Chapter 64
Callie
When we prepared for Asa to go away—that’s how I liked to think of it—we hadn’t envisioned the length of time that would entail.
They gave him twenty-five months. Twenty-five months because he’d broken his probation and it had nullified his suspended sentence for an assault charge from three years before.
Twenty-five months because Slider had asked him to carry a gun to Sacramento.
The first week he was gone, I barely got out of bed.
The second week, I raged.
The third week, I played the what-if game.
The fourth week, I realized that I had a baby growing inside me that didn’t deserve a basket case for a mother.
The entire time I raged, wept, and pleaded, my resentment for the club he’d called home his entire life grew. It grew to such massive proportions that I couldn’t bear to see the members of the Sacramento Chapter when they came to check on me. Even Michael was turned away at my front door, his confusion apparent when I shut it in his face.
Asa called as often as he could, but the calls were often stilted and awkward. He refused to talk about anything to do with his incarceration, and answered any questions I asked with yes or no replies that made me want to pull my hair out. Most of our conversations were carried by me as I spoke on and on about the baby.
As those first months passed by, I grew.
My belly became more and more prominent, becoming so large that even maternity shirts left a little sliver of belly showing whenever I moved. As it swelled, I gained line after line of angry red stretch marks, beginning at my hips and wrapping around the lower half of my belly, making me look like I’d gone head to head with Freddy Kruger and his knife fingers.
My bump wasn’t the only thing that grew in those months. My boobs became massive, so massive that Farrah would run around the house with my bra on her head like a yarmulke, spouting off random Hebrew words. My feet were so swollen that Gram made me spend hours each night with them elevated, though it never seemed to help. My cheeks, thighs, and ass grew rounder until I looked like a snowman with all my lumps.
And as my body changed and I recorded everything for Asa, my resentment grew.
One morning, almost five months after Asa went to prison, I woke up having contractions. It scared the hell out of me and filled me with so much adrenaline I was shaking. I climbed out of bed slowly, taking the time to shower and blow dry my hair before I woke Farrah up. When I was finally ready, I strode into her room, only to find her up and putting her shoes on.
“I heard you in the shower and you never get up this early. Baby time?” she asked me briskly as she pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She’d slowly but surely come back to the girl she was before, and I wondered how much of it was because of her need to take care of me. It seemed that both of us had broken at different times and the only thing that put us back together was the other’s need. It was a hell of a cycle.
“Yep. Let’s go over and wake Gram up,” I told her as she passed me. “Wait for me!”
The bubble I was floating on at the thought of racing to the hospital and popping out my son was burst when we got to Gram’s apartment.
“You don’t need to go to the hospital yet,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I’m gonna go get dressed. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I watched her walk into my old room with my jaw hanging wide open at her nonchalant reaction. I was having a baby! Did she not see the urgency in the situation? What the hell?
Farrah was pacing behind me when Gram finally came out of her room, wearing an entire set of jogging gear. She even had a sweatband on her head.
‘What the hell are you wearing?” Farrah barked, bending at the waist as she burst out in hysterical laughter.
I glared at Gram, waiting for an explanation, but she just smiled cheerily back at me.
“Time to go for a walk!” she ordered, clapping her hands together.
“I’m in labor, Gram. We need to go to the hospital,” I explained slowly, wondering if she’d finally lost her mind.
“Walking first, Callie Rose,” she told me as she pushed me toward the door. “Trust me on this; go put some tennis shoes on.”
She closed the door on Farrah’s laughter as I stood on the landing, gaping.
I wished my brother hadn’t left for school a few months before. He’d understand my need for the hospital. He wouldn’t tell me to put shoes on, or laugh, or force me to walk.
I trudged to the house and put shoes on, meeting Gram and Farrah outside.
“We’ll walk around the block first,” Gram informed us, taking off before we could reply. I had to race to catch up with her, which wasn’t helping my contractions or swollen feet one bit.
“First?” I practically yelled. “What the hell, Gram?”
“You’re not even breathing hard, and I bet those contractions barely hurt,” she said with a nod as she came to a stop on the sidewalk. “You don’t want to be sitting in a damn hospital bed waiting for hours and hours before anything even starts happening. Walking gets things moving.”
She gave me a squeeze on the arm before turning and stalking off again.
So, we walked.
And walked, and walked, and walked, until the sun was inching toward the middle of the sky and my contractions were coming hard and painful. Yet, we still didn’t head to the hospital.
First, Gram helped me take a shower and braided my hair. Next, she made a small breakfast for me and Farrah. Then she called my brother to let him know that we were leaving.
After all of that, I was still barely dilated when we got to the hospital.
It took hours for me to reach the point where I felt the need to push, and I was exhausted. The anesthesiologist had come in around six that night and put a huge needle in my back, almost instantly providing relief from the pain, but I still didn’t get any rest. It was impossible to turn my mind off long enough to get more than fifteen minutes of sleep at a time, and the pressure of the contractions wasn’t helping the situation.
I wanted Asa so badly that it was hard to breathe at times.
I wondered what he was doing as I was laboring and if he knew that we were at the hospital. I wondered if he could feel somewhere in his gut how badly I needed him in those moments.
I pushed for over an hour, Gram and Farrah at my knees, bracing against them as I burst blood vessels in my cheeks and eyes. They encouraged, cajoled, and wiped my face with a cool washcloth—but nothing, and no one, was a substitute for Asa.
“I need Asa, Gram,” I wailed, completely out of my mind with fear and exhaustion. “I’m tired. I want Asa.”
“I know, darlin’. But he can’t come so we’re gonna have to make due.” She wiped my hair back from my forehead with the palm of her hand. “Let’s get your boy out. You can do this, Callie.”
“I can do it,” I answered with a nod, any reassurance giving me strength at that point. “I can do it. Let’s get him out. I want him out.”
“That’s right. Push, Callie. Push!”
I grit my teeth and bore down, and within minutes, I felt him sliding from my body, screaming.
They laid him on my chest, covered in gross white crap and blood, and all I could think about was how much I loved him, and that he had Asa’s nose.
“Why are his balls so huge?” Farrah gasped in fear.
The nurses started laughing loudly. “There’s a lot of pressure on him in the birth canal, and he’s got mom’s hormones running through him. They’ll go down in a few days,” a nurse assured Farrah as she gently picked my boy up. “I’m just going to weigh him and test him real quick,” she directed at me, giving me an understanding smile. “I’ll bring him right back.”
“Take pictures, Gram!” I called to her as she followed the nurse to the little bed on the other side of the room.
The next few minutes were a disgusting mess of delivering the placenta and getting stitches. Yes, stitches. The only downside to having children with Asa was his son’s ridiculously broad shoulders.
“Here you go, mama,” Gram called tenderly as she brought the baby to me and laid him on my chest again. “You might want to start trying to breastfeed. Good for him to start right away.”
“Okay,” I whispered, reaching blindly for the button to raise my bed as I watched him open and close his mouth. “He looks like Asa.”
“Yeah, but he’s got your skin, lucky little booger,” Farrah commented quietly, reaching out with one finger to touch the side of his face. “What’s his name?”
“William Butler Hawthorne,” I answered, watching as her eyes widened before she schooled her features.
“Good choice,” she replied with a small smile. “Hey, Will.”