Life Interrupted (29 page)

              Tripp and I were barely asleep for an hour when the call came in, which is why we’re walking into the hospital looking more ragged than the drunk with the split open head who’s bumbling in ahead of us.  I’m wearing the same team sweats I peeled off and left on the floor when I got back from my three day road trip down in California, along with a t-shirt of Tripp’s I wore to bed and my black North Face shell and slippers.  Tripp is wearing almost the exact same outfit, but his sweats are generic black OSU sweats sold at the bookstore and his feet are encased in running shoes he forgot to lace up.  Gracie’s still in her PJs, her rain boots shoved over cupcake footies that she now has in triplicate because she likes the idea of wearing cake to bed (so does Katie, but I think it’s for different reasons entirely), her head resting on Tripp’s shoulder as he carries her. 

             
Katie and Tanner are parking the car, which means they may or may not be here by the time my niece or nephew is born, since I’m pretty sure everything they do is code for fooling around.  The fact that they think they’re hiding their relationship from all of us is hilarious, but we let them have their secret because it’s honestly hard to imagine how much worse their PDA would be if they
weren’t
trying to hide it.

             
We head up to the maternity floor and step up to the desk to get our badges when the elevator doors open.  “Reynolds-Myers,” I tell the security guard and he smiles, writing her room number on our name-tags. 

             
He points us to the waiting area, and we trudge off, waving when we spot my mom already there.  “Your father’s on his way and Nick’s parents are heading down from Portland and should be here in an hour.”

             
I nod, sitting and rubbing my hands over my eyes.  Gracie says Nona and Tripp hands her to my mom when she reaches out.  She snuggles against my mom, her head on her shoulder, her Lovey in one arm, her blanky in the other.  My mom rests her chin on Gracie’s head and smiles.  Tripp’s fingers find mine and he laces them together.  “Any update on Stacy’s progress?” I ask and my mom shakes her head.

             
“Not for a while, but I’m sure if you wait a few minutes you’ll hear her yourself.”

             
I raise a brow.  “She’s screaming?”

             
“More like raging.  She doesn’t want drugs, but she doesn’t want pain.  Nick’s paying the price of the balance.”

             
I smile and stand.  “I’ll go see if he needs a break.”

             
Twenty minutes later I’m sanitized and holding Stacy’s hand as she puffs her way through another contraction.  She’s one hundred percent effaced and completely dilated, so now she’s playing the push game to get the little one started for the grand finale.  I breathe with her, though I don’t puff in and out.  She looks and sounds ridiculous and even when I was in labor I didn’t puff—I may have, however, dropped several f-bombs.  Whatever works.

             
When the contraction eases up, Stacy flops back on the bed and I hand her the small glass of ice chips.  She chomps one down, glaring at the nurses who are checking her vitals, glaring at the med student who’s doing rounds with the doctor. 

When the doctor raises his head and grins at her from between her legs, I swear her heart rate spikes.  “Looking good, Stacy, we’re almost there.”  Then he smiles at me and asks how I am. 
I nod, mumble something and turn back to Stacy, grateful when he leaves.  Yep, the last time we saw each other I was in the exact same position as Stacy.  Is it weird that my sister and I have now had the same man stare at our hoo-hoo and tell us we looked good?

When I ask Stacy this, she finally stops scowling enough to smile.  “Jesus, that’s terrifying.  He was on call the night you delivered, too?”

I nod.  “So don’t worry, you can’t say anything offensive that I didn’t already drop on him.”

She smiles again, but it’s weak as the fatigue starts to set in.  I know that she’ll be in pain again soon and need her strength, so I start talking, telling her stories of my road trip, the way I blocked the number one seed
when we played USC, even though she annihilated me three plays later.  I was a badass for a minute and it felt good.  She laughs distractedly and pretends to be impressed.  When she grips my hand hard, I grip back and distract her some more.  “You picked out any names yet? You didn’t want to know the sex, but do you have to have an idea of what you’re calling the little one when he or she comes out?”

             
She nods and breathes through the contraction.  “John Samuel if it’s a boy,” she says and I raise my brow.  She shrugs.  “We wanted to pick names from the family.  John is Nick’s grandfather, Samuel for Dad.” I pray for a girl right there, just so the little one isn’t tasked with living up—or down—to someone else’s name.

             
“And if it’s a girl?”

             
“Layla Grace.”

             
I freeze and our eyes meet.  Hers are heavy with pain, but there’s something else there, too, an understanding, a gift.  “Stacy,” I say and she smiles.

“I can’t name her Rachel,” she says with a smile.  “And I can’t name her after just one of our mothers.  So I blended the first two and gave her Gracie’s name, because Gracie showed me exactly how strong I want her to be. 
Like her mama showed me.” 

For a second I wish I had more words to tell her how honored I am, b
ut then another contraction hits her and instead I find myself panting, too, puffing breath in and out with her and holding her hand, ignoring the feeling of bone rubbing bone as she squeezes mine painfully.  “What do you think?” she asks a few minutes later and I shrug. 

“It’s a b
it Twilight,” I say and laugh when she narrows her eyes.  “But I love it.”

The doctor comes in and checks her
progress and I keep my eyes glued to her face.  There are some things even sisters don’t need to share.  “You’re getting close, honey, you might want to call your husband back in.”

             
I nod at Stacy as she rests back and pants, squeezing her hand one last time.  “I’ll go get him.  You’ve got this, Stace,” I tell her and she squeezes back.  When her eyes fill with too many things to name, I lean down and rest my cheek against hers for a minute.  “You’ve got this, big sister, you’re going to be okay.”

             
I feel her head nodding up and down and I smile.  Pulling away, I give her one last smile before turning to go find Nick.  Halfway to the door I hear the nurse ask her, “Does that hemorrhoid hurt, hon?” and I know that the strangled cry that follows has nothing to do with a contraction pain.  Laughing, I walk out the door.

~

              Layla Grace Reynolds-Myers was born at six-oh-six a.m., weighing in at a healthy six and a half pounds and measuring eighteen inches.  She was two pounds and three inches smaller than Gracie, but then, Stacy weighs significantly less than I do.   

             
We stand at the glass to admire baby Layla as the nurse swaddles her, and then to wave to Nick as he holds her up.  Her face is a little red, mushed together in the traditional Yoda look of every newborn.  Yet, like with Gracie, I see the beauty in her that I didn’t used to recognize in newborns, the features that are her mother, those that are her father, and the perfect blending of both parents.  I glance at Gracie, now wide awake and pressing her face against the glass as she stands with G, who arrived a few minutes after we did.  She still looks a lot like Marcus, but the more she grows, the less of him I see.  I see me, and her aunt Stacy, and her Grandmother and great Grandmother.  I see Katie in her attitude sometimes, and Tripp in her head tilt and curious eyes that can be surprisingly patient for an almost two-year-old. 

             
It’s not just genes that make us who we are I realize, it’s the people who love you, who raise you, which is why when my father comes in I’m able to hug him and embrace Lucy, who’s only days away from her own delivery.  My mother does the same and I smile at her, admiring as always her poise and grace.  She isn’t bitter or scared or hurt, she’s strong and beautiful and everything I want to be.

             
“You look asleep on your feet,” she says and I smile.  “Why don’t you go home and sleep.  I’ll keep Gracie and you can come over for dinner and get her later.”

Gratitude swamps me and I nod, leaning in to kiss her.  “Thanks, Mom.”

“Always.  Go, get some sleep.  You can tell me about your matches when you come over later.”

We say goodbye to Stacy and baby Layla and promise to visit her when she gets home tomorrow. 
After kissing Gracie and the rest of the family, we head home.

             
“What are you thinking about over there?” Tripp asks as he maneuvers down ninth back toward campus.

             
I turn to him, my head resting back on the seat.  He has a small five o’clock shadow going on and his lids seem heavy over those dark eyes when he glances my way.  He’s been so steady these past few months, so able to deal with everything from my crazy workout and travel schedule, to Gracie’s joyful teething stage in July where no one slept, to the trial with Marcus that ended with a settlement before it began, whose outcome was as predicted, with mandatory counseling, probation, and signed papers releasing any rights to Gracie.  Through it all Tripp was there, holding onto me, holding onto Gracie, making sure that we stayed steady and standing, that we didn’t just survive, but that we lived. 

             
“I’m thinking that you’re pretty great,” I say and he smiles like he knows this.  “And I’m really lucky to have you, to be with you.  And so’s Gracie.”

             
He reaches over and links our fingers, bringing my hand to his lips for a brief kiss that never fails to make my stomach flop.  “When I was standing there watching Nick today as he held Layla and kissed Stacy, I remembered that day you got me out of class and told me you were pregnant.  I was so scared,” he admits and I nod.  “I was jealous and hurt and everything in me wanted to ask you to be mine right then—to let me have you and the baby, and that scared me because I wasn’t even seventeen and here I was asking for a family, one that I had no claim on.”

“It’s always been you, Tripp,” I tell him and he nods.

“But I fucked up, and looking at you that day and the next one all those months later when you came out of the ultrasound with the picture of your perfect girl, I was even more scared because it hit me that I might always be on the sidelines.  I’d had you and lost you all in one night and now your life was so much bigger than that, so much more and I didn’t know if I’d ever get to be a part of it.”

He pulls into the driveway and parks and we both get out. 
My heart is beating fast in my chest, pounding from his words and what they make me feel and as we walk inside and straight upstairs to our room, I try to find the something that shows him I feel the same way.

“I was watching Gracie in the hospital,” I tell him as I strip off my jacket and slippers and slide into bed, “and it hit me that she doesn’t look as much like Marcus to me anymore.  Her coloring, yes, but everything else, her mannerisms, how she speaks and laughs, they’re all reflections of who is she as a little person, and of the people who love her.  She looks like you sometimes,” I say
, and we roll so we’re on our sides, our faces inches apart.  “I’ll say something to her and she’ll tilt her head just so and look at me as if she’s thinking about what I’ve said and every time I think, there he is, there’s her true daddy.”

His eyes get darker, deeper, but he says nothing for a minute and I can feel nerves skittering over me
, wondering if I’ve said too much, gone too far.  Lifting my hand, I trace the outline of his profile with my finger, moving down to his lips where he closes his eyes for a second.  When he opens them, they’re clear and brilliant, full of love that I can see all the way through.

“
I love you, Rachel, both of you.  And someday soon I’m going to ask you both to be mine.”  My smile starts small and spreads, so when he shifts me on my back and raises himself above me, I can’t help but grin.  “What do you think about that?”

             
“I think someday soon we’re going to say yes.”

             
His sigh is audible and he brings his lips down to mine, kissing me deeply, thoroughly, until I’m arching into him and wrapping my arms around his neck.  Slowing down, he places small kisses at my temple, cheeks, nose before resting his brow on mine.  “I was counting on it.”

The late summer sunshine is threatening to fall behind several suspicious looking clouds, and the heat that is so abnormal to our area of the nation is bordering on stifling.  Of course Mother Nature would throw a temper tantrum on my wedding day.  Jealous bitch.

             
I shrug off my annoyance and turn back to my girls as they get out of the car behind me.  They’re wearing black sundresses with black chucks, the exact opposite of me, and when given those instructions, the horror that crossed both of their faces was what one would term
priceless
.

             
“But it’s a wedding,” Stacy stammered while Katie sat fuming.

             
“I know, that’s why you’re wearing them.”

             
“What she means,” Katie snapped from her place on the couch, “is that it’s a wedding, not a fucking costume party, therefore, something a bit fancier might be appropriate.”

             
I nodded agreeably.  “Yeah, it is a wedding,
my
wedding, so you’re wearing what I want. Deal with it.”

             
Both of them swallowed back any responses but the look in Katie’s eyes was mutinous, a promise that she’ll have me looking like a seven foot hooker in sequins and stilettos when her time comes.  Brilliant.

             
But now everyone’s smiling as they stand there in their mismatched black dresses, Katie’s a bubble with fancy black flowers on it and Stacy’s a more reserved A line.  Between them, my gorgeous girl stands in her white eyelet and her white chucks, exactly like me. There’s a band of white flowers in her golden hair.  She’s almost four and I can’t believe how beautiful she is, or that she’s really mine. 
Ours
, I correct myself and look toward the library steps.  Today, she legally becomes ours, and it’s as much a day about that as it is about the wedding.

             
I breathe in once and exhale out.  A glance at the window of the car throws my reflection at me and I take one last minute to study the details, for once anxious to make sure that everything is as perfect as it can be.  Today, of all days, deserves perfection, even if Mother Nature is going to try and step in and steal my spotlight. 
Try it, sister, I’m still marrying him.

I left my hair down and let Katie tame the waves so they now fall soft and shiny past my shoulders.  My bangs are swept to the side and there’s a large white bloom behind my left ear.  Katie worked her magic with my face, too, using a light hand to highlight my eyes and gloss my lips.  I’m grateful I still look like me, just a little more glamorous. 

              I sweep a hand down my own white dress, a little fancier than the girls’, but still casual compared to most weddings.  It’s white cotton and simple except for the beautiful sheer white overlay that makes it appear ethereal, almost dainty.  The half inch thick straps meet the straight neckline in the front and go over my shoulder and all the way down my bare back to my waist, where they meet the sheer ribbon that’s tied there.  The dress nips in at my waist and flows out to just below my knees, and though I’m sure there would have been a million better choices, I paired it with Chucks as well, because it made it feel like me.  I desperately want to be me on this day when I marry Tripp, my best friend and the only boy I’ve ever loved.

             
When I hear the violins start up, I look up at my other best friend and my sister, the two people who’ve always loved me, and then down at my little girl, whose eyes, so much my own, smile back at me.

             
“Ready?” I ask everyone.

             
They nod and one by one they hug me and grab their flowers, simple bouquets of daisies that also earned a glare when first chosen.  “They’re ugly and smell bad.”

             
“They’re happy and simple,” I countered Katie’s complaint and chose them.  Now, I take my own and smile at the girls as they start down the small walkway toward the university’s library stairs, but one whiff tells me Katie wasn’t wrong; they do smell a little like pee.

             
As we reach the bottom of the stairs, I look at the small group of people gathered there and smile at them.  Dad and Lucy with their little boy, Nix, who is only three days younger than Nick and Stacy’s Layla.  Ms. Flynn stands next to some man I don’t know but can guess is her significant other the way he’s holding her.  Still, she smiles and holds out a quick hand and I take it and squeeze it, letting her know, always, how grateful I am for her.  Then there’s Tripp’s parents and grandparents, G and Walter, and then my mom, alone and beautiful as she stares at me.  I stop and give her a kiss, lifting Gracie up to do the same.

             
At the base of the stairs now, I don’t look up quite yet.  Instead, I set Gracie on her feet and stare into her eyes for a minute, loving the way she stares back with equal curiosity. 

             
“Are you ready for this, gorgeous girl?”  She nods and I know she understands.  Holding out my fist, I wait for her to give it a small bop and then kiss her cheek.  “Let’s do it then.”

             
Standing, I take her hand in mine and turn toward the stairs, my eyes lifting until they meet his, and everything in me feels pulled.  Before I know it, my feet are moving and Gracie is right next to me, climbing, climbing, until we’re on the stair next to him. 

             
Griff and Tanner are on the stair behind him, and I smile as he leans down to pick up Gracie and turn toward me.

             
“Don’t most people only get one girl on their wedding day?” Griff stage whispers to Tanner, who shrugs good naturedly.

             
“Yeah, but Jackson’s always been greedy.  And lucky, the bastard.”

             
Tripp turns to me, laughing as he ignores them, and I smile back, reaching down to link my fingers with his.

The Justice of the Peace begins, reciting straight forward words that I can follow.  When he has me repeat after him, Tripp stops me when I gets to “as long as we both shall live.”

              “I want forever,” he says, his voice husky and low.  My stomach jumps, but I just quirk my brow.  “I don’t want qualifications, I want forever,” he repeats and though the JP grumbles, I grin and break the rules by kissing him.

             
Leaning back, I nod.  “I was counting on it.”  And then the thunder booms and we say I do to forever while the rain falls and soaks us all. 

~