A nurse spotted me from inside and hurried toward the automatic doors with nb a wheelchair.
I closed my eyes.
“Adrian, I need you here.”
He sighed.
Actually sighed.
Like I had asked him to leave a movie early.
Then Margaret Cole’s voice floated through the phone.
“Is she still doing this?”
My entire body went cold.
Adrian muffled the phone, but not enough.
“Mom, please.”
Margaret replied:
“Women give birth every day. I only turn sixty once.”
Then someone laughed.
I could not tell whether it was her or one of the guests.
For months Adrian had promised that when labor started, nothing would keep him away.
He had downloaded contraction apps.
Packed a hospital bag.
Practiced installing the infant car seat twice.
He once told friends he would probably cry harder than I did.
Now he said:
“Can you get yourself checked in? I’ll come after dessert.”
