Page 53 of Christmas Cheer

I thank her as more screens show Evan’s dopey grin from different angles, other reporters hunting down the most exciting story. Evan is having the time of his life explaining every horrific thing our obstetrician has said in the last couple of weeks — everything’s fine, pregnancy’s just horrific — culminating in the fact that we have a bye week coming up and I’m full term, so tomorrow’s the perfect day to have a baby.

I’m saved from additional mortification by Lin Huang, the starting kicker. His arm’s in a sling right now, but doctors say he’ll be back on the field in a month. For now, he’s wearing his jersey with sweatpants and doing his time on the sideline, but he’s been walking me down to the locker room at the end of the game. I’d be fine to get there on my own, security knows me and all, but Evan roped him into this.

See, I’m not the only one easily manipulated by him. It’s a thing.

Lin offers me his good arm, and I happily take it. He’s a great guy, always super patient, takes baby steps on his incredibly long legs so I can waddle at a comfortable pace. “How are you doing today?” he asks as we wait for the elevator, and I know he’s genuinely interested because he’s told me about his nephew several times and even offered me his sister’s number if I needed someone to talk to.

“Oh, I’m just miserable every second of the day,” I laugh. “I’ve been having the worst cramps imaginable today.”

He nods sympathetically. “The end’s not great. But they’re inducing you tomorrow, right? Evan was saying that before the game.”

“He doesn’t shut up about it!” I gingerly step off the elevator and continue down the hall toward the usual post-game commotion, eying up the charcuterie in the little snack area that’s been set up for the guys.

All that cured meat.

Soon, I tell myself, glaring at the salami temptation. I was very occasionally indulging before returning to graduate with Evan, but the moment we moved in together, he turned into the pepperoni police.

I hear him laughing at something one of the other guys says. I turn to greet him, hating the stupid grin I’m positive is on my face. Ryan spent his entire wedding reception ridiculing me over the googly eyes I have no control of. I have the most ridiculous person ever, but I have my person.

Also, Evan’s googly eyes are way worse than mine. He jogs to me, just kind of throwing his helmet wherever like it’s our mudroom and not a stadium inhabited by thousands of people. “Baby, we’re having a baby tomorrow!” he squeals.

Legit squeals. Like a school girl.

“We are, but can you try to take it—” I start to say, but my words cut off by a strange squelch in my maternity panties. I look down at my crotch — which I totally can’t see because baby — and whisper, “Uh oh.”

“Aww, wifey, did you pee your pants again?”

Lin saves his life right then and there by saying, “Pok kai,” which I’ve heard enough to think also meansdipshit.“Her water just broke.” He does not acknowledge the fact that Evan just announced to the team that I have peed my pants before. Lin’s a good man. A better man than Evan. Light years better.

Evan’s eyes go gigantic. Next to him, Blaise says, “You need me to call a Barbecue Express?”

“What does that mean?” I ask, although my voice is strangled by what I’m now thinking is an actual for-real contraction. “Don’t do whatever that is!”

Merrick pops his head out of the locker room. “Did you say Barbecue Express?” He disappears, and a second later, I hear something heavy fall in the locker room. Chaos erupts.

Evan springs into action, rushing to close the distance between us so quickly that, considering he’s still in his full gear which has had Stefan Malchek’s blood on it since the third quarter, I’m a little terrified that he’s forgetting how much hard plastic is covering his hard body. But he scoops me up without missing a step and continues his hustle toward the exit.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m sure we have time.” I don’t actually know that, but Evan insisted on taking classes on how to deliver the baby himself. That’s not even a little bit my birth plan, but it was supposed to keep him from panicking.

He’s practically sprinting, now yelling, “I’m gonna be a dad today!” at everyone he passes. There’s a lot of cheering, a lot more panic, I’m pretty sure I’m dripping amniotic fluid everywhere, but there’s nothing I can do.

We burst out of the exit into the heavily guarded team parking lot, at which point Evan says, “I don’t have my keys,” and then yells to a cop, “Can you hotwire my car? She’s having a baby! I’m gonna be a dad today! A girl dad!”

“I’ve got your keys in my purse!” I hiss. “Just get me to the car!”

So he stops running, kisses me hard, and yells to the cop, “I need your lights! This baby’s coming! It’s gonna be a girl, and I love her so much!”

“Evan. Evan. For the love of God, do not start crying. I beg you.”

He doesn’t, but his eyes are definitely watering as he buckles me in with the fancy pregnancy seatbelt he spent way too much money, leaning so far over I get whacked in the face by gross, sweaty maroon hair.

“I love you so much. The smartest thing I ever did was poke holes in those condoms.”

I will never agree to that, and my greatest hope in life is that there will be a day he stops bringing it up so I don’t have to think about how fucked up it was that he did that.

But it brought me back home, and it gave us our Shelby.

I sigh with an exasperation I don’t really feel as we pull out onto the road behind our police escort. “I guess I’m stuck being your rally girl forever now, huh?”

“And I’m your rally boy. That should be our vows.”

“Absolutely not,” but I have a feeling I’m not gonna win that battle, either.

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