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“You good?” she asked.

“Fine. Great. Good. Ready?”

“I am.”

I helped her into the passenger seat, making sure she was comfortable before running around to the driver’s side. The hospital was twenty minutes away. We’d timed the route for night runs, heavy traffic and planned alternate routes. I was not taking any chances I’d be delivering the baby in the car.

“Okay,” I said, pulling out of the driveway. “We’re doing this. We’re having a baby.”

“We are.” Lucy reached over and took my hand. “You’re going to be great.”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Please don’t. I’m the one who’s supposed to be doing that.”

“How are you so calm right now?”

“One of us has to be.”

Fair point. “Sorry. I’m cool. Cool as a cucumber.”

The drive to the hospital felt like it took three hours and three seconds simultaneously. I may have broken a few speed limits. Lucy didn’t complain. When we pulled up to the emergency entrance, I leaped out of the car to help her inside. A nurse met us with a wheelchair, and suddenly everything moved very fast.

They got Lucy into a room. Monitors were attached. Doctors and nurses came and went, checking vitals and asking questions. I stood by her bed, holding her hand, feeling completely useless.

“You’re doing great,” I told her.

“I haven’t done anything yet.” She winced as another contraction hit. “Let’s see how the next few hours go.”

The hours that followed were the longest of my life. Lucy’s contractions got closer together, more intense. She squeezed my hand so hard I lost feeling in my fingers. I didn’t care. I would have let her break every bone in my body if it helped her to endure the pain.

Between contractions, she cracked jokes. That was so Lucy. Even in the middle of labor, she was trying to make me laugh.

“If this kid comes out looking like you, we’re going to have problems. The world can only handle so much pretty.”

“I’m hoping for your eyes,” I said. “And your brain. Definitely your brain.”

“And your charm.” She smiled through the pain. “Someone’s going to have to talk their way out of trouble.”

At some point, I remembered to call my mother. She was in charge of telling everyone else.

“It’s happening,” I said. “We’re at the hospital. Lucy’s in labor.”

I heard her relay the information to someone in the background, probably Dad. Then she was back.

“We’re on our way. All of us. Tell Lucy we love her.”

“I will.”

I hung up and turned back to Lucy. “The cavalry’s coming.”

“Of course they are.” She laughed, then groaned as another contraction hit. “Your family doesn’t do anything small.”

The doctor came in to check on her progress. I tried to look calm and supportive while internally screaming. This was the most terrifying thing I’d ever experienced, and I wasn’t even the one doing the hard work.

“You’re getting close,” the doctor said. “It won’t be long now.”

Won’t be long. Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one watching the woman she loved more than anything in agony.