“She’s at thirty weeks. Her OB/GYN is Dr. LeGuin,” I say too loudly.
“We’ll update Dr. LeGuin with our results,” the doctor says, his tone reassuring. “If anything shifts, we’ll act quickly. Right now, rest and monitoring are key.”
Ligaya exhales, stroking her stomach like she’s smoothing out the worry clenching both of us. I press the heel of my hand over my eyes, trying to wrestle back control. The fluorescent lights above hum, monitors beep in uneven rhythms, and the air scrapes over what feel like raw nerves on top of my skin instead of under, where they belong.
The nurse props Ligaya’s feet up on pillows, fixes the angle of the bed for comfort, and murmurs something about ice chips. I barely hear it, obsessed as I am with observing Ligaya.
Is her skin less pale than earlier? Do her feet look less like sausages? Why is she laughing and joking around with the nurse?
“The doctor said to rest,” I bark rudely, quieting the chatty nurse.
Ligaya gives me a raised brow.
I reciprocate withtworaised brows. She better not fight me on this.When the doctor says rest, she needs to rest!
Dr. Richards comes back with more results, and I brace for impact. His voice is steady. “Labs look good. No protein in the urine, no clotting issues. The swelling was concerning, but you caught it early. We’d like to keep her overnight for monitoring. Dr. LeGuin will see her first thing in the morning.”
Relief slams into me so hard, I lean against the wall, air leaving my lungs in a huff.
Ligaya smiles. “Told you everything is fine,” she murmurs, worn out but trying to comfort me. “And can you take off that baseball cap?”
“Why?” I ask, confused.
“Because you look so hot I want you to get me pregnant again.”
I snort in amusement while removing the cap. Not because I don’t like the idea of getting her pregnant again. It’s so I can lean her forehead against mine.
“I’ll stay the night,” I state.
“You have practice early tomorrow.”
“Don’t talk about hockey right now, Ligaya. I’m staying. No argument.”
She nods.
“Rest, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Will you call my parents and Ami?”
“Absolutely.”
Within two minutes, she’s asleep.
I watch her all night because of my unreasonable fear that if I close my eyes, she won’t be there in the morning.
CHAPTER 45
LIGAYA
My parents’ house is bursting at the seams. This baby shower at thirty-two weeks might have been optimistic on my part. I am sooo huge. Once thetitasget involved, though, there’s not much room to revise plans.
By the way, althoughtitais normally an aunt’s title, it is also what you call the women in the Filipino community who cook and hug and laugh and gossip and feast together. We might not be related by blood, but there are other ties that bind.
Balloons bob against the ceiling fan, streamers drape across the windows, and every flat surface is covered in pastel food trays.Turonnext to cupcakes with purple and yellow icing,pancitbeside pink punch. Whoever invented “spring rainbow” as a theme never had to wrangle this many women with strong decorating opinions.
It looks like an Easter parade collided with a fiesta.
Ami flew in last night, and she’s buffering the onslaught of unsolicited advice, Filipino edition.
