Page 25 of Dropping the Ball

She gives an uncomfortable-sounding grunt. “My back is killing me. I really, really want the stethoscope. Distract me.”

“For me to feel better, I need to list every vegetable I can think of in alphabetical order. Asparagus, bean, caul—”

“Why do you need to do that?”

“Keeps me from running search terms for delivering a baby in a car through my head.”

“Oh. Cauliflower . . .”

D? What’s a vegetable with D? We trade a quick panicked look.

“Daikon!” she shouts.

“Durian!” I shout at the same time.

“That’s a fruit!” she shouts.

“Okay, daikon,” I shout back.

She lets out a sigh. “Okay, escarole, fennel . . .”

She’s on turnip when I take the hospital exit. I am more relieved that I don’t have to figure out what to say for U, V, or X than I am about delivering my niece, so it worked. (I had wasabi ready to go for W.)

Signs point us to a covered portico for labor and delivery check-ins, and I stop the car, throw it in park, and run around to help Madison out, but Micah beats me to it, his truck idling behind mine.

When she’s on her feet with Micah’s help, he says, “Why don’t you take her in to get checked or whatever, and I’ll park the cars?”

“Yes, thanks,” I say, already herding Madison into the hospital with an arm around her waist.

After that, the staff takes over efficiently, and it’s calming.

“She’s preregistered, so we can take her right back to an exam room,” the charge nurse tells me. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

I’m so keyed up it’s almost a nonsense command. Make myself comfortable? Sit on the barely cushioned chairs and pretend as if something life-changing isn’t happening beyond the double doors? But I wander into the waiting area and perch at the edge of a chair, too nervous to settle into it.

Micah finds me there a few minutes later. “How’s it going? Is Madison okay?”

“Seems like it. Maybe freaked out that she’ll have a kid, possibly today? But calm, considering.”

“That’s good.” He stands there, glancing around the room, but there isn’t much to see beyond the beige walls and abstract watercolor prints. There’s a large window overlooking the adjacent medical center and afair number of trees behind it, but that’s it. His gaze returns to me, taking in my position at the edge of my seat. “What about you? Are you doing all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’ve been researching when I take breaks from studying for the bar, so I’ll be okay.”

He cocks his head. “Researching?”

I wave my hand, but I have no idea what I’m trying to indicate. “Articles about how to be a good aunt. Stuff like that.”

“Find any good information?”

“It’s pretty subjective. Personality specific, I guess? It seems to boil down to showing up.”

“Showing up is big,” he says.

I focus on him more closely. “Do you have uncle experience?”

He shakes his head. “Only child. But lots of my friends I grew up with are having kids now, and I get some practice.”

“Hillview friends?” I only knew of a few former classmates who had gotten married in the last couple of years.

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