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“You have a good support system,” the anesthesiologist says.
“I do. I’m lucky.”
“Hey, Peyton. How are we feeling this morning?” Dr. Rock walks in and sits at the end of the bed.
“I’m good. Nervous.”
“No need, but I get it.”
Dakota instructs me to put my feet in the stir-ups. While I’m tempted to watch what everyone is doing, I’m focused on the monitor. There’s a Petrie dish on the screen with my name on it.
“Peyton, can you read the name on the screen for me?” Dr. Rock asks.
“Westbury, Peyton.”
“Is that you?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Very good.” She nods at the anesthesiologist.
“How do you feel about taking a little nap?” he asks.
“Is this where I count backwards?”
He chuckles. “Sure. Or you can tell me a story, something about your life. Whatever you want.”
“Oh.”
“How about you tell me about your husband.”
Easy.
“I’ve been in love with him since before I knew what love was . . .”
10
NOAH
I’m not a pacer. At least, I never thought I was until now. I hate that I can’t be in there with Peyton. I know she’s technically asleep, but I’m not and right now my mind is racing with every scenario possible. Mostly, what if something happens to her? What if she doesn’t wake up from the anesthetic? I almost lost her once and I never want to experience something like that again. It damn near killed me.
But it also brought her to me or me to her. Doesn’t matter which way you look at it. Her accident was eye opening. And I still hate Kyle Zimmerman. Even though the accident wasn’t his fault, he should never have been in a car ten times too small for him and driving it in Chicago when road conditions are always questionable during the season. Stupid motherfucker.
“Noah, come sit.” Katelyn pats the seat next to her, but I can’t, and I don’t understand why the other husbands aren’t pacing like me. Maybe it’s because I’m obsessed with my wife. That’s what my friends tell me. I get it. They’re jealous because Peyton’s fucking awesome. But shouldn’t these guys at least care if their wives are back there by themselves? It’s then that I vow to be at every single appointment she has. She shouldn’t have to do this alone.
“Do you want me to call Quinny?” Elle asks.
I roll my eyes at the nickname she’s given him. He doesn’t seem to mind. I guess I wouldn’t care if Paige gave me some ridiculous nickname. But Quinny just doesn’t fit him. Not in my eyes at least.
“No. She’ll be out of there in . . .” I pause and look at my watch. “Ten minutes.”
“Then come sit,” my mother-in-law says and pats the seat again. I give in and sit next to her and instantly my legs start bouncing. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through labor and delivery at this rate. It's not knowing that is going to give me anxiety.
“Everything is fine,” Elle says. I know this, but knowing and recognizing are two different things.
“We’ll see how Ben feels when it’s your turn,” I remind her.
“When is your appointment?” Katelyn asks Elle.
