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I keep checking my phone, praying for an update, but there’s nothing. Dominik hasn’t called. There’s been no news.
When Kira asked, I smiled and told her Dom was “so close.”
That was two hours ago.
When my phone finally rings, I want to rejoice.
Until I see which husband is calling.
“Where in the hell is Dominik?” I bark into the phone. “He’s not answering his phone, and I’ve been calling for hours. When you talk to him, tell him goodbye. ‘Cause I’m gonna kill him.”
“You might not have to kill him,” Arsen says. “He’s driving like a maniac. Also, you’re on speaker.”
“You should be driving!” I cry out. “He’s an expectant father. He’s supposed to be freaking out.”
He’s also supposed to behere, so everything is backwards right now.
“No one is driving but me,” Dominik growls, the engine revving.
“So when we crash and die, you can tell Kira it’s because Dominik was trying to get to her,” Arsen adds. “It’ll be a very romantic way for him to go.”
“If you crash and die, Kira will go into labor alone,” I remind him.
“We’ll be there in forty minutes,” Dom interjects. There’s a beat of hesitation and the engine revs again. “An hour, tops! Just… stall her.”
“Stall her?” I gawk. “There’s no stalling a baby when it’s ready to come!”
“You can’t just, like, put a cork?—?”
“Dominik!” I screech.
“Fine,” he grits out. “No cork. But you’ll be with her?”
“Of course. I’m not gonna leave her side,” I assure him. “I can hold her hand every step of the way, but you are the one she wants. Take it from someone who knows: she needs you here.”
I hear tires screech. “I’m gonna be there.”
Then the line goes dead.
Back in the delivery room, Kira is walking laps around the perimeter, pacing like a caged tiger. As much as I relate to what she’s going through, I also have no idea.
Arsen was there when Nina was born.
He drove me to the hospital. He held my hand and massaged my back and fed me ice chips.
He was there for me.
Physically, at least.
It wasn’t until the nurse placed Nina in his arms that I realized something was wrong. He didn’t smile, didn’t look at me. There was no moment of bliss where our eyes met, when we looked at each other like,Look what we made.
His face was blank. His eyes were cold.
Then he left.
My mom wastherewith me.Therein all the ways that mattered. My entire life, she was alwaysthere.
I run my thumb over the fresh tattoo on my wrist. Her name stares back at me, written in an intricate, slanting cursive thatcomes close to mimicking her own handwriting. I feel better every time I look at it.
