Chapter 24: Socks

"Breathe through it," Seth said, for the fortieth time, and I told him where he could put his breathing.

He nodded gravely and kept hold of my hand.

It was a quarter to noon on a Sunday, and I had been in the labor room since dawn.

Beth sat in the corner chair, holding my purse in her lap and refusing to put it down.

Outside the window, snow was coming down on the hospital parking lot.

It was the same lot where I had once stood with a folder in my fist.

"You're doing it," the nurse said. "You're nearly there."

"I'm not nearly anywhere."

"You're at ten centimeters, honey. Hold on to that man."

I held on to him.

He was pale, and his hair stuck up where he had been shoving a hand through it, and he had not left my side for one minute.

When the pain climbed again, I gripped his fingers hard enough to bruise.

"Look at me," he said.

"I am looking."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," I gasped. "That's the only reason I'm not throwing you out the window."

The doctor laughed, and then she told me to push.

I pushed.

I do not remember how long it went on.

I remember Beth's voice somewhere, saying my name, and Seth's forehead pressed against mine, and a sound I did not know I could make.

Then there was another sound, thin and furious, and the whole room went still.

"It's a girl," the doctor said. "Seven pounds even."

They laid her on my chest, wet and red and angry.

She had a full head of dark hair, plastered flat, and a tiny scowl that looked familiar.

Keep reading free with an account. Start April Joke, Permanent Scar from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.