Page 94 of Geordie

I gulp hard, heart pumping. Her due date is a few weeks from now. “Why didn't either of you tell me? Is she alright?”

“She's had Braxton Hicks before. We thought it was just another false alarm, but we went to the hospital anyway. It took them forever to see us. When they admitted her, she was in labor.” The phone is muffled.

“Eddie?”

“I'm here. She's not having an easy time of it. She's asking for you. Can you come?”

“Where are you?”

“We're at the Medical Center main.”

“I'm on my way.”

The hospital is a freaking zoo. This isn't the place they elected to have their child. That hospital has a birthing center with suites that look like a five-star hotel room. Molly said they chose a suite, with a wide window that overlooked a tree-lined courtyard. My guess is, they must've been out and about when her cramping started and Eddie pulled into the nearest hospital. It's one of the county facilities, and as far away as you can get from a posh birthing center. I join the flow of patients and staff heading toward maternity.

I locate the correct wing. At least there are fewer people here. My skin prickles at what I'll find as I search for Molly's room, but I steel myself so I can offer support to my friend. To get to the right room, I have to travel through old gleaming-white hospital corridors that look like a setup for a horror film. I'm expecting the lights to flicker at any moment.

The sound of my boots echoing off the walls doesn't dilute my unease. I stop to get my bearings; my sense of direction is horrible at the best of times. I walk around while I repeat the directions in my head, but I end up at the same nurse's station every time, until an attendant feels sorry for me and escorts me to the right section.

“It's just past these doors,” he says and points down a long hallway. I want to tip him; I'm so relieved that my maze nightmare is over, but that would be silly. Someone holds the door open for me as she's coming out. I step to the station and have a frustrating conversation with a nurse who must double as the gatekeeper. Apparently, Molly has all the visitors they'll allow and my name is not on the list.

“Her husband Eddie called me nearly an hour ago. Molly asked for me to come. Could you check to see if she still wants to see me? Maybe someone can step out of the room for a few minutes to allow me in?”

According to the heavy sigh I get from the nurse, I'm guessing her next words are going to be, “That's not my job.” The woman surprises me and says she'll see what she can do. I don't know why I'm thanking her profusely. As far as I'm concerned, the mother-to-be should have anyone she wants in the room, as long as she's comfortable with them seeing her bodily functions on display and the occupants don't exceed the fire capacity. I trail off to the nearby avocado-colored waiting room, complete with green and orange striped chairs.

For something that should take a few minutes, I'm sitting here at least forty-five minutes and growing worried. My texting is ignored and my calls go into voicemail.

Other nurses have come to the station, but not the one I was talking to. Maybe Eddie changed his mind or maybe the nurse just went on break and forgot about me. I drift over to the station, trying to communicate as calmly as I can. Shit, everything that seems to happen feels like I'm right on the edge. Dammit, I work in a high-pressure kitchen; this should be nothing.

“Lily?”

I turn to see a frazzled Eddie walking towards me, looking like he's been sleeping in his clothes.

“Is she alright?”

“I convinced her mother to step out of the room so you can see her. Molly's only allowed to have one visitor besides me.”

I follow him down a corridor, rounding a few corners. I'll never remember how to get back. June, Molly's mother, is standing just outside the door, eyes rimmed red, cheeks wet. I nod, but she turns away to walk down the hall. I steel myself for what I'm about to see.

“Go inside,” Eddie encourages. “She's been asking for you. I'll give you some time with her alone. I'm going down to the cafeteria for caffeine.”

The stark green room is unexpected; it's just a regular hospital room. I remember Molly boasting there would be aromatherapy in her birthing suite, that her child would come into this world in a cloud of lavender. The only scent is antiseptic. Molly sits in her bed, the hospital gown she wears hanging loosely on her frame, its fabric faded from countless washes. A white chalkboard is on the right wall with her name, room number, and phone number written in blue chalk. Machines are near her bed, monitoring her status. Her golden hair is pulled back in a messy bun, the stray strands cascading onto her shoulders. She displays a quiet exhaustion as she sits motionless among the tangled covers, head lowered as if in prayer. She glances up, eyes shining. “Lily,” she says a bit dreamily, “I want you to meet Jamie.”

The boy swaddled in a blue blanket rests in her arms, the tiniest white wool cap on his head, eyes closed, making sucking motions as he dreams.

I step closer to the bed, mesmerized by Jamie and his mother. “Is he hungry?” running my finger over the soft cotton blanket.

“He's good. I just finished feeding him. Sorry about the wait. They were cleaning him up when you arrived. I wanted to feed him first. Do you want to hold him?”

My skin prickles with excitement. “Yes, please.”

She offers the tiny bundle and for a moment I'm frightened to hold such a precious treasure, but his lightness fills my arms with happiness. Feeling emotional seems to be my reaction to everything these days, so I don't fight the tears that surface as I cradle this tiny life.

“He's perfect, Molly.” I’m whispering, not wanting to disturb Jamie's visions of feathery angels or puffy white clouds that babies probably dream of.

“He is perfect, isn't he?” Her eyes join the quiet weeping fest. “Now it's your turn to have your little one.”

I nod. I can't wait.

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