Page 59 of Over and Above

“Absolutely.” Marissa smiled like a woman who knew better than to turn down help. “Maren had planned on blowing up the tub in the living room rather than trying to fit it in the basement, but with your permission, I’d like to consider using the primary where I was resting earlier. If we move the bed to one side, there will be enough room, and it will give Maren more privacy.”

“More privacy is a good idea.” I glanced over at the stairs. It wouldn’t be too many more hours until Wren and the rest of the house were awake. Maren might want a home birth, but she didn’t need an unintended audience.

I followed Marissa back to my bedroom, where we worked together to move the nightstands and push the bed under the bank of windows on the far wall.

“Ow.” Straightening, Marissa rubbed her lower back. “That thing is a beast.”

“You okay? What hurts?” I asked, not wanting to sound too concerned but slipping into paramedic mode anyway. “I’ve never had the chance to ask how you healed from the accident.”

“The accident was mainly my leg, along with the ruptured spleen. This is just my back getting older.” She gave a self-conscious shrug.

“I feel that. Getting older sucks. And that was quite the ordeal you had in the spring.”

“Yeah, I finally retired the cane, but some days are better than others.” Marissa tore open a package for a waterproof tarp and spread it over the carpet with my help. “I’m back to work, though, and that helps tremendously. Maren was one of my first clients when I started taking on births again and being here for my clients has been good motivation for the continued physical therapy.”

“Loving your work always helps,” I agreed, trying to smooth over my earlier misstep. “Did you always want to be a midwife?”

“Yes and no. Midwifery is a family tradition, and when I was younger, I loved going along to help my mother or my grandmother. But I dabbled in motocross as a teen, went to college, discovered the market for poets is rather slim, and spent a few years working for a nonprofit. Found my way back to birthwork as my mother slowed her practice.”

“Life has a way of leading us back where we started.”

“Or to entirely new destinations,” Marissa countered, sounding not unlike Magnus. And I supposed that was fair. I had a harder time rolling with life’s punches and shifting direction than either of them seemed to. Marissa dragged over the box for the birthing tub, which we had fetched earlier from her car. “How about you? Were you always going to be a paramedic?”

“My original plan out of high school was medicine, actually.” I didn’t feel like getting into the whole thing with defying my parents and the fire, but I shared that much. “I liked the idea of being a pediatrician.”

“You would have been good at that.” She worked efficiently, unrolling the soft plastic tub.

“That’s what Montgomery was always saying.” I quirked my lips at the memory. As earlier, guilt crept up my back. I didn’t like having less than kind thoughts about Montgomery, but as a doctor, he’d valued his profession highly. “He tried to get me to go back to school back when I was younger and we were first dating. But I like first responder work. I like the pace, and the hours have worked for raising the kids. I think I’m good at it too.”

“I’ve seen you working. You’re very good at your job,” Marissa allowed as she set up the air pump to inflate the tub. “And you’re a good dad.”

“Thanks for saying that.” I joined her in shaking out the tub so the pump worked more effectively.

“I’m not simply saying it.” She shot me a pointed look. “I see a lot of new dads, experienced fathers, and grandparents in my practice. Not everyone is as good at centering their kids as you have been.”

“I try.” And now I was right back to my discussion with Magnus. I’d been so certain that not dating was best for the kids, but what if I was wrong? And at what point did my own needs matter? In our adoption classes, the instructor had often talked about how self-care made better parents, but I continued to waffle as to whether wanting Magnus was self-love or selfish or some mixture of both.

“You do more than try.” Marissa gave me a fast pat on the arm. “And I know home birth wasn’t your first or second choice for Maren, but you’ve rolled with the idea admirably.”

“Thanks.” I blew out a breath. A truce of sorts settled between us. We both respected each other as professionals, and that went a long way, even if part of me continued to wish we were driving to the hospital right then, snow storm and all. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what the right thing to do or say is, especially as they get older.”

“I bet.” A certain wistfulness in Marissa’s tone gave me pause.

“You don’t have kids?”

“You want the short answer or the long answer?” She sat back on her heels as we waited for the tub to inflate.

“Whichever you’re comfortable with.”

“I always thought I’d hit my mid-thirties with a house full of kids and a partner I adored.” She offered a crooked smile, but her eyes stayed solemn. “Now forty is inching closer, and the partner hasn’t materialized.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh. Some of it’s on me.” She flicked her wrist, waving off my concern. “You think you’re invincible and have all the time in the world in your twenties. And then thirty hits, but you’ve still got time. My accident showed me time is finite and rather cruel.”

“I know that feeling well.”All the time in the world.That was how I’d felt when I’d first met Montgomery, the hot, new doctor in town. Falling in love with him had been as easy as breathing, and we’d tumbled right into commitment, home ownership, adoption, another adoption, all before time reared its ugly head.

“I haven’t told many yet, but I’m starting fertility treatments,” Marissa said quietly.

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