clutches her pearls, even though she’s not even wearing any.
Oliver Thompson says, “I tried to call you on your phone, but you didn’t have it on you because you’re in class, you’re in class, so why would you? Bear. Bear. Megan’s in labor. She’s on her way to the hospital now. Bear, it’s happening. It’s here. We’re going to be dads.”
God, how it turns on a fucking dime.
And it can surprise the hell out of you.
Because in moments like this, moments of great upheaval, I’m the one to lose my shit. I’m the one to babble and freak out and talk and talk and talk about anything and everything. My eyes bulge, and I worry about all the little things that could go wrong.
That doesn’t happen.
It doesn’t happen, because I can see Otter, the love of my very strange life, beginning to lose his shit.
He’s wringing his hands and his shoulders are shaking, his eyes darting all over. He’s scared and nervous, and he’s saying, “We gotta go, we gotta go, we gotta drive to Eugene, and I forgot to bring a toothbrush. Bear, we packed an overnight bag just for this moment, and I forgot my toothbrush. I can’t brush my teeth and I don’t know what I’m doing. Okay? Bear, I don’t know what I’m doing right now.”
And wonder of all wonders, a measure of calm falls over me, because yes, life turns, but we’ve spent years building toward this moment, and it’s here. It’s finally here.
I say, “Tom, can you take over the class?”
The principal nods. “And I suppose we’ll talk about proper language in front of pupils upon your return in three months.” He smiles.
The kids are buzzing around us, because they know something is happening, but they don’t know what. I ignore them and focus on Otter. His hands are clammy when I take them in mine. “You have to breathe,” I tell him evenly. “You got this, okay? We’ve got this. I promise you.”
His smile is a trembling thing, but he breathes. “I’m going to be a good dad, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You are.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe you guys should head out?” the lady from the front office suggests.
I glare at her for ruining the moment. “Thank you, Nancy. What would I do without you.”
She sniffs haughtily.
WE LEAVE my car in the faculty parking lot and take Otter’s SUV. I grab the keys from his shaking hands, and he gives me a relieved look. Even before we’ve left the parking lot, both of us are already on the phone.
Otter says, “Mom? It’s—she’s gone into labor. Can you—oh my god, why are you crying? Mom. Mom. I need you to—I’m fine. I do not sound like I’m hyperventilating! You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have screamed that. I’m—I know. I’m just… this is… I’m going to be a dad. Okay? I need you to—can you get Izzie? And call—well, not everyone. You can’t call everyone. Just… mostly everyone.”
I say, “Dom? Ty’s in class, so I don’t want to interrupt him. Megan’s gone into labor. We’re heading to Eugene now. Can you—what? No, I’m not high. Why would you even ask that? I always sound calm. Okay, that was a lie, but now I do, and your first thought is that I’m high? What is wrong with you?”
Otter says, “Mom! You don’t need to make a cake, for fuck’s sake! Why the hell would you make a cake? I—I am a grown man. I can use whatever language I want! Um. I mean. Sorry. Sorry. Can I—Dad? Oh my god, I didn’t mean to yell at her! My children are being born and I’m freaking out.”