5:05 a.m. Marie: Congratulations! So happy for you both. I can’t wait to see the baby <3 <3
5:07 a.m. Greg: Thank you, gorgeous. Here’s a snap of Fiona with the babe taken last night. As you can see, the child is perfection, just like her mother.
5:10 a.m. Marie: Why are you up? Shouldn’t you sleep while you can? Is Fiona up?
5:11 a.m. Greg: Fi is asleep and so is the baby. But I can’t sleep when I’m this happy. It would be a waste of the moments that make life worth living.
His last text made me smile.
And then I sniffed, because it also made me want to cry.
But then I blinked away the tears, straightening my back. A sense of rightness and resolve firming my bones. My person was out there, and I just needed to start looking for him again.
The time had come to surrender my crutch. Because I wanted someone to feel about life with me the way Greg felt about life with Fiona. I didn’t want to waste the moments—my moments—that made life worth living.
I texted Matt and gave him an overview of the events from the prior evening as well as a summary of the modification in our travel plans, informing him that I was on my way down to the concierge to call a taxi. He met me in the lobby just as the taxi pulled up, giving us no time to engage in an awkward greeting.
He didn’t kiss me on the cheek, as I gave him no opportunity to do so.
Also helpful, the distraction of my friends’ circumstances. The situation provided adequate fodder for discussion all the way to the executive airport and minimal eye contact. I filled him in on what had occurred while I surveyed the city beyond the taxi window.
Everything went smoothly. We arrived, checked in, were escorted to Quinn’s plane, buckled in, and we were off. No waiting in lines, no time for idle chit-chat. I opened my laptop, figuring I’d use the flight to type up notes from the day before.
“You’re working?” Matt hovered at the end of the aisle, glancing from me to my open laptop.
Without looking up, I nodded. “I should get these notes transcribed while they’re still fresh.”
I sensed Matt hesitate while I pulled on my headphones and scrolled through my phone for an appropriate playlist. For some reason, I felt like listening to angry girl music.
So I did.
I wrote while Matt sat in the seat across from mine—even though there were twenty-two other seats to choose from—and likewise worked on his laptop. Every so often I sensed his attention on me. I ignored it. I would be strong.
I didn’t close my laptop or remove my headphones until after we’d landed, taxied to our hangar, and the flight attendant appeared to tell us we were welcome to depart when ready. With minimal conversation, we got into the car Quinn had sent to pick us up in and it took us straight to the hospital.
Matt’s first priority was checking in on Fiona and family. Meanwhile, I hadn’t received any new texts about Janie’s condition and worried aloud regarding what I might find.
I texted Dan as soon as we arrived to the hospital lot. He was waiting for me just inside the entrance. Other than tossing Matt a who-the-hell-are-you glare, he seemed to be singularly focused on getting me checked in.
“What’s going on? Is Janie okay? Elizabeth hasn’t texted.”
Both Matt and I handed our photo IDs to the receptionist so they could make us visitor badges for the day.
“She’s still in labor. It’s been since seven last night, and Quinn hasn’t slept. Janie won’t let him in the room, says he’s making her nuts. Katherine is in there now. She and Mr. Sullivan arrived after 1:00 AM, then the plane turned around and picked you up once Alex figured out where you were.”
I smirked a little because Dan called Quinn’s mother by her first name, but could never bring himself to call Quinn’s father by anything other than Mr. Sullivan.
I knew Quinn’s mother, Katherine, rather well as she and I had organized Janie and Quinn’s wedding together a few years ago. Neither Janie nor Quinn had expressed any interest in planning the event and I loved that kind of stuff—and I loved to help—so I didn’t mind.
Janie had chosen Katherine as her birth coach early on in the pregnancy when it became clear that Quinn’s tendencies to want to control everything—especially where Janie’s safety was concerned—wasn’t going to work during a vaginal birth.
“Elizabeth says they won’t let Janie go past seven tonight, because of something having to do with her water breaking yesterday and after twenty-four hours there’s an increase in infection problems, or something like that. I don’t know.” Dan tugged his fingers through his hair, looking truly stressed.
Matt and I accepted our visitor badges, placing the stickers on our shirts. I then placed a comforting hand on Dan’s shoulder.
The three of us walked to the elevators while I smoothed gentle circles on Dan’s back. “Hey. Everything is going to be fine. Elizabeth won’t let anything happen to either of them.”
Dan sighed, jabbing at the call button for the elevator and then rubbing at the swirly neck tattoos peeking out of his T-shirt collar. “I’m just glad you’re here. Kat’s exhausted. She’s been sitting with Quinn since early this morning. I want her to go rest, but she won’t listen to me. Mr. Sullivan is also there, but he’s mostly quiet other than telling Quinn to calm the fuck down and reminding him that women do this every goddamn day. In fact, it almost looks like he’s enjoying Quinn’s anxiousness, which I think is pissing Quinn off. And I can’t tell Quinn he’s overreacting because, what the hell do I know?”
We boarded the elevator and Dan pressed the button for the fourth floor.
“His pacing is driving me nuts. I asked Elizabeth if we can sedate him, and she said no.” Dan snorted, rolling his eyes. “But the good thing is they have Janie in this special room, bigger than the others, with its own waiting room outside. So he can pace all he likes without tripping over doctors and nurses trying to do their job. It’s the VIP suite, where I’m guessing the acronym stands for Very Irritating Patients’ Husbands.”
“That would be VIPH,” Matt chimed in good-naturedly, saying something for the first time since we arrived.
Dan’s eyes cut to Matt’s. “You think I don’t fucking know that? Who the fuck are you?”
I had to struggle to keep from laughing at Dan’s surge of aggression; clearly, he’d reached the end of his patience.