Page 27 of Dropping the Ball

I doze, waking often, but nothing changes. Around breakfast time, I step out to stretch my legs, feeling kind of gross after being in my work clothes all night. Sami and I have taken turns updating the group chat with their old roommates, but I shoot Micah a quick text now.

No baby yet. Been here all night. They’re giving her something to move it along.

Wow. Thanks for the update. Good luck to Madison.

An hour later, Madison’s nurse pops her head in. “Kaitlyn? You have a delivery at the front desk.”

Madison and Sami both turn to look at me, but I shake my head. “No idea. I’ll be back.”

Two minutes later, I’m staring at a paper carryout bag from Tacodeli—famous for their breakfast tacos, a stack of folded sweats, and a drink carrier with four cups of coffee and a pile of creamers and sugar packets. The nurse at the desk smiles and hands me a note. “A guy dropped them off for you a few minutes ago. He was a doll.”

The short note is on hospital stationery.

Hey, Kaitlyn.

Brought some breakfast in case the hospital food is as bad as people always say. Saw these sweats in the lobby gift shop and thought you might need them since you’ve been here all night. You got this, auntie.

—Micah

I hold up the gray sweatshirt with the hospital logo on it. Then I peek into the bag and laugh when I see at least a dozen breakfast tacos. I pull the sweatshirt over my head and have the nurse take a picture with my phone of me holding all the tacos and text it to Micah.

How much do you think I eat for breakfast?

Two tacos. But I got every kind because I don’t know what you like.

This was so sweet. Thank you.

Np

“A little advice,” the nurse says.

“Yes, please.”

“Don’t take those to your sister’s room. Had to walk a husband over to the ER for stitches last week when he took a bite of a donut in front of his wife.”

Madison hasn’t been allowed to eat anything but the ice chips Oliver hand-fed her all night. “Good tip.”

I slip into the bathroom and change into the sweats. It does feel good to change out of my rumpled work clothes. Micah even included a pair of hospital fuzzy socks with grippy bottoms. They go better with my sweatsuit than my brown snakeskin stilettos do.

An hour later, we’ve each snuck out to eat tacos and drink coffee, and Madison pretends not to notice when we come back in ten-minute increments looking not hungry and more awake.

“Who is this Micah guy?” Sami asks when we’re all back in Madi’s room. “He’s a keeper.”

“I got this,” Madison says, and launches into a theatrical recounting of my nemesis gained, my broken nose, academic intrigue, our paths converging, and my nemesis lost.

Sami is an excellent audience, and when Madi finishes, Sami turns to me. “Great story. How much of it was true?”

Madison gives an indignant huff, but I ignore her. “Turn down the drama about sixty percent, and it’s pretty accurate.”

We settle in to watch a game show, and the morning stretches on. After the midday news, Madi shifts uncomfortably in the bed. “My tailbone hurts. I think my epidural is wearing off.”

“I’ll page the nurse.”

She comes in a few minutes later and lifts Madi’s blanket. “Oh, it’s go time.”

Oliver is on his feet. “Go time?”

“Her tailbone hurts because your baby’s head is already crowning. Madi, hold tight, do not push, and I’ll be back in less than two minutes.”

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