Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
I don’t know why, but it almost feels wrong to get rid of it.
Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I scroll down through my contacts to the number Maria gave me.
I want so badly to check in and see how she’s doing, but I’d hate to wake her up if she’s finally getting some rest.
I hover on the fence for thirty seconds more before realizing I’ve known the answer all along. After everything we’ve been through together in the last twenty-four hours, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving any shade of doubt with Maria. I need her to know that she can reach out to me anytime.
Fingers to the screen of my phone, I do just that and hit send.
Maria
I stare down at a message from Remy, reading his words for what feels like the hundredth time.
Remy: Thanks for letting me be a part of this experience, Ri, whether you really had the choice or not. I’ll remember this for the rest of my life. PS: Don’t forget to use this number if and when you need me—or if you just want to chat. I’m always here.
Goodness, he’s so damn kind, so considerate, so…Remy.
Even after all these years, he’s still the same sweet guy who made my teenage heart fall hard.
Sure, he’s rougher around the edges now, jaded about things like marriage and relationships, but deep down, at his core, he hasn’t really changed.
I honestly don’t know what it would’ve been like to have Izzy if Remy hadn’t been there. Sure, it would’ve been nice to deliver her in a hospital, where a freaking epidural could’ve been utilized and I wouldn’t have had to feel like my vagina was lit on fire and used as a damn cannon, but I would’ve been experiencing her birth…alone.
And that would’ve made it a million times harder.
Sure, I have friends and acquaintances in this city, but grabbing a drink or dinner is not the same as wanting someone witnessing you push a baby out of your hoo-hah.
For me, there’s no one who could replace my mom and sister. They would’ve been the only two people I would’ve wanted by my side when I delivered Izzy.
Luckily, you had Remy.
I war with myself over whether I should respond to him.
I even type out at least ten different texts but end up deleting every single one of them before hitting send.
I just…I don’t know… It feels wrong to bring him into my web of crazy complications. It feels like I’d be taking advantage of his kindness or something.
“Knock, knock.” The soft sounds of a woman’s voice pull my focus toward the door, and that’s when I see a new face in a pair of pale-blue scrubs.
“Good morning. I’m Christina. I’ll be your nurse today,” the day shift nurse greets as she steps into the room. She erases Deb’s name from the whiteboard and fills the empty space with her own. “How are you feeling?”
“I guess I’m doing pretty good for a lady who delivered a baby in an elevator yesterday afternoon,” I tell her with a knowing smile, and she laughs.
“Talk about a wild birth story, huh?”
“Pretty sure I might have to deal with some minor PTSD every time I get in an elevator now.”
“Girl, you had a baby in an elevator, in the middle of a blackout, on one of the hottest days of the summer. Without an epidural. You’re officially my hero.” Christina flashes a wink and a smile at me before walking over to where Izzy is currently lying in the hospital bassinet. “And just think, one day when this little lady is older, you’ll be able to tell her how much pain she put her mother through.”
“Yeah,” I say and swallow past the emotion that all of a sudden threatens to close off my throat.
Her mother. For better or worse and lack of any other option, I am her mother.
And for a reason only a newborn can understand, Izzy takes that as her cue to start crying.
“Uh-oh, looks like she has some things to say about her birth story, too,” Christina muses as she checks to see if Izzy has a dirty diaper. “Girlfriend, let me tell you, your momma is one strong woman.”
I wish I felt as strong as Christina seems to think I am. Truthfully, I mostly just feel like I’m trying to survive. Trying not to fail.
“I think she might be hungry,” I tell the nurse after she updates that Izzy’s diaper is surprisingly clean and dry. “But I’ve been having a lot of issues with getting her to latch.”
If there was one thing my sister was incredibly adamant about, it was breastfeeding. She was even planning on taking medication to hopefully induce her milk supply so she could be the one to do it.
Hell, when I was only eight weeks pregnant, she was already trying to get me to agree to pump my breast milk if her own milk supply couldn’t be induced.