“I can’t believe you’re still coming in to work,” Imogen said, her eyes virtually bugging out of her head. “Aren’t you due, like, yesterday?”

“I wish,” I sighed, settling carefully into my desk chair. “I’ve got ten days left, and that’s just a guess. The doctor said the due date was really just an estimate, and it could be another 24 days.”

“Oh, honey, you can’t take another 24 hours, let alone days!” She perched on my desk, flaunting her flat stomach right in front of me. It wasn’t on purpose—I knew that—but I was really sick and tired of feeling like a bloated whale. My irritation must have been evident on my face, because she looked surprised and then guilty in quick succession.

“All right, all right,” she said, raising her hands in slight surrender. “I was wrong. I know I haven’t apologized yet, but…ugh. Apologies suck. I’m sorry I didn’t believe that you were madly in love with Mr. Dane. I promise to believe anything you tell me in the future, no matter how wild, crazy, or irrational it might seem.”

“Thank you,” I said with a grin. “But actually, I was irritated because I watched you down six doughnuts this morning and you still have the twiggiest figure since…God, I can’t remember where I was going with that. Anyway, then, there’s me. I eat a saltine and my ankles triple in size.”

I sighed uncomfortably, wriggling in my chair. I should have added ten more minutes to the shower this morning. The ache in my lower back simply would not quit.

“Are you okay?” Imogen asked worriedly. “Do you need an ambulance? Midwife? Should I boil water?”

“Sit down, you lunatic,” I laughed. “I’m fine. I think this kid’s just getting comfortable on my tail bone, that’s all.”

Imogen made a face. “Better you than me. Know what I do when I get baby fever? I volunteer down at the community center daycare for a couple hours. Ninety minutes around those feral beasts magically makes the desire for my own blow away.”

“You can be the fun aunt, then,” I said with a smile to mask my pain as I arched my back into the spasm. “Every kid needs a fun aunt.”

“Fun aunt it is,” Imogen grinned. “Have you figured out what you’re going to name him yet?”

I shook my head. “There are a lot of good names and a lot of terrible names and a few great names, but nothing feels right. I’ve read at least three baby name books, cover to cover, and I still don’t know what I want.”

“Better figure it out,” Imogen said. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to call him Bob the Baby and you know it’ll stick if I use it enough.”

“You’re so helpful,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Bet you’ll have a name for him by next week, though,” she said with a smirk.

* * *

I brought the subject of names up to Jonathan that night in bed, as he was slathering me with shea butter from ankle to wrist. It had been my routine since the beginning of the pregnancy, and it was one which he had been eager to assist me with. It certainly hadn’t hurt our love life.

“I was looking at Greek baby names today,” I said.

“Did you find anything suitable?” he asked as his long fingers trailed over my belly.

“Not really,” I sighed. “They’re all either too pretentious or too childish. I want something that’s going to be cute on him while he’s little, but will also be strong when he’s all grown up, you know? I just can’t seem to find the name.”

“I thought Eric was a good name,” he said, referring back to the last conversation we’d had on the topic.

I had shot it down, but I hadn’t told him why. Now, it seemed, was the time.

“Eric was my first boyfriend’s name,” I said with a wince. “He was pretty terrible.”

“Oh.” Jonathan stretched out the syllable. “No Eric, then. Let’s try doing this a different way. What are your favorite letters?”

“Favorite letters?” I chuckled. “Do people have those?”

“Everybody does,” he grinned. “Some people just don’t know it yet. So, let’s hear it—favorite letters. One, two, three, go.”

“Um…K, X, C, D…and W.”

“And not a vowel to be found,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Mine are A, L, M…and sometimes, Y.”

I giggled at the corny joke; then, a spasm shot down my spine.

“Whoa,” Jonathan said, snatching his hand away. “Your belly went rock-hard for a second. Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I said dismissively. “Totally fine. My back’s just giving me trouble still.”

“Roll onto your side. I’ll rub it,” he offered.

I still enjoyed the way he sort of ordered me to do things which would make me happy, so I meekly obeyed. He rubbed slowly at first, loosening up my tense muscles, then started going after the knots. One such knot sat just above my tail bone, and was, from what I could tell, the source of my troubles.

He worked it with his palms, then his fingers, then his knuckles, before finally digging his thumbs into the center of it and pressing as hard as he could.

“You are impossible to release tonight,” he grumbled at the knot lightly.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My breath was gone completely, and my belly was compressing. Finally, his hand cramped and he released the pressure, so I gasped for air.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t think it was you,” I said, struggling for breath. “But maybe you could do my feet instead?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said, kissing me before sliding to the end of the bed.

I spasmed again, but it didn’t seem so bad this time. Jonathan’s skilled hands relaxed every muscle in my foot from my toes to my heel, then he kept going. As he was massaging my ankle, he must have found another knot, because he pressed down hard in the little hollow just under my ankle bone.

I had just enough time to cry out this time before the spasm overwhelmed me.

“All right, yeah, okay, it’s doctor time,” Jonathan said anxiously. “Don’t move. I’m going to call him and have him meet us at the hospital.”

“No, don’t do that,” I said, though I was shaking and drenched with sweat. “It’s late; he’s probably sleeping.”

“I don’t care if he’s dead; he’d better pick himself up and meet us at that hospital,” Jonathan said as he dialed. “Hi, Dr. Hooley, it’s Jonathan Dane.

“Yep, it’s about that time. Four…nope, make that five contractions. Less than two minutes apart. No, I’m bringing her in, just meet us there. Thank you.”

He came over to me, then, just as I was uncurling my body from another spasm. He touched my forehead, cursed under his breath, then hurried to the closet. When he returned, he was haphazardly dressed and carrying my biggest, ugliest, most comfortable house dress.

I let him help me put it on. I was beyond arguing now; I couldn’t even catch a full breath between contractions, and I was pretty sure I had just wet the bed. If I had, Jonathan either didn’t notice or didn’t choose to comment on it. Whichever it was, I loved him for it. I shoved my swollen feet into comfy knitted slippers and carefully waddled to the elevator, clinging to Jonathan’s arm.

I don’t remember the ride to the hospital or the journey to the delivery room, only flashes of light between gut-wrenching contractions. The nurses told me that things were moving along quickly, but I didn’t believe them. I was in hell, and hell was eternal.

I shudder to recall the details, so I won’t, but two hours after reaching the hospital, Dr. Hooley placed my perfect baby boy in my quivering arms.

The instant his slate blue eyes met mine, the pain ceased to matter. He was worth every second of it, with his perfect fingers and toes, his tiny button nose, and his rosebud mouth working hard to taste the air.

I was utterly smitten.

“Good job, baby,” Jonathan said. “Both babies. Great job.”

He kissed us both and leaned his weary head on my pillow to stroke the baby’s silky pitch-black hair.

“He’s beautiful,” I said as tears slipped down my cheeks.

“Of course he is,” Jonathan said tenderly. “He was created in beauty.”

The doctors and nurses went about their jobs, but I didn’t notice them. My whole world was within kissing range, and nothing beyond their pretty heads mattered in the slightest. The room slowly emptied and we were left alone with our perfectly perfect little boy.

“Marry me,” Jonathan said between yawns as he cupped the baby’s little head in his big hands.

“Try again,” I said mildly without taking my eyes off of my baby boy.

He rifled around the room for a minute and then came back, holding a tiny, blank, paper ID bracelet in his fingers.

“Kaley Marshall, mother of my child, light of my life, glorious joy-bringer, talented toy-maker, love of my soul…will you do me the insane favor of marrying me, so I can always make sure you’re both taken care of, so we can spend every day of the rest of our lives together, knowing deep down in our heart of hearts that it’s not now, and never will be, pretend?”

“You ramble when you’re tired,” I giggled, a little hazy from the painkillers. “…And it’s adorable. Yes, Jonathan Dane, I will marry you. But first, I need to take a nap.”

And with that, I was dead to the world, and blissfully, blissfully happy.

* * *