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So I lead her up the aisle and out the door, but not to my car.
Instead, I lead her toward the water, which seems to surprise her. But she accepts it and follows along easily enough, smiling out at the waves even though I know the breeze is a little much for her dress.
“It’s beautiful out here.”
“You’re even more beautiful,” I reply and even though I know it sounds like a line I can’t help the words, because they’re true.
She turns toward me with a grin that says she’s intending to admonish me, but then sees that I’m down on one knee and her eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in surprise.
“Emma Randolph, will you do me the honor of being my wife? Not just the mother of my child, but my partner in all ways?”
“Oh, Chris-“ she begins and then her face scrunches in pain and confusion. Her hands move to her stomach and she sucks in a deep breath.
“Emma? Are you all right?”
I stand quickly, my hand moving to the side of her face and she gives a sharp nod, but then her body shudders again.
“I … I think it’s the baby. I think it’s time, Chris.”
Instantly I spring into action, because I’ve had a plan for this for a while. Which is good because it’s all happening on autopilot right now.
My mind feels entirely blank even as I’m guiding her quickly to the car and making sure we’re both buckled in before driving toward the hospital in a rush.
Some part of me knows that she’s calling her mother, her sister, and the doctor, but the main part of me is simply trying to get to the hospital and to reconcile that we’re going to have a baby.
Soon.
By the time we actually make it to the hospital I’m still in a state of shock. Still wondering just what I’m supposed to do because even as I’m moving it feels like someone else is doing everything. Like someone else is helping her out of the car and holding her hand.
Someone else is leading her in and telling the woman behind the desk that my girlfriend is having a baby.
Girlfriend? Fiancé? I don’t know because she never answered me.
But that’s not important now. What’s important is that Emma is in labor and she’s being helped into a wheelchair then quickly wheeled down the hall with me racing along behind.
And then we’re in a room. A private room on the top floor of the hospital, waiting for something to happen.
Or rather, for something more to happen, because as I sit beside her, Emma continues to flinch with each contraction. Her face tightens. Her lips press together to hold back whatever sounds she’d really like to make.
Judging by the look on her face it would be a pretty pained sound and I take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
When the next contraction comes, her hand tightens on mine and my eyes widen in surprise. But I’m not about to tell her to stop. The pain she’s going through … it’s got to be awful, but she’s bearing it well.
“Emma, Sweetheart, it’s okay to cry,” I murmur, turning so I can brush my other hand over the side of her face. “Do you need anything? Water? Ice?”
She shakes her head fiercely and then her hand tightens on mine again.
I’m not an expert, but I’m fairly certain that the time between is getting shorter. A lot shorter. And her expression, not to mention the pressure on my hand, is getting tighter.
“All right, Ms. Randolph, I think it’s about time,” the doctor says, walking in, and Emma tries to smile at the woman, failing miserably.
But why she thinks she needs to smile at a time like this is beyond me. All I can think about is how she must be feeling, and I have no idea the answer to that question.
I have no idea of anything. And much as I keep trying to force myself to focus and to do … something … I have no idea what to do.
Other than attempting to soothe her, it’s not like there’s anything I can do.
“Emma!” Her mother rushes in just as the doctor is getting everything ready, a very anxious Leann right behind her.
