Holland

I’ve been contracting for a week on and off. I haven’t mentioned it to King, though. He’s so skittish that I can’t even burp without him asking, ‘Are you okay?’ It’s cute, but Lord, he’s going to be an overprotective daddy. I’m due today . . . Valentine's Day, which is appropriate considering the amount of love flowing between the three of us, but for some reason, King doesn’t think I’ll deliver today. He’s so sure of this that he’s planned a double date with Savannah and her boyfriend, Troy, which is going to be weird . . . really weird.

King and I relate on more of an adult level. I’m an old soul, and he’s well . . . he’s just old. Savannah and Troy’s relationship is new and full of insecurities, but Savannah has some serious trust issues. I think it stems from being abandoned by her father. She says Troy is ‘shady as fuck’, but she also says she loves him. It’s a whole different kind of drama than what King and I have gone through, are going through, and will continue to go through if my mama has anything to do with it.

“All set for date night?” King enters the bathroom, tying his tie and eyeing the vanity that I have monopolized with all of my girlie things. He tends to use the royal throne across the hall unless we are bathing together, in which case I join him for a bath.

“Yeah, I just have to find some shoes to wear. I still have feet, don’t I?” I stretch my neck trying to look over my blue chiffon covered belly, but it’s hopeless.

“Yes, baby, you still have the most beautiful feet of any woman, ever.” He slides his arms around my ‘waist’ from behind, but his hands don’t meet in the front anymore.

“Oh, stop lying. I’m enormous, and I know my feet are swollen and ugly. Can’t we just stay home and lay in bed with a box of ding dongs and watch The Brady Bunch or something?” I stick out my bottom lip and pout in a last-ditch effort to derail his dinner plans.

“No way, this could be our last date before we become parents, and it’s our first Valentine’s Day together. Come on, I’ll get you some shoes.”

I lay my mascara down and let him lead me to the bed. I sit and lean back on my arms while he disappears into the closet for my shoes.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Not until we’re there.”

“Have I ever been there?”

“Oh yes, lots of times.”

Lots of times? I’ve never been to any restaurant lots of times.

He returns holding a strappy pair of flat sandals that will go perfectly with my blue sleeveless dress.

“You’re being so mysterious.”

“You are trying to ruin my surprise,” he says, squatting between my legs to buckle my shoes when I feel a warm gush of fluid spreading under me. I gasp and sit up straight, but that just makes the gushing increase, and I watch the thin material of my dress turn dark with wetness.

“Okay, you’ve told me to stop overreacting, so I’m going to ignore that gasp . . .” King’s eyes move up my legs until he sees what I’m seeing. I watch his Adam’s apple jump in his throat when he swallows hard. Our eyes meet and time stands still. This is it. After all these months of waiting and planning, our lives are about to change forever.

“Is that?” he asks, looking from my lap to my face.

“Uh huh.” I nod, keeping my eyes on his. I don’t want to look anymore.

“Should we go?”

“Uh huh.”

King leaves me to get a towel and some comfortable clothes for me to change into. He calls Savannah and calmly tells her we are going to the hospital because my water broke, and we’re sorry to have to cancel.

I’m starting to freak out at his lack of freaking out when he makes another call, asking Sebastián to bring the car around and to throw a garbage bag on the passenger seat. When he hangs up and slips his phone into the breast pocket of his suit that he was dressed in for our evening out, I can’t hold back anymore.

“Why are you so calm? We’re having a baby, King, a baby. Shit, this is really happening. I’m not ready to be a mama. I can’t do this.”

He crosses the room to wrap his arms around me in front of the mirror, where I’ve been rooted for the last few minutes, looking at myself.

“Hey . . . hey, breathe, baby . . . deep breaths in through your nose, out through your mouth.” I follow his instructions and listen to his soothing voice.

“That’s it, good girl, just like that. You’re going to be fine, you’re prepared, you’re smart, and you are going to be a wonderful mother.”

“Who are you?” I ask between deep breaths.

“I’m actually very good in stressful situations when I know I have to be.” He smiles crookedly at me in the mirror and slides his hands from my belly to squeeze my shoulders.

“Ready, champ?” He turns me to face him and holds his hand up for a high-five, and I slap it.

“I guess so, there’s no going back now, huh?”

“Nope. Everything is going to be fine, baby, really. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Pinky swear?” I ask.

One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile as he nods his head up and down, offering me his pinky finger.

“Yeah, baby, pinky swear.”

He pulls me into a kiss by our joined pinky fingers. It’s a kiss full of reassurance and tenderness that relaxes me. It’s a kiss that says ‘let me help you’, ‘let me shoulder some of this burden.’

“Are you having contractions yet?”

“No, well yeah, I mean . . . I don’t know. I’ve been having Braxton Hicks for a week. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. How do I know the difference?”

“It’s all right. I knew. I felt them when you were sleeping, and my guess is that they’ll hurt when they’re real.” He shrugs and slings our overnight bag over his shoulder at the same time that he guides me toward the door with his free hand on my back. I twist to look back one last time, making sure we have everything, and notice the white duvet covered in amniotic fluid.

“I think we need a new comforter.”

“Already bought a replacement. It’s in the closet.”

“Well, you’ve just thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“I like to be prepared and organized.” When he winks at me, a warm sensation spreads through my chest, and I know he will make good on his pinky swear. Everything is going to be okay. I love him and I trust him. I have no doubt that he will take care of us and make sure we’re safe forever.

When we step outside the quiet club entrance, Sebastián is waiting in the car King gave to me when I got my license. He thought a white Mercedes sedan would be a perfect first car for me—a family car, he said . . . ha. Savannah’s eyes popped out of her head when she saw that the speedometer went over two hundred and fifty mph the first time we took it for a test drive, but she quickly stifled her enthusiasm when King gave her a ‘don’t you fucking dare’ look.

“You okay?”

I knew he couldn’t go much longer without asking, and I’d like to tell him ‘Yeah, sure’, but I’m not. I think I’ve figured out the difference between Braxton hicks and real contractions, and real contractions suck. My belly is tight, and I feel like I’m having the worst period of my life every five minutes.

“It’s starting to hurt,” I say, pausing with my hand on the roof of the car to breathe through one of these miserable period cramps before getting in.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes. Contractions can come on faster when your water breaks.”

I look up at him with disbelief when the wave of pain subsides, and he shrugs again.

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” he says, as if that’s the answer to everything.

Sebastián is standing on the sidewalk, looking down into the car when I get in.

“Buena suerte y felicitaciones,” he says. Sebastián isn’t one to be very sentimental, but his words spoken in his native language are full of sincerity, and his expression is tender and encouraging. He has been teaching me Spanish since I moved in with King, so I know he just told me good luck and congratulations.

“Thanks, see you soon,” I say.

King slides into the driver’s seat and closes my window before pulling away. We’re having a baby . . . I can’t believe it.