Page 70 of Stolen Holidays
“I remember. It’s me and you to the end.” Emery smiles as I lean over and buckle her seatbelt. “Thank you.”
I start the car and head out onto the road. Thankfully, they are clear of snow, and both the nearest hospital and home lie on the same route south. After a brief call with Emery’s obstetrician, explaining the situation, she gives us clearance to drive to our hospital as planned. Since this is Emery’s first child and her contractions are over ten minutes apart, the doctor assures us it will be hours before the baby arrives.
“Oh, shoot,” Emery gasps. “We need my go bag, the baby bag, and the car seat. And Henry.”
I glance at Chris in the rearview mirror. He catches my gaze, and, like his sister, his eyes are wide and swirling with a mess of emotion.
“I need everyone to breathe, okay? I have the bags and car seat in the trunk, ready to go. Henry is at the doggy hotel. He’s perfectly fine. Em, if you want, Chris can check on him tomorrow. Right, Chris?”
He nods woodenly.
“See, everything is fine. We’ve got this.”
“Why aren’t you freaking out? It’s freakingmeout.” Emery takes short, ragged breaths, sucking in air.
I keep my eyes on the road and breathe, even though my knuckles burn from gripping the wheel too tight. “Do you want me to freak out?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She bites her lip in confusion.
I lower my voice to the register that tells her I’m in charge. “Baby Doll?”
“Don’t you use that tone with me,” she snaps. Chris chuckles in the backseat as he keeps a hand on Emery’s shoulder. “Shut it, Chris.” I bite back a laugh and give Emery a minute. She’ll answer when she’s ready.
Three, two…
“No. I don’t want you to freak out.”
“Didn’t think so.” That comes out a little too smugly.
“Jerk,” she huffs. A light sheen of sweat coats her forehead as she grips her stomach. “Oh no. Oh no. I think I’m getting a contraction.” Chris and I encourage Emery to breathe. I mentally note the time as I pull into the hospital. “Shit, that really hurt.”
“It’s a good thing we’re here.” That fifty-mile drive flew by.
Chris and I fly out of the car. He runs into the hospital entrance as I rush to Emery’s side. I help her out of the car as Chris arrives with a nurse pushing a wheelchair. We assist Em into the seat and follow the nurse.
“Mason, I’m a little scared. I—”
I wipe the sweat off Emery’s forehead. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve got this.”
It’s been ten hours since we arrived at the hospital, and it’s finally time to push. She’s tired and cranky. And has every right to be.
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one pushing a watermelon out of a hole the size of an orange,” she grits between contractions. They are finally coming on fast and hard.
The nurse checking the fetal monitor chuckles.
“You’re right. It’s going to hurt like hell.” I kiss the top of her head. If I could trade places with her, I would. I hate seeing her in pain. Every cell in my body is screaming to protect her, but I’m defenseless in this situation. “You’re only a couple of pushes away. Then our son will be here, and all of this will be nothing when you hold him in your arms. You’re going to be amazing. You can do this, Em.”
Tears and determination fill my wife’s eyes as she digs deep. “I can do this.”
“You can do this.” I repeat.
After another hour of pushing, Emery delivers our son into the world like a fucking champ. I’m in awe of the brave and strong woman I get to call my wife. My partner in life.
My brave girl gave me the greatest gift of all: a beautiful, healthy baby boy.
Christian Rhodes Miller.
I never felt more love than I do the moment I hold my son in my arms. My heart feels like it’s going to burst. Tears fill my eyes and pour down my cheeks. I’m a blubbering mess as I look at the squishy little red face in my arms. He’s got Emery’s lips and my hair. We can’t tell yet what his eye color is, but Emery is convinced it’s hazel like mine.
