Joss
I read through the letter in my hands again, my smile getting even bigger as the words really hit me.
Your funding request has been granted.
I read the word a few more times, just to be sure.
Granted. Granted. Granted!
With a small squeal, I took my phone out of my pocket and texted Carson.
I got the grant I applied for for my gestational diabetes study! I didn’t think I would!
He wrote back immediately.
Congrats, babe! I’m proud of you.
I carefully folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, then tucked it inside the pocket of a binder at the OB desk. There were colleagues I wanted to tell, but for now I liked that only Carson knew about my good news. My birthday was next week, and I had a lot to celebrate this year.
Looking down at my shoes, I knew what I’d be getting myself with the birthday money my parents would be sending me. Lola had chewed up one of my work tennis shoes, and of course they were nearly new. No matter how many bones and chew toys we got her, she preferred our shoes.
“What the hell happened to your shoe?” Hattie asked as she sat down next to me.
“Lola.”
“Ah.” She laughed. “Better than your shoes getting pissed on, I guess.”
“Yeah, she did that to Carson last night. He had a few choice words for her.”
“This is your practice run for a kid, isn’t it? You trying to show him that if you guys can raise a dog, you can raise a baby, too?”
I furrowed my brow with concern. “No, Hattie. I got him the dog because he said he wanted a dog.”
“You do still want kids, though, right? Did you guys work that out before you moved in together?”
I looked away, and a few seconds of silence passed.
“Joss,” she admonished.
“Don’t start. I love him, and his reasons for not wanting kids are understandable.”
“Yeah, what are they?”
I glared at her. “They’re none of your business. It’s between us.”
She put her hands up, feigning innocence. “Okay, okay. I’m just saying, I know how important that is to you.”
“Ugh. I hate it when you say, ‘I’m just saying.’ You sound like my mom.”
Hattie laughed and gave me a gentle shove on the shoulder. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, okay?”
“I know.”
In a case of best timing ever, a nurse pushed a cart with a wailing baby past us. I felt the pangs crying babies always seemed to give me these days. Why had I never felt those pangs when I was with Dean?
Hattie murmured, “That’s a really big thing to give up for a man.”
I nodded, turning my focus to the charts on my tablet. “I don’t know that I’ve given up yet.”
My words to Carson ran through my mind as I scanned a patient’s chart.
“Even if you never want kids, I choose you.”
I’d committed to him in that moment, kids or not. And even though he’d said he might warm up to the idea down the road, his unspoken words made my stomach twist nervously.
He might not.
I’d given in on something that mattered a lot to me just so I could be with him. And even though I couldn’t even imagine myself loving another man the way I loved Carson, I wanted children.
It was so unfair to have to choose between the two, but that’s what I had to do. And if I was going to go back on my decision, I had to do it soon, before things between us got even more serious.
“I’m running down to the ER,” I said to Hattie. “Page me if you need me.”
“You got it.”
She was focused on the computer screen in front of her. I sighed heavily, still gloomy over our conversation, and pitched the last of my coffee in the trash can.
As I walked to the elevator, I had to force myself to ignore the powdery baby smell coming from the nursery. I didn’t know if it was fresh diapers or baby lotion, but it was making my biological clock tick loudly.
A new OB made small talk with me on the elevator. I smiled politely, though my mind was on Carson. I was suddenly anxious to talk to him, even though I knew a conversation about kids wasn’t likely to end well. Hattie’s words had reminded me just how important children were to me, though.
For once, I walked through the ER without seeing Dean or Amanda. I walked up to the main desk and approached a nurse there.
“Hi, I’m looking for Portia Reed. Have you seen her?”
The nurse wasn’t one I knew, and she furrowed her brow as she studied me. “Are you Joss Drake?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened with recognition. “Dean Drake’s ex-wife?”
“That’s me.” I glared at her. “Have you seen Dr. Reed?”
“Oh. No, I think she’s off tonight.” She shrugged.
Annoying. Apparently, I was still a novelty around here. You’d think people would focus on newer gossip, but not at TMC. Around here, they actually focused on the old, the new, and anything they found even remotely plausible.
As I turned to go, my phone buzzed inside the pocket of my scrubs with a new text. I pulled it out and read the words on the screen, smiling at Carson’s message.
I can’t stop thinking about you. Meet me in the stairwell when you’re free?
I wandered onto the elevator while writing back.
Be there in five minutes?
I looked up from my phone and over at the person next to me so I could say hi if I knew them. I found Amanda glaring at me through narrowed eyes. The doors closed, and awkwardness ensued.
“Wonder who you were looking for in the ER,” she said sarcastically.
“I was looking for Reed.”
“Sure.” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her large belly.
I silently reminded myself she was very pregnant and likely hormonal. There was no reason to argue with her.
Why the hell did we have to be alone on this elevator? I would’ve caught the next one if I’d known she was on this one.
“Didn’t Dean tell you he’s off tonight?” she asked me in an icy tone, not even turning to look at me.
“No, because we don’t talk. I’m with Carson.”
“Having some fun on the side, though.”
I turned to face her. “Amanda, I’m not. Why would I ever give Dean the time of day again? He cheated on me. Humiliated me. I wanted kids, did you know that? He was fanatical about birth control when we were together. And now he’s having a baby with you. Not that I begrudge you, I don’t, but I can’t stand to even look at Dean, let alone fuck him.”
I waited for her response, but she stayed silent, her lips set in a tight, white line. Her cringe didn’t look angry, though. It looked like she was in pain.
“Amanda.” I put a hand on her shoulder, my tone soft and concerned now. “Are you okay?”
She put a hand on her stomach, still not looking at me as tears filled her eyes.
“What is it?” My heart raced as I waited for her to answer. “I’m sorry I was mean just now. Please tell me what’s going on.”
Finally, she turned to me. “Why the fuck is this elevator taking so long to get to OB?”
I shrugged and looked over at the panel of numbered lights, pressing our floor button again. “Did we not press it, maybe?”
“I pressed it.”
“Um . . . we don’t seem to be moving.”
I pressed the floor button again, but nothing happened. Amanda turned to me, her expression nothing short of flat-out panic.
“Oh God. Tell me we aren’t stuck in this elevator right now. Please.”
“It’ll be okay,” I said soothingly. “If we are, Maintenance will get us out.”
“No,” she whispered. “This can’t be happening.”
“You’ll live, Amanda. We’re not gonna kill each other in a matter of—”
“I’m in labor, Joss!” she snapped. “At least, I think so. I’m pretty sure I’ve been having contractions all night.”
Well, shit. That, I hadn’t expected.
“How far apart?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” She brushed a stream of tears from one cheek. “I’ve been trying not to think about it, because my mom can’t get here till next week and Dean and I aren’t talking.”
I put a palm on her back. “Okay. How far along are you?”
“Thirty-eight weeks and two days.” She looked at the lighted number panel again and groaned. “Why isn’t this elevator moving?”
“I’m going to call for help.”
I took out my phone and texted Carson.
I need help. I’m stuck in the elevator with Amanda. She may be in labor. Fuck!
He responded quickly.
I’m on my way. Push the alarm button; it sends information to the elevator company that I’m going to need.
I opened the small door and pressed down on the alarm, and a shrill beep sounded. When I turned back to Amanda, she was doubled over in pain.
“Okay, let’s get you lying down,” I said, wrapping an arm around her waist.
She shot me an ugly glare. “Not on the elevator floor.”
“I need to check your cervix.”
She cringed hard and shook her head. “No. You’re not delivering my baby.”
“No one’s delivering any babies here, Amanda. If you’re in labor, you’ll deliver in OB. Carson’s on his way to get this elevator fixed. I just want to check you so we know where you’re at, okay?”
Her expression was wary, so I shrugged off my white coat and said, “How about if I lay this on the floor? Would that help?”
“Don’t be so nice to me. I hate you.”
I laughed and met her eyes. “You’re not my favorite, either. But here we are. Let’s do what’s best for your baby, okay?”
Another round of tears poured forth as she nodded. “I can’t be in labor. Not stuck in an elevator with you.”
“I know.” I helped ease her down to her knees and then onto her back, spreading out my coat for her.
She started panting then, her hands clutched into fists at her sides.
“Good job,” I said in a gentle tone. “Breathe through it, Amanda. I know it hurts like hell.”
I had to comfort her, whether she wanted it or not. It was in my nature, and it was what I did here five nights a week. When the contraction let up, she covered her face with one hand.
“I’m humiliated by the thought of you seeing my vagina,” she said, her voice tearful.
Something about her being on the floor, admitting that to me, softened me toward her in a way I hadn’t thought possible.
“You’re a nurse; you know what this is like,” I said, brushing the sweaty hair back from her forehead.
“It feels different being on this side of it.”
“I’ll show you my vagina, too, if that helps.”
She laughed at that. Ten minutes ago, the thought of us sharing a laugh together had seemed more impossible than us getting stuck on an elevator while she was in labor.
My phone buzzed from the pocket of my coat, and I dug the phone out from underneath Amanda. It was a call from Carson. I slid my finger across the screen to open it and put him on speakerphone, setting the phone on the floor.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey. You guys okay?”
“Yeah, but we’re hoping to be out of here soon. Do you know what’s wrong yet?”
“Sorry, I don’t. All I know right now is that I can’t manually override the stop switch. I’m waiting on a callback from the elevator company.”
My stomach churned nervously. It sounded like we weren’t getting out of here soon. But I had to be the strong one, because Amanda was rightfully stressed.
“Okay. Let us know what’s going on when you can.”
“You guys are okay?”
“Yeah, we’re okay.”
“Okay. Love you.”
I smiled. “Love you, too.”
I ended the call and looked at Amanda, whose gaze was fixed on the elevator ceiling.
“Let’s do this before another contraction hits,” I said, nudging her thighs apart. “I have gloves in my pocket.”
I slid the gloves on as she put her hands on the waistband of her maternity scrub pants. She paused, sighing heavily.
“Look,” she said, “I can’t reach certain areas to shave anymore, so . . . anyway. And I always wear a pad in case my water breaks at work.”
“No woman can shave her bits when she’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant, Amanda.” I helped her ease down her pants and underwear. “This is what I do every day. I swear to you; I don’t judge.”
She took in a breath that sounded shaky. “What if he gets the elevator fixed and it opens and I’m down here with my legs open for the whole OB floor?”
“I won’t let that happen, I promise you.” I eased her knees apart again. “I’m going in, okay? Deep breath in and out for me.”
I was hoping with everything in me that she was only in early labor. But from her very dilated cervix, I knew immediately that wasn’t the case.
“Okay.” I patted her knee reassuringly. “All done.”
She moaned loudly as another contraction hit.
“Take my hand,” I said, getting up on my knees to reach for her hand. “Squeeze as hard as you want.”
She took my hand and held on tight, her eyes wide with terror when they found mine. “How far, Joss?”
“Well, I can’t say for—”
“My cervix!” she cried, lifting her head to look at me. “How fucking dilated is it, Joss?”
I didn’t want to tell her, but she had a right to know. “It’s a nine.”
She dropped her head back to the floor with a thump and whispered, “Shit.”
My instinct was to offer words of reassurance, but I stayed quiet. Just this once, I would let her lament this shitty situation. Because giving birth in an elevator, an obstetrician at your side or not, wasn’t what any woman wanted.
But like I’d said to her not so very long ago, here we were.