Page 40 of Knocked Up in Alaska

“Sorry.” She looked from one friend to another, craning her neck to meet Ford’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” The apology came out on a pant. “If it’s broken, I’ll pay for a new one.”

“It’s nothing,” he said and smiled at her. “Forget about it.”

“I’ve never done anything so…destructive.”

“Oh, please. Was this fool texting while you’re experiencing the miracle of birth?” Bridget grabbed the phone from him and threw it through the gap in the curtain. This time it landed somewhere beyond with two thuds. Wall and floor. “There.” She winked at Lilah. “Serves him right.”

“Hey!” Ford menaced her with a glare. “You’re not in labor. Go get my fucking phone.”

“Geez,” she whined as she stomped out, “Lilah’s having a kid and Ford’s having a cow.”

Despite everything, Lilah let out a tired laugh. She tried to suppress it until she heard Ford’s reluctant snicker. He leaned back and settled her against his chest, wrapped his arms loosely around her. “Okay?”

Facing front, she nodded, suddenly overwhelmed to have his support. Bridget’s. Everyone’s. Grateful beyond words, she rested her forearms on his. He flipped his over and linked their fingers together—palm to palm. “I’ve got you, and you’ve got this,” he murmured into her ear. A flash had her looking up. Bridget stood at the gap in the privacy curtain, framing them in the camera of Ford’s phone. “That’s a keeper,” she said and pocketed his phone.

Dr. Devan turned away from the sink, where she’d scrubbed up and snapped gloves on. From the foot of the bed, she assessed things down in the birth zone. After conferring briefly with Bev, she smiled at Lilah. “Your little one isn’t going to wait much longer to meet its mama.”

“Her mama,” Ford corrected.

“Her?” Bridget’s eyes narrowed. “Says who?”

“Says Lilah.”

“Ready to see if you’re right?” Dr. Devan asked.

“Uh-uh. No.”

“Well,” she lowered to sit on the rolling stool Bev had vacated, “ready or not…”

She wasn’t ready, not at all, when the next wave of pain rolled through her, followed quickly by another, and another. She could barely get a breath between them. Couldn’t rest or recover. They crushed her. Left no room for anything else.

Only bits of other things made it through the haze of constant agony. Dr. D saying something about crowning. Ford, behind her, anchoring her as she pushed, pushed, pushed with every ounce of energy she had inside her and some she didn’t. He spoke to her, a low steady stream of compassion and encouragement she couldn’t make out distinctly but tried to draw strength from. Bridget held her left knee, easing it toward her chest while Bev did the same with her right. Dr. D sat at the foot of the bed, smiling behind her librarian glasses and mouthing something to her.

“What?” She shook her head, trying to clear the of rush of her own heartbeat from her ears.

“One more,” Dr. D said. “Come on. One more push. You can do it.”

She couldn’t. She was going to snap like a wishbone. Strangling on defeat, she shook her head.

“Do it, Lilah,” Bridget urged, turning a flushed, teary face toward her. “Ford doesn’t think you can—”

“That’s bullshit,” he interrupted in a voice hot with denial. “I never said—”

“It’s not bullshit,” Bridget insisted. “He thinks you’re a little girl. Too young. Too sweet and sheltered.” Bridget’s smile turned fierce, and Lilah felt more weight against her knee as her friend leaned closer. “He’s…you know…sorry.”

Sorry? Sorry? She’d show him sorry. Anger boiled up from someplace deep inside her. Powerful fuel that propelled her to prove him—prove everyone—wrong. “I’m not a little girl.” She wrapped her hands around the bedrails and pulled herself forward as the next wave lifted her. “I’m not too young,” she screamed through the contraction. “I’m not sweet. I’m not a sheltered girl. I’m…a…fucking…woman!”

Her rant echoed in the suddenly quiet, curtained space. “A fucking mother,” Bridget whispered just before a thin, warbly cry filled the silence.

“A what? I’m a what?” Jolts of lightning fired in her muscles, had her straining to lean forward. To see…

“Congratulations, Mom,” Dr. Devan said softly and placed a tiny, warm, wet, blotchy bundle on her bare stomach. “You have a beautiful baby girl.”

“Girl.” Bridget laughed and sobbed at the same time. “Fucking Shay.”

“Good job, Mommy,” Bev cooed, then switched her attention to Bridget. “Maybe we could watch our language now that baby’s here?”

The odd creature on her stomach sort of moved. A scrawny leg with a small foot kicked out. With shaking hands, she gathered it up, brought it to her gown-covered chest, and stared into the little face.

Oh.

Such a sweet face. Tiny damp eyelashes. Round cheeks. A precious rosebud of a mouth. As she drank in every perfect detail of this person she and Shay had created, something moved inside her—some blissfully painful and profound shift in her heart and her soul. And she knew with utter certainty those pieces that moved would never go back to where they had been. She would never be the same. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Oh, my. Hi. Hi, baby.” Unable to resist, she uncurled a miniature fist and swept her thumb along the fingers, all the way to the impossibly delicate, translucent nails at the tips.

“Look at her.” She didn’t even know who she was talking to. She couldn’t take her eyes off the baby. Her daughter. “She’s so…amazing.”

A big, gentle hand swept her hair back. A low voice caressed her cheek. “She takes after her mom.”

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