“Surprise,” I say. “We’re having twins.”
Before he can answer, before anyone can ask any questions, a gush of water spills across the floor.
15
I blink back my shock.
Twins?
Holy fuck.
I wish she’d told me.
But right now, I can’t concern myself with that.
Right now, I need to get my woman to the hospital.
Harper jumps into action as a stunned Rosie just stands there.
“Jaxon, you need to get the babies in the car. And Buck, you need to get Rosie in the car. We’ve got to get her to the hospital.”
But Rosie starts screaming, “No, no, I can’t go anywhere. I think ... oh, my god. I think. I. Buuuuuck.” She reaches for my hands and she squeezes them tighter than fuck.
“She’s having contractions. We need to get her to the hospital. Now. Jax, call the ambulance.”
“I can’t move ... I ....” She’s hunched over now. “Buck, I’m scared,” she whimpers, lowering herself to the ground.
“Oh, no, sweetie,” Harper says, falling to her knees beside Rosie. “If you lie down there’s no way you’ll get back up.”
Rosie is crying, and Jaxon hands me some pillows for her back. We’re in the fucking foyer, and Rosie is on the ground, her hands on her stomach as if that can stop this force.
“Jaxon,” Harper directs. “Get the pack and play from the truck. Buck, I need you to call the ambulance, and then get me some towels. Cold rags.”
I spring into action, calling 911. The operator puts me through to a medic right away. “If she is already having contractions as bad as that, you might be delivering these babies yourself, we’re an hour away.”
I relay the information to Harper, who grabs the phone from me. “It’s okay,” she tells them. “I helped deliver four of my mother’s babies. I can do this.” I’d forgotten that Harper grew up in a scarily conservative home, they didn’t believe in doctors or medication. If there’s anyone I want to be here for Rosie and my children now, it’s her.
Harper stays on the phone a little while longer, and then hangs up, as Rosie arches her back, screaming full hilt.
Jaxon has got the triplets in the pack and play, and hands them an iPad to watch a cartoon. Which is probably good. The scene unfolding could be hella traumatizing.
Harper tells Jaxon and me to wash our hands with scalding water, as she drapes a sheet over Rosie. Then Harper reaches between Rosie’s legs to assess the situation.
Her eyes get huge, and she gasps.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, my heart rate immediately increasing.
“No,” she says. “Buck, give me your hand.” She grabs it, pressing it to Rosie’s opening. The sheet falls back, and her legs are open, but there is nothing sexual about this scene.
It is just fucking beautiful. Because my hand is on a head. The head of my child.
There is no stopping this labor, Rosie is having our babies. Now.
“Rosie,” I say, knowing she needs to calm down and focus, crying is going to add stress to an already precarious situation. “Listen, darlin’, I’m here, right with you. You are doing amazing.”
“Buck,” she manages, breathing through her nose as the pain passes, as if knowing a new contraction is going to be arriving any moment. “I am so glad you are with me.”
“Me too, Rosie. Me too.” I nod, our eyes locked, and I feel more connected than ever to her. Harper is coaching us, telling Rosie to push the next time a contraction comes on, and Rosie nods. Jaxon runs a cool washcloth over her head, and has towels beside us. He hands Harper a bottle of olive oil, which she pours on my hand.
“I need to push,” Rosie groans, grabbing Harper’s hand and squeezing. “Now.”
“Good, girl,” Harper says. “You got this. Jaxon, baby, can you hold her thighs?”
I look at Harper, ready for my job. She just smiles through the shock of it all and says, “Buck, you’re going to deliver your babies.”
And I do, with laser focus. My hands, slick with oil, ease the baby’s head through Rosie’s expanding cervix. She pushes with all her might and miraculously, a head of bright red hair emerges, after three pushes. The cries fill the cabin, and Rosie is tear-streaked, and so am I.
The baby’s shoulder pushes through, and then, it is out. A screaming, perfect, little girl.
My daughter.
I can’t swallow the tears. There are too many. The joy. Complete and absolute adoration.
My daughter.
“Rosie, you did it.”
I hand her the baby, still tethered to her womb, and Jaxon has carried cushions from the chairs for her back to rest against. She kisses the baby’s head, cradling her in her still shaking arms, as Harper uses towels to soak up the blood between Rosie’s legs.