“Dad,” he said, shaking his father’s shoulder.
“What is it?” his father asked groggily.
“Can you drive me to the hospital,” Damon said. “I, um, I don’t think I can drive.”
His father sat up, fully awake.
“Sure, son,” he said and headed straight to the bathroom. Damon’s mother sat up in bed.
“It’s time, huh?” she asked. In the dark her voice was smooth and comforting. He could hear the ache in it that she couldn’t make the problem go away. Damon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked. The baby wasn’t due for at least two more weeks according to Sasha’s calculations. But the doctor had told them both that babies could come anywhere after 36 weeks, so Damon had been on pins and needles for the last couple of weeks. Damon stood by his mother’s bed, not moving. She reached up and caressed his cheek with her hand. His mother wasn’t usually given to overly affectionate gestures. Her gentleness made him want to climb into bed with her and cuddle up next to her like he’d done when he was four years old.
“Damon,” she repeated. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No mama,” he said. “I have to do this myself.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
“Call me,” she said. He nodded, too full to speak.
“Let’s go, Damon,” his father called from the hall
He stood staring at his mother for a few more seconds, realizing that everything was about to change for him and then he whirled around and followed his father into the hallway.
“Damon,” she called.
“Yes, mama,” he checked his progress in the hall.
“Put some pants on, boy,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, looking down at his boxer shorts and naked legs.
All the way to the hospital, Damon fought off dread and excitement. Tonight, this morning, it was all crashing down on him. He was going to be a father. Somebody really was going to wear those little bitty doll clothes.
His whole life was about to change and he couldn’t do anything about it. He patted his jeans pocket to make certain that he had his inhaler. He didn’t want to get inside the delivery room and pass out from lack of breath. It was bitterly cold outside, never a good thing for asthma, so Damon took slow breaths to acclimate himself to the snowy late January air. His father was silent on the fifteen minute drive, but he gave Damon a hug around the shoulders across the front seat of the car when they drove up to the emergency room door. Damon’s mother had argued against him being in the delivery room because he was so young, but his father had vetoed her statements with a gruff, “Baby, he was there at the start. A man does better to begin as he means to go on.”
Damon was going to be a man and take care of his family because that is what a man did. He couldn’t be a famous doctor or lawyer, too. He’d let his father down with this pregnancy. He wasn’t about to let him down again by shirking any of his responsibilities. Damon’s father stopped the car. Damon opened the car door and a blast of cold air gusted in. He fell back against the seat as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him.
“It’s going to be okay, son,” said his father, gripping his shoulder. “Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay.”
“I’m scared,” admitted Damon for the first time, voice hoarse.
“Of course you are,” said his dad. “I was scared every time your mama and I had a new baby. It’s a scary thing, but it turns out okay.”
Damon nodded, grateful for his father’s steady presence.
“Get out,” said his father. “Go inside while I park the car.”
Damon didn’t move, rooted to the car seat.
“Damon,” said his father. “It’s time to take care of your business.”
He nodded and got out of the car.
Damon and Sasha
Damon wanted to vomit. Every time Sasha screamed and gripped his hand he wanted to just drop his head to waist height and throw up everything down to his toes. Except that his stomach was empty because he hadn’t eaten much in two days, too queasy to keep anything down. Having a baby was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen. As far as he could tell it involved a lot of sweating, grunting, screaming and body fluids. The scent of vomit, sweat and blood and God knew what else all rolled into a mess of screaming, crying, cursing, young womanhood filled the air. It was a bloody stinking mess. He didn’t even want to think about the other stuff mixed in with the blood.
Sasha had spent the last hour begging for her mother to hold her hand, but her mother stayed over in the corner of the room and said nothing. Damon could not believe that his own mother had had five children. He thought that she must have been out of her freaking mind to subject herself to this torture. Every time Sasha screamed, Damon felt the sound race along his spine and he inwardly cringed as live guilt crawled into his belly and laid a lead egg there. He moaned softly in distress and then bit his lip to keep from crying out.
“It hurts so bad,” Sasha moaned. She crushed Damon’s hand in her smaller one. Damon winced, but said nothing. He didn’t want to hold Sasha’s hand, either, but he wasn’t heartless enough to leave her begging. The nurse smiled at her.
“Just a little longer, sweetie,” said the nurse, who’d identified herself as Amina. “You’re dilated to nine centimeters. One more and you can push this little love right out.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” said Sasha and burst into tears. Her lovely face was bloated from pain and contorted
