"How long does that labor shit last?" he nervously questions, suddenly appearing behind me.
"It all depends. If we leave now, I bet we can make it before she has the baby."
"No. I don’t want to be there for that. I can’t listen to her scream. I’ll lose it. I, um…" His voice cracks and it cuts me deep. He reaches up and grabs the back of his neck. "I can’t be there, Sarah. I…I just can’t." His chin quivers, exposing exactly how much this is affecting him.
"Leo," I breathe, dropping the mayo-covered knife and rushing in his direction. I throw my arms around his waist and desperately try to offer him the same comfort he always provides me.
"I know this isn’t rational. But my whole body is thrumming because she might be scared right now and I’m not there to fix it. Shit…" His hands begin to tremble and he nervously cracks his neck. "I also know that, if I were there, I’d be tearing the hospital apart trying to get to her."
"She has Slate. She’s not alone," I try to reassure him.
"I get that. But that doesn’t make the instinct to protect her any less consuming."
"Okay, so what do you want to do? Go or wait? I’ve never actually had a baby, but I don’t think it’s as dramatic as they make it out to be in the movies. We could always just drive to Indy and check into a hotel until she has him. That way we are close by but you won’t end up brawling with a doctor."
"Yeah. That sounds like a plan."
A few minutes later, Leo walks silently to my car after I inform him that I’m driving. He doesn’t argue, nor does he eat any of the food I packed. About an hour into the trip, he reaches over and grabs my hand, giving it a tight squeeze.
"I’m sorry. I get a little wigged out about her sometimes," he apologizes, bringing my hand to his mouth.
"This probably isn’t the best time to ask this, but you know me…so I’m going to ask it anyway. Have any of your therapists ever mentioned that you might have some form of PTSD from the events of that day?"
"Yeah. They have," he responds quietly, but he doesn’t elaborate. He goes back to silently staring out the window.
Another hour later, Leo’s phone chirps in his lap. He picks it up and lets out a loud relieved laugh. He turns the phone to me, revealing a picture of Erica smiling while holding a tiny baby with thick, brown hair. You can’t really see the baby, but God bless Slate for knowing exactly which face Leo really needed to see.
As we continue our trip, Leo glances down at the picture several times. His mood significantly lightens as well. Holding my hand tight against his thigh, he even leans over to give me a few kisses. About ten minutes from the hospital, he asks me a question of his own.
"Do you want kids?"
My head snaps to his. "Um, I don’t know. I mean, I always planned to have a family. It’s just things haven’t exactly worked out that way. Plus, I’m getting older, so I’m just not sure it’s in the cards for me anymore."
"Sarah, you’re thirty-five. You’re not too old to have kids."
"Well, ‘I don’t know’ is still my answer. What about you?"
"I just don’t see how I could ever have anything to offer a kid. I just freaked the fuck out over Erica giving birth. Can you imagine what a whack job I would be as a dad?"
"I think you’d be a great dad. That’s kind of how I think you treat Erica already. It’s weird in some ways but really freaking sweet in others. My dad was this big, tall, quiet guy. He loved me and Emma more than anything in life, but he was never that over-the-top, don’t-touch-my-daughter-or-I-kill-you type of dad. However, I can see you being that way. Cleaning guns in the living room when her fifth-grade boyfriend comes over to play." I laugh, but Leo just turns to stare back out the window. "I’m okay with no kids, Leo. In case you were worried about that."
He nods and squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything else.
"YOU WANT to hold him?" Erica asks.
"No, babe. I’m good," Leo declines while staring down at Adam Slate Andrews wrapped up in a blanket sleeping in his bassinet.
"Can I?" I ask when I’m not able to resist any longer.
"Of course," Erica answers warmly.
Stepping around Leo, I lift all eight pounds of baby Adam into my arms and cradle him tight against my chest. "He’s gorgeous," I say, lifting his tiny hand from under the blanket.
As shameful as it may be, jealously immediately creeps into my heart. I was supposed to have this. I’m thirty-five years old. I shouldn’t be starting over from scratch. I should have a baby with my blue eyes…or maybe even chocolate-brown. I glance up to find Leo watching me intently. I try to give him a forced smile, but it only makes the tears spill from my eyes.
Leo walks behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and drops his chin to my shoulder. "You okay?"
"He’s just really cute," I half lie, wiping the tears from my eyes.