Page 42 of Double Delivery
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~September~
“Could you hand me a…” Ollie winced, “a… a… number three sticker assortment?”
“Got it,” I replied, ignoring the wince. I grabbed a cellophane bag with a collection of stickers from the bin and passed it over.
Ollie had been in labor for several hours and was doing a horrible job at hiding it.
I quickly updated my labor tracking app with the time and how long I guessed the contraction to be. Just because Ollie wanted to ignore it didn’t mean I had to.
Though… I also understood why he was pretending our baby wasn’t actively trying to make an appearance. He’d put his shop in vacation mode two days prior and was attempting to get everything shipped.
“How many more?” I asked as he slid a bubble-mailer across to me. I checked the label and dropped it in the ShipUS basket.
“Five more,” Ollie replied with a tired tone.
I glanced over, but he didn’t appear to be in the middle of a contraction.
“I’ll send Tripp to get lunch,” I stated. “Then I want you to relax.”
He gave me a weak smile. “Thank you.”
I walked over and kissed his forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do it? I can ask if I have questions.”
He pushed his glasses up, then shook his head. “No, this is my job, and this is the last thing I have to do before Nugget makes her escape.”
Which will be in a few hours…
“Ok,” I said. “I’ll be right back. How about you get ready to tell me what to pull, rather than grabbing things yourself.”
He smiled in a way that told me he knew that I knew that he was in labor.
I placed my phone in front of him, open to the labor tracker. He sighed, but nodded.
He wasn’t going to say it aloud until he was done packing orders, but it was an agreement to at least note if he had another contraction while I was out of the room.
I walked to the living room to see Tripp pacing.
“Well?” he asked as soon as he spotted me.
I shook my head. “He’s insisting on packing the final orders himself, though he’s let me pull items for him.”
“The contractions?”
“About seven minutes apart.”
“Is it time to go to the hospital?”
“Not yet. I told him I’d send you to get food.”
“Can he eat?”
I walked over and pulled Tripp into my arms. It took a few seconds for him to settle.
“Get him that fruit and yogurt parfait he likes,” I murmured. “The doctor said that was fine since he’s low-risk. If they have a brothy vegetable soup, that should be good too. Then something for you and me. I trust your judgement.”
He nodded against my collar. “Ok.”
