Mister O

I scratch my head. “Courtesy to speak English please?”


She pushes her curly black hair away from her face and gives me a side-eye glance. “You don’t know what that is?”

“Serena, I’m a twenty-nine-year-old single guy in the city. I have no clue. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

False contractions, Harper mouths.

“They’re evil,” Serena says with a hiss. “They’re basically trick contractions. They make you think you’re going to finally exorcise the demon from your belly, but they’re just a constant false alarm.”

Another one must come, because she winces and grabs the table.

“Serena,” Harper says gently. “I think we need to get you out of here.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“You’re a workaholic,” I say gently. “It’s not going to be good for the baby. Let’s get you home.”

“From one workaholic to another, I’m going to be fine. It’s good for me to be here. Gives me something to do other than count the seconds.” She breathes out hard. “But you know what? I think I need to pee again.”

Serena pushes up from the lounge, holding on to the table.

“I do, too.” Harper stands and accompanies the about-to-burst publicist to the ladies’ room. I check my watch. Seems I’ve served my time at Gino’s fête. I send Harper a text that I’ll be waiting outside for her, and I make my great escape to the cool autumn air of Amsterdam Avenue.

I check my phone. No reply. I scroll through messages and send a quick note to Tyler, letting him know about tonight’s less-than-Kodak moment with Gino. I glance at the door. Still no Harper. I click on Facebook and absently scan my wall. Thirty seconds later, Harper’s voice lands in my ears. “They’re so fast. Look! It’s already here.”

Harper’s arm is wrapped tightly around Serena, and she motions wildly for me to follow them. Harper escorts Serena to a black SUV idling at the curb.

I run the few feet to catch up. “What’s going on?”

“Her water broke,” Harper says, her tone even and calm. “I ordered an Uber. It’s here already.”

“That’s fast,” I say, dazed, and I’m not sure if I’m talking about the car service, Harper’s Uber-ordering skills, or Serena’s labor.

I open the door to the car. Harper follows Serena, sitting in the middle and holding her hand. I join them. I’ve never dealt with women in labor, and maybe it’s easy for anyone who has, but I’m really glad Harper is here shepherding this situation, because I haven’t a clue what to do.

“Mount Sinai Roosevelt,” Harper says to the driver, even though he already has the info from the app. “And step on it.” She squeezes Serena’s hand and says, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Serena laughs lightly then shoves her phone at me. “Call Jared. Tell him to meet me at the hospital, stat.”

That I can do. I dial her husband’s number, and he answers immediately. “Hey, sweetie. Everything okay? I’m almost done with this contract.”

“Hey, Jared. It’s Nick Hammer,” I say and dive right into the details. “Serena went into labor at the party. She’s on her way to the hospital, and I’m taking her there with my friend Harper.”

I hear the squeak of a chair and papers being shoved aside. “Thank you, man. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I hang up and turn to the two women in the car, in awe of how calm both of them are while my mind is topsy-turvy. Kids are Greek to me. I wouldn’t know the first thing about holding a baby, let alone playing the role of the helpful friend as labor sets in. But Harper slides into that position seamlessly, clasping Serena’s hand and guiding her through her breathing. A few blocks later, as the car swings into the right lane, Serena snaps her gaze to me. “I’m not naming the baby Uber if he’s born in the car.”

I flash her a grin. “Is Taxi an option?”

Serena smiles, and soon we pull up to the front doors of the hospital entrance on Tenth Avenue, help her out of the car, and take her into the emergency room. Her husband rushes in to greet her. He arrived fast. Jared is tall and sturdy, with thick black hair and glasses, too. I’ve met him a few times, since he’s in the business. “Thank you so much,” he says, his eyes wide and eager, a touch of nerves in them, too, understandably.

“She’s the one to thank,” I say, pointing at the woman by my side. “Harper got her here.”

Harper waves off the compliment. “Good luck with the baby. I’m so excited for the two of you.”

We walk away, and I’m honestly a little stunned by that change in tonight’s lineup. I scratch my jaw, trying to come up with something pithy to say, but words fail me.

Not Harper, though. “Isn’t it amazing that in a little while, maybe a few hours, maybe more, their lives are going to change massively, and they’ll have a baby in their arms?” she says, with a glossy look in her eyes.

Oh no. Is she one of those girls?

“I love kids,” she adds sweetly, and yup, there’s the answer.