Page 76 of Blueline Baby

“Jack,” I gasp, “Jack, I need to push.”

“No.” He holds up his hands and drags out the word. “No. The nurse said don’t push. Do not push, Chloe. We are waiting for the doctor.”

“I HAVE TO!” I scream at him, every ounce of my composure gone. “Either you get the fuck down there and catch this baby right now, or it’s going to end up on the floor!”

Jack stares at me in horror. He looks sick. He grabs for the box of gloves and gets exactly one onto his hand before the door swings open.

A young doctor strides into the room, snapping on her own gloves. She takes one look at Jack’s face and points at the chair in the corner.

“Okay, Dad,” she says, cheerfully. “Take a seat before you pass out. I’ve got this.”

I look at the doctor. Then I look at Jack, who’s still wearing one blue glove and swaying on his feet.

“Oh,” I say, catching my breath between waves. “Right. Sorry.”

The doctor positions herself at the foot of the bed. “Okay, Mom. On the next contraction, you push for me.”

I don’t have the breath to complain. I squeeze my eyes shut and push with everything I have. Jack holds my hand through it, and I grip hard enough that a normal man would have complained. He doesn’t even blink. At last, a practical use for professional athletics.

“That’s it! One more, Chloe, the head is right here, come on.”

I push again, crying out as the pressure peaks, and then it’s gone.

The room goes quiet for exactly one second.

And then the baby starts screaming.

It’s a loud, healthy, furious sound.

I fall back against the pillows, gasping. “Is he okay? Jack, is the baby okay?”

Jack doesn’t answer me.

I open my eyes and look at him. He’s standing at the side of the bed, staring at the squalling newborn in the doctor’s hands, frozen. The color has drained out of his face, his mouth is open, and he isn’t breathing.

“Jack?”

“Well,” the doctor says, lifting the screaming, baby. “You’ve got a beautiful little girl.”

The world stops spinning.

A girl.

The fifty percent chance won. We didn’t open the envelope. Everything is blue. And the baby is a girl.

The doctor brings her to my chest. She’s small, and very red, and she’s crying so hard her tiny fists are shaking.

I pull her against me and my chest aches with how fast and how hard I love her.

But when I look up at Jack, he’s still just staring at us. A tear slowly spills over his lashes and tracks down his cheek. Then another.

He peels off the one glove with a shaking hand and steps up to the side of the bed, reaches out, and touches the top of her tiny head with one finger. And he starts crying for real.

“Jack,” I whisper, panic climbing my throat. “Jack, it’s okay. We can have another one. We can try again for a boy. I know you really wanted a boy”

He blinks, snapping out of it and he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“What?” he chokes out.