“Yes ma’am.” I sat at the opposite end of the couch and downed one of the waters, watching Mara fight through visible pain. Worry began to steal through me. “You okay, sis?”
She breathed out shakily. “I don’t know, Bax. These aren’t going away.”
“Ain’tcha supposed to time them or some shit? I saw that on TV once.”
She laughed, holding up her phone. “I am. They’re every fifteen minutes.”
“So…this is it, then, maybe?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.”
I drank another bottle of water. “You call Zane?”
“Not yet. I want to be sure it’s actual labor before I worry him with it. You know how he is.”
“Yeah, regular ol’ worrywart, that guy.” I watched her as she hissed, leaning forward, legs splayed apart, hands clawed around her belly as she fought to breathe through it. “I think maybe you should call him, Mara. I ain’t equipped for this shit.”
She nodded. “Yeah,” she clipped. “In a second.”
After a few seconds, she breathed out in relief, and slumped back against the couch.
“This sucks,” she said, through grated teeth. “Really, really sucks. I’m gonna kill Zane for putting me through this.”
I laughed. “Now you sound like the chick from the TV show I watched.”
She snorted. “Thanks.” Mara eyed me speculatively. “You mentioned having gone through heartbreak before? Do tell.”
I waved a hand. “Nothing interesting. Just some stupid chick I was into.”
“Not sure I believe you, but I’ll let it slide for the moment.” She heaved herself forward, working herself to a position where she could lever herself to her feet, but couldn’t quite make it. “I need help. I have to pee. Again.”
I refrained from laughing and stumbled to stand in front of her, helping her to her feet. “We’re quite a pair tonight, ain’t we?”
She waddled to the bathroom, giving me the finger. “Yeah, well, I’m growing a human, you’re just wallowing in your own sorrow. At least my excuse is legit.”
I sank back down to the couch and let myself drift dizzily. It seemed like Mara was gone for a bit longer than I’d expected, but what do I know about what pregnant women do in the bathroom? Not much, that’s for sure.
But then, when it felt like quite a few minutes had passed, I started to worry. “Yo, Mara! You alive in there?” I bellowed.
Silence, and then Mara’s voice, thin and pained. “I need help.”
I shot to my feet instantly, worry ramping up at the tone of her voice. I made it to the bathroom door in roughly three steps, knocking on it gently. “What’s up?”
I heard the knob twist, and the door swung open inward, revealing Mara on the toilet, a bath towel covering her lap, a puddle of something wet on the floor under her feet.
“Shit,” I breathed. “What’s going on? Couldn’t make it in time?”
She gasped a laugh, despite obvious agonizing pain. “Fuck you, Bax.” With one hand she was palming her stomach, and the other was grasping the edge of the bathroom counter in a white-knuckle grip. “My water broke.”
“I don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not.” She nodded at her phone, on the counter near her hand. “Call Zane. Tell him.”
I handed her the phone and she unlocked it, I dialed Zane, and waited for him to answer. It rang three times and then he answered, the bar ruckus loud in the background.
