Tasty Mango by JJ Knight
Havannah
Having a baby is the worst!
The ER doc decides I’m not in any imminent birthing stage, so the staff leisurely sends everyone but my sister out to wait until a labor and delivery room is ready for me.
“Make that doctor get back in here!” I tell Magnolia. “I’m going to have this baby any second.” I huff my way through another contraction.
Magnolia bites her lip in a way I know means she’s trying to figure out how to be tactful. She looks a mess. Her hair is in a loose, twisty bun that doesn’t look intentionally tousled. She’s wearing sweatpants and a Boulder Pickle T-shirt. What was she doing on a Saturday night? Eating ice cream and watching Hallmark movies?
“What?” I finally say when she doesn’t speak up. “What is that face for?”
She straightens the paper sheet covering my knees. I’m still in the black dress, inched up to my waist. Am I going to deliver Junior in a cocktail gown that’s two sizes too small?
I fling my arm over my face. This is too much.
“You’re only three centimeters dilated and your contractions are irregular,” she says.
“They were three minutes apart in the limo!” I’ve been saying “limo” every other sentence. I don’t know why. To brag, I guess. Like I have anything to brag on, knocked up with a deadbeat dad and unable to finish a first date with someone normal.
Tears leak out of my eyes and I dash them away. No time for a pity party.
“That can happen as things get started,” Magnolia says gently. “I think you probably have hours to go.”
“So I could have finished my date?”
Yeah, yeah, I know it’s an irrational thought. Hush.
She shrugs. “I guess if you’d thought to wear an adult undergarment.” She turns to a steel cabinet, the only furniture in this curtained space. “I think there might be an extra in here. Want me to fetch one and we’ll call back the limo?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Why is this happening?”
She leans her hip against the bedrail. “Because you’re one wild and crazy chick, and you were destined to live a hot-mess life.”
A nurse in pink scrubs arrives with two young men in blue. “Havannah, I’m Nurse Cindy. These two gentlemen are going to wheel you to labor and delivery. We’ve got a room all ready for you.” She holds up a white plastic band. “Can you verify this is you?”
I peer at it. Havannah Boudreaux. DOB April 17, 1994. “That’s me.”
She fastens it to my wrist. “You’ll have a matching one for your baby when it’s time. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“A boy,” I say. I’m already feeling calmer.
“Nice.” She nods at the two men, and they bend down to unlock the wheels to my bed. “Have you picked out a name?”
I shake my head. I have a list, but the arrival of the baby has been hard to picture. I’ve put all my energy into our new deli. Until now, the baby has been a rather fuzzy idea in the far-off future.
Magnolia walks alongside us as we navigate the sectioned-off curtains of the ER. “I brought the name book. It’s in the bag.”
I glance at her. “Where’s the bag?”
“With Dad.”
“Will you tell him to head to the maternity floor?”
“Your parents are already there,” Cindy says. “They seem to have quite a setup for you.”
Oh, right. I vaguely remember a big rant about the perfect birth. The music, a silk robe, lavender-scented handkerchiefs. I might have asked for a gurgling fountain.
The reality of labor makes my suggestions seem silly. A real-life baby is coming.
We enter an elevator. “I take it this is your first,” Cindy says.
I nod.
“Are you expecting any other arrivals?” I figure this is her tactful way of asking about the father.
“I don’t think so.” The familiar sinking feeling takes over. The real-life baby isn’t going to have a real-life father.
“Grandmama will certainly come later,” Magnolia says. I know she’s trying to make my mind shift gears. I can’t go spiraling down a pity hole.
It’s taken a lot to convince my family not to ask about the baby’s paternity. But Magnolia knows. She’s sworn to take the secret to her grave.
Not that I’ll leave him out of the picture forever. But right now, he’s in jail, and since I didn’t even know his last name when we did the deed, I’m sure I’m only the vaguest memory to him.
If he ever gets his life together, I might tell him. Or if Junior ever needs him, like for a kidney transplant or whatever, maybe I’ll track his awful ass down.
But for now, he’s out. He’s a horrible person and deserves to be where he is. I don’t think they let you out of jail to attend your baby’s birth even if you do know one’s coming.
I’m on my own.
Magnolia squeezes my arm as we exit the elevator to the happy colors of the maternity ward. I’m not entirely alone. I’ve got my sister. And my parents. And the Pickles have been extremely involved since Magnolia and Anthony got engaged. In fact, the only reason I have a nursery is that Anthony’s family keeps sending gifts.
Our family is stretched pretty thin with the second deli so new. But we have hand-me-downs they saved. And I have a beautiful new crib, courtesy of Anthony. A ton of baby clothes. All the necessities.
I’m fine.
It’s going to be fine.
The orderlies push open the door to my room. Mom and Dad are there, as promised. The music is playing, the air smells of lavender, and a tiny rock fountain gurgles on the side table.
Tears prick my eyes again. “You did it all!” I say.
Dad leans down to kiss my head. “Anything for our baby girl.”
“And our grandbaby!” Mom says.
The two men lower the rails to the bed. “Can you stand?” Cindy asks.
I nod. I haven’t had a contraction in a while. They were right. This is the beginning of a long night. I swing my legs over, keeping my paper sheet wrapped around me, to move to the larger bed.
Dad heads out so the nurse, Mom, and Magnolia can help me get changed and settled. I have my cotton gown, my silk robe, and a pillowcase embroidered with stars.
Mom’s eyes glisten as she adjusts the pillow. “You were born with this pillow on the bed,” she says. “And your sister.” She swallows. “I’m pleased it’s here for our first grandchild.” She holds my hand.
Magnolia goes to fetch Dad. The next contraction hits, finally, and I breathe through it.
“Good girl,” Mom says.
The anesthesiologist arrives, and we talk about options. I choose an epidural, and everyone leaves while he sprays my back and sticks me.
Something icy flows through my veins. At first I don’t think anything is different, but when the next contraction hits, mercy me. It’s better. They dialed it down.
My family returns, and we settle in for a long, crazy night that will change my life completely.