Page 62 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
But doctors rushing by in scrubs and that antiseptic smell—it all brings me back to the night Isabelle was born.
After she was here, a red-faced, impossibly small and perfect baby with a powerful set of lungs, things were completely different. I got hit with the kinds of feelings I didn’t know existed until I held my daughter in my arms. There aren’t words for that warmth, for the way my heart seemed to grow another chamber just to contain all the things I felt.
But it’s not those sweet memories that come rushing back to me as I make my way to the elevator. No. No elevator.Too closed off.I turn down the hall and take the stairs two at a time. Isabelle might have been perfect, but getting her here was traumatic for almost everyone involved.
Cass’s labor was long. Rough. She was scared. I was scared. And I felt powerless to help. Guilty because I couldn’t. Guilty because it felt like my fault she was in pain. Guilty because, despite my vows, I didn't really want to do this. Hours and hours of two teenage kids stumbling toward something bigger than either of us could understand.
Cass had a whole birth plan written out and printed up on cardstock. Laminated. She had a labor playlist, a special lamp with a soft light she made me carry, and an exercise ball. Her hospital bag was packed a month in advance with everything she needed and then some. We went through not one birth class, but two.
That’s Cassidy—organized and overprepared.
Then the contractions jumped from every five minutes to every two minutes, and all that went out the window. Cass panicked. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” she kept saying. When shecouldtalk, that is. Sometimes the contractions came in double waves with no break between.
The nurses talked about back labor and posterior position. They kept pressuring her to get an epidural. Cassidy yelled at them to get out. She yelled at the doctor when he said she was only dilated to four centimeters. She yelled at me for reasons I’m still not sure about and threw the exercise ball, which broke the lamp with the soft light.
My worst fear is having the people I care about hurting when I’m unable to help—and that’s exactly what Cassidy’s labor became.
I said all the wrong words. Whatever training we had in the birth classes flew right out of my head. When I tried to touch her, she screamed. When I didn’t touch her, she cried. All while contractions rocked her body.
Cass called me useless, and that’s exactly how I felt. It’s how I still feel now, pausing outside of room 417, trying to steady my breathing. It’s quiet inside, the lights dim.
This won’t be like before, I tell myself. But I am counting down the minutes until Adam gets here, so I can get out of the hospital.
And back to Merritt.
I force myself not to think about dinner, about leaving her there alone, about our kiss.Later.
“Cass?” I call, pushing open the door but hesitating in the doorway. “It’s Hunter.”
“Duh. I know your voice. And I called you.” She laughs. “Come on in; I’m decent.”
She’s smiling, sitting up in a hospital bed and wearing a gown she clearly brought from home. It’s pink and purple with flowers and a little lace around the collar—definitely not a cheap hospital-issue gown. Wires from some kind of monitoring thing extend from under the gown to a machine next to her. The television in front of her is silent, playing aNew Girlrerun.
Isabelle is glued to a tablet, earphones in her ears. She doesn’t even notice me come in.
Despite the peacefulness in the room, sweat starts prickling on my lower back. “Hey. How are you?”
“Better. Can you hand me a ponytail holder? They’re on the table,” Cassidy says.
I pass her a rubber band, watching as she ties her hair up, looking just as calm as can be.
“You’re okay?” I ask. “When you called, you were …”
“Freaking out?” She smiles, then yawns. “I might have panicked a little more than necessary. Isabelle calmed me down.”
I’m not surprised by this. A flare of warm pride expands in my chest as I look at Izzy’s face, washed blue in the screen’s glow. “Did she, now?”
“Yeah. She and I took a mommy and daughter birth class. Not that I want her to be around for the birth.” She laughs. “I can’t be the only one who has flashbacks to the last time.”
I glance down at my feet. “Yeah.”
Cassidy points, smiling. “You’re terrified to even be here. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe.”
I’d rather not relive everything from before. Not only because the memories are traumatic, but also because we’re not those kids now. We’re not together anymore. I’m her ex, not the man here to support her through labor. I'm not wholly sure I should be here now.
I’ve always tried to do my best by Cassidy. Even after the divorce. Maybe especially after the divorce. My parents—fine, specifically my mom—have made comments about this not being the healthiest of situations. That I’m doing too much, that Cassidy relies on me when Adam is busy being a surgeon or whatever.
