I’d refused the baby shower Mom and my friend Lexi wanted to throw me. We were unprepared for this baby, because I couldn’t stand the thought of having a nursery ready and then not having a baby to bring home to it if something went wrong. And in a weird way, I worried I’d bond with the stuff. Fold the teensy clothes and arrange them. Smell the powdery baby lotion. So it was best to not even have them in the apartment.
We’d closed on our new house last week, but Ryke wouldn’t consider moving until after we had the baby. He said I wasn’t allowed to even think about packing or anything else that might stress me out.
But stress was my middle name these days. I closed my eyes and willed the baby to move. Anything. I’d take absolutely anything right now. I hadn’t felt a kick since before the game started.
A knock on the door made me rise awkwardly and shuffle across the room. My back hurt all the time these days when I wasn’t laying down, and I rubbed my fingers into a sore spot.
I opened the door and my mom stepped in, worry lining her face. “Did you drink the orange juice?” she asked, setting her purse on the floor.
“Yeah, 30 minutes ago. And still nothing.”
“Come lay back down,” she said. “Try to relax.”
I lumbered back to the couch, and the dormant horror of losing my other two babies struck me across the face like an ice cold wind. I burst into tears, grabbing the edge of the couch to stabilize myself.
Mom had me in her arms within a couple seconds. At least as much of me as she could embrace with my bowling ball-sized bulge between us.
“It’s okay, Katie. You’re okay. Relax.”
“But it’s never been this long! And my book said the baby should move at least once every hour. Should I call Harmony? Or just go to the hospital?”
Mom pulled back and laid her hands on my shoulders. “The bigger the baby gets, the harder it is to spin around in there. There’s not as much room as there was before. You have to relax.”
My phone buzzed on the coffee table and relief washed through me when I saw it was Ryke.
“Hey,” I said, barely getting the word past the lump in my throat.
“What’s wrong?”
“I haven’t felt the baby move in four hours. Nothing at all.”
“I’ll call the doctor and have him come over right now.”
“Ryke, it’s ten o’clock at night. And he won’t have the stuff to check me.” I choked back a sob. “I can’t believe this is happening again. It’s cruel, to get so close to the end and then—”
“I’m coming home,” Ryke said. I heard him tell the cab driver to change course and take him to the airport.
“Don’t do that,” I said. “I don’t know anything for sure. I’m going to the hospital and I’ll call you when I know something.”
“I can’t fucking believe I’m in goddamned Minnesota right now,” he said angrily. “I’m so sorry. I need to be there with you.”
“I can do this on my own.” I moved the phone aside so I could slip my coat on. “Mom, will you stay with Mel?”
Her eyes bulged. “Let me call Dale to come over so I can drive you.”
Ryke was practically yelling the same thing into the phone. “You’re not driving yourself! Christ, woman! Your mom will take you!”
“I’m going right now. I’ll call Harmony to meet me there. I’m not sitting here any longer. I have to do something right now. I’ll call you both when I know more. Ryke, I love you. Mom, I love you, too.”
Ryke interjected. “I’ll call the front desk. They keep a car on standby and they’ll drive you.”
“Okay. That’s fine.”
“I love you, Kate,” he said, his voice strained with emotion. “No matter what. Always.”
Mom folded her arms across her chest and nodded. “Drive safely.”
I hung up the phone and walked out the door, a fog of emotional overload settling over me. I had to walk to the elevator, ride it downstairs, get to the front desk, and ride to the hospital. Those things would require me to keep it together.
I dialed Harmony as soon as I stepped off the elevator.
“Kate? Everything okay?” she answered.
“Can you meet me at the emergency room?”
“Of course. Are you having labor pain?”
“No.” I fought to keep my voice level, to make her think I wasn’t a basket case. “I haven’t felt the baby move for four hours.”
There was a pause before she spoke. “I’m on my way.”
I wanted to be calm and focused, but there was no hope. I cried the entire ride to the hospital, grateful the driver never said a word. This deep anxiety and fear was something I needed to be by myself with right now.