“I figured that, too.” She nods sadly. “That’s Blakey’s best trait, you know. His need to protect. To make everyone happy…”
Even if it means sacrificing his own happiness, is the unfinished sentiment. And my heart clenches painfully, because I know it’s true. As over the top as Blake is, he lives his entire life for other people. Look at the way he took Wes under his wing last season, the way he dropped everything to help take care of Jamie when he was sick.
Blake Riley is a better man than anyone gives him credit for. And I’m ashamed of myself. I’m so fucking ashamed for ever believing that he was just a stupid jock who was incapable of being serious.
“Anyway, you’re a trooper, Jess,” Mama Riley says, while I continue to beat myself up for being such a jackass. “Just want you to know I appreciate it.”
Then she gives me another oxygen-depriving hug, which I try to reciprocate. Maybe in time I’ll learn to get a full breath of air before she does that.
It’s only an hour later when Charlie reappears in the waiting room wearing a surgical smock and a smile. “It’s a girl!” he announces. “Six pounds even. No name yet, but we’re working on it. Brenna’s all woozy, so I think my choice will prevail.”
Mama Riley gallops over and places both hands on his shoulders. “Is Brenna okay?”
“Of course. She just yelled at me to take more pictures, so I’m thinking that’s a good sign.”
The other Rileys swarm Charlie to congratulate him. But not me. I need to sit down, like, yesterday. I slide into a chair, relief washing over me. The room is too bright all of a sudden and there’s not enough air. Brenna could’ve died. The blood pressure the doctor had rattled off in the waiting room downstairs was scarily high. And when I’d Googled preeclampsia during my sister’s pregnancy, I’d been greeted by a lengthy list of horror stories involving seizures and both maternal and fetal death.
I put my elbows on my knees and curl up around myself, quietly freaking out while the Riley family rejoices.
“Jessie?” Blake sits beside me. When he takes my hand, his is cool where mine is clammy. “Hey…” He kisses my palm. “What’s the matter? Everything is fine.”
“I know.” My voice shakes. “It’s just…” My whole body shudders as I imagine other outcomes. “That was scary,” I croak.
“Oh, baby.” Blake pulls me onto his lap and kisses my neck. “You were amazing. You knew exactly what was wrong and lit a fire under everyone to get to the hospital.”
“I was just guessing.”
“Naw,” he scoffs. “You saw some things. You had a gut feeling. You went with it. That’s all everyone does. That’s how I win hockey games. That’s how your man Hozier writes those songs that make the girls throw their panties at the stage.” He runs a comforting hand down my hair, and I lean back into his touch. “You know what? I have a gut feeling right now, too. It says, my girl hasn’t eaten all day, and she’s fried. We’re gonna take a peek at the baby, and then we’ll go fix that, okay?”
Someone brings us some pretzels and soda from the vending machines, and a bit later we’re summoned to the nursery window. There, behind the glass, in a little bassinet, is the newest Riley. She’s a teeny peanut-shaped person swaddled like a burrito in a blanket, wearing a pink and white striped hat. All that’s visible is her round cheek and a shock of brown hair poking from beneath the edges of the hat. Her eyes are scrunched tightly shut, as if her slumber requires great determination.
“Awwwwwwww!” the Riley clan choruses.
“That’s…she…” Blake sputters. “I’m an uncle! She looks just like me.”
I assume he’s kidding, but when I look up at Blake’s face, it’s rapt, and his eyes are shiny. I press myself against his great bulk and push my face into his chest. One hand clamps around me, and I have a moment of complete happiness. What’s more, I no longer feel as though this was the weirdest day ever. Standing here in the circle of Blake’s arms, witness to this amazing family moment? It feels absolutely right. Maybe I am suffering from low blood sugar. And there must be reproductive hormones off-gassing throughout the maternity ward.
“LOOK!” Mama Riley crows. “Here comes the name!”
A nurse in teddy bear-patterned scrubs walks over, flashing a smile to everyone on our side of the glass. She affixes a small sign to the bassinet. In black Sharpie, someone has written:
Annalise Jessica Daly, born November 2, 4:36 p.m.
“Oh man!” Blake chuckles. “The middle name was supposed to be Blake! You’ve stolen my honor, J-Babe.” He picks me right up off the floor and kisses my cheek, laughing.
“Omigod.” I’m staring at that card in astonishment. Maybe “Jessica” was already one of the names they’d been kicking around? “There’s no way your sister named that baby after me.”