Page 21 of The Labor Date
I check the time. “I get it. You must be hungry. Right. I need to keep on top of the schedule Holly has you both on. Come on. To the kitchen.”
I no sooner reach for the fancy cat food when I hear a sound that makes me freeze. Not Winston’s usual growl. Not the thump of him knocking something off of a shelf just because he can. But a low, guttural yowl sounding too much like worry, coming from the bedroom.
I rush back in and find Duchess sprawled there, sides heaving, eyes wide. Winston circles her like a guard, tail puffed, gaze flicking to me with something that almost looks like pleading.
“Oh shit,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. Is she dying?
Duchess lets out another cry, and strains her body, her back end opening up. Something is coming out of… there. Something bigger than just a typical litter box dump.
Realization slams into me.
She’s in labor.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” How did we miss the signals? Holly took her to the vet early on and no mention of kittens in her belly. I quickly Google how long a cat can be pregnant and learn they only have a two months gestation instead of nine.
Of course, Duchess’ labor day would happen to be the day Holly leaves.
I grab my phone, fumbling. “Okay. Don’t panic.” I’m the one panicking.
Winston growls low, like a coach demanding I get my ass in gear.
I kneel by the bed, phone wedged to my ear, trying to remember everything I’ve ever heard about cats giving birth. Which is exactly nothing.
“Breathe, Duch,” I soothe, as if she understands me. “You’ve got this. Easy peasy. Just like… um… a shootout. One puck at a time.”
She yowls louder. Winston shoots me a look sharp enough to cut glass.
Finally, Holly picks up on the other end. “Scott? I just landed. Everything okay?”
“Define okay.” A bead of sweat runs down my forehead. “I think Duchess is in labor.” I explain everything I’m seeing and hearing.
There’s a squeal, followed by frantic noise on her end. “What? Oh, my god! She is? Scott, listen—don’t touch her unless she needs help. Keep her warm and quiet. Winston will stay with her. Cats know what to do on instinct.”
“Holly, breathe. She’s doing fine. Winston’s standing guard like a celebrity security detail. And me? I’m cheering her on.” I chuckle nervously and glance at the pair, Duchess panting, Winston glaring. “Honestly, it’s the weirdest team huddle I’ve ever been in.”
“I should take the next flight back home.”
“No, really, it’ll be fine. Your mom needs you.”
Holly chortles. “Okay, if you’re sure, I trust you. Just be gentle. And call me the second the kittens arrive. Send a million pics. I wish I could see this.”
Her faith steadies me more than I expect. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got this covered. I’ll take care of the little family.”
“Ourgrowing little family. I love you, hotshot.”
My breath catches at the unmistakable feelings in her voice. With these words I’ve never said to any woman other than my mother in my life. Now I want to say them back to Holly. I want to say it and mean it. Jeez, I almost tear up as my heart fills with warmth.
“I love you too, baby.”
“We did it. We really said it,” she chuckles. My grin can’t be contained, sitting on my face like a dopey, lovesick schoolboy. Of course, Winston growls, trying to ruin the moment.
“We did. Oh, shit—” Duchess bears down. I realize this is it. “The first kitten is coming. I gotta go. I’ll send photos. Love you, bye.”
When I hang up, I settle on the end of the bed and watch, with Winston at my side, both of us in a daze of awe and terror. For once, the cat and I share a look and probably the same thought: this is bigger than both of us.
19
WINSTON
