“I . . . I don’t want you to leave.” She turns from a raging woman in pain to the anxious woman with fear again.
“I know, but I promise you, I will be right back mi reyna.” I press my lips to the top of her head and walk away, not realizing what just happened until I’m almost through the doorway of the house. It happened so naturally . . . Jesus. I just showed affection to this woman in a way I never kissed any of my past girlfriends. Fuck, I wouldn’t even kiss them unless I had full intentions of fucking them. I was a man of passion when it came to sex, but not one of love if that makes sense.
I go in through the living room and head for the first bathroom I see, open the cupboards, and pull out as many towels as I can carry. I see a small bottle of hand sanitizer while I’m grabbing towels, so I take that with me too. Okay, now I just need something to clamp the umbilical cord. Think. Shit! What the fuck can I use?
I go into the kitchen to grab a knife and open the drawer where we keep some odds and ends. There could be rubber bands or something in here that could work. That’s when I find a pack of zip ties. God, it’s the only thing in this junk drawer that could remotely work. I somehow have a feeling like paperclips won’t do me any good.
With the towels, knife, hand sanitizer, and zip ties in hand I rush back over to her. As I approach, I see she’s no longer sitting down. Instead she’s leaning back with her legs separated and an awful grunting sound is coming from her.
Jesus. I am not ready for this.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m the only fucking thing she has right now. I place the towels at the end of the lounge chair and fumble while trying to open the bottle of sanitizer. Jesus, I need to keep my shit together. The nervousness is evident and I’m sure I’m not helping to ease her worries.
She screams even louder as I’m rubbing my hands together, quick to get rid of any germ this baby could come into contact with. “The baby’s coming!” She grits out, digging her nails into the side of the cushion.
“What?! Already?! Can’t it wait?”
“Does it look like it can fucking wait?!” She roars back, sweat beading over her face. Her hair is sticking to her like it’s glued there at this point.
I kneel down at the bottom of the lounge chair and see a full head of red hair, just like Amara’s. Wow. Holy shit. I’m really about to deliver a baby.
“Okay, you’re doing great. Keep going!” I try to be encouraging as I grab two of the towels. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Part of me thinks this baby is going to shoot out like a football and land in my arms.
She pushes and half the baby is out at this point. “Fuck you!” She snaps back.
“Keep going, you’re almost done!” I say.
Amara grunts out, turning into loud moans. They sound so agonizing that I can practically hear her exhaustion. The baby is out and I pick it up with the towel, wrapping it up and wiping it off. There’s this nasty looking snotty stuff in its nose, so I use the towel and pinch it out and then realize it’s in its mouth too, so I wipe it away. The baby opens her mouth struggling to cry and I see there’s more, so I don’t even think about it. I don’t have any fucking tool to take whatever this is out, so I press my lips to hers and suck it out, spitting the nastiness away until she screams her little head off.
Fuck, there is a God. This little girl is okay.
I need to keep her warm. My thoughts are so scattered I’m not sure what to do next, so I clean off her body with the one towel and place her in a clean one very carefully. She’s wrapped up and held in my left arm while I fenagle the zip ties about two inches away from the baby’s stomach, in the middle and then a bit out of Amara. I make sure they’re very tight, but I’m not sure how tight they’re supposed to be. I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to cut the cord so I cut right after the two inches and pray it’s right. The baby seems fine and I look up to Amara who has her head tilted back and is staring up at the starry night.
“Amara, do you want to hold her?”
“No. I can’t. Please, just take her away. Please, Dante. I beg you. Take her away before I selfishly change my mind.” She’s crying her eyes out and all I want to do is reassure her how everything will be okay, however she doesn’t want that right now. I get to my feet and walk past her, head back into the house and spot my cousin Yolanda in the living room.
“Oh my . . . is this her?” Yolanda asks, her eyes filled with such hope. Her husband, Manuel, stands beside her with his hand on her shoulder, looking directly at me with the little one in my arms.
“Yes, she’s . . . perfect.” I stare down at this little girl, who’s suddenly stopped crying. Her eyes are the same color as her mother’s and she has the same red hair. She’s essentially a mini-me of her mother.
I walk up to Yolanda and hand her the child. Manuel and Yolanda’s smiles grow bigger than I’ve ever seen them before. “What can you tell us about her background?” Yolanda asks.
“She’s Latina, with Irish blood as well. I don’t know
