One of the architects at work had tried to give me a hug. I’d made him and his wife soup and a loaf of bread while they were sick with the flu, and I’d watched their two kids so they could sleep on a Saturday afternoon. He was overwhelmed with gratitude upon returning to work. I stuck out my hand hurriedly as he opened his arms for an embrace, leading to a full minute of the awkward do-we-shake-or-do-we-hug tango, a close relative of the which-side-of-the-sidewalk-are-you-walking-on polka.
Dan wasn’t holding me tight, and his hand rested on my shoulder. His other hand fiddled with my fingers where they lay on my leg in a way that felt absentminded and therefore natural.
Embracing wasn’t something I did lightly. Hugs required a level of trust, and it placed a person in a physical position of weakness. Yet here we were, cuddling, and for some magical reason, I let it happen.
“We’re here, and it looks like—” Dan shifted beneath me and I felt his muscles tense. “What the—”
I lifted my head to look at him. He was staring out the window, frowning. The hand that had been fiddling with my fingers was on the door handle, like he was ready to jump out of the SUV as soon as it came to a complete stop.
Following his gaze, I tilted my head to the side to see out the glass. Janie and Quinn were standing just outside the front door of the building along with Lawrence, the concierge, and Charles, the doorman. Quinn had his arm around her, like he was helping support her weight, and she was holding her belly. Even from this distance, I could see her forehead was knotted, as though she were uncomfortable or in pain. Charles and Lawrence appeared agitated, looking at her and then away toward the underground parking garage exit. Quinn’s eyes were trained on our car as we pulled up.
As soon as we stopped, Dan gave my knee a quick squeeze and then was out the door, jogging to our friends. I jumped out after him, having to settle for a power walk instead of a jog due to the height of my heels.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Dan stepped next to Janie, his arm coming around her like he planned to pick her up.
“No. Don’t. She wants to stand.” Quinn’s tone was even, but I knew the calm was deceptive. His eyes were wide and rimmed with worry, his gaze sweeping over Dan, moving to me, narrowing. “She’s in labor. Her water broke.”
“Okay. Okay. What can we do?” Now Dan’s face contorted, like he was also in pain. “Should we call an ambulance?”
I inserted myself between Dan and Janie, but I didn’t touch her. She’d complained early in her second trimester about people feeling entitled to touch her just because she was pregnant.
“What can I do?” I asked, a pang of worry slicing through me.
She reached for my hand, her grip tight, her forehead clearing as her eyes met mine. “Sorry. Contraction. Call Elizabeth. Let her know we’re on our way. And can you get my bag? And the baby’s? Quinn didn’t want to wait for me to finish packing.”
“Now is not the time to pack.” His voice was cold, remote. But I knew him well enough by now to recognize this was how he handled fear.
“He’s just upset I didn’t tell him when my water broke,” she explained, giving me a little smile. “Only about fifteen percent of women have their water break before they go into labor, and the number is even less for first pregnancies.”
Quinn slid a glare to his wife, but spoke to Dan. “Nicolas is bringing a car.”
“When did your water break?” Feeling helpless, I held her hand in both of mine, wanting to transfer all my love and good vibes to her through the contact.
“An hour ago. Most doctors agree that, after your water breaks, both the baby and the mother are at an increased risk of infection due to organisms that can enter the amniotic sac. Of course, this doesn’t necessarily mean it’s automatically unsafe to labor longer than twenty-four hours after one’s water breaks, though most medical professionals will recommend antibiotics to prevent infection if a woman labors longer than twenty-four hours, which makes sense to me. I was packing the baby’s bag when it happened, so I stopped and made a sandwich.”
“Your water broke so you made yourself a sandwich?”
“Yes. And some lemonade. I’ve been told they won’t let me eat at the hospital during labor.” Her grin widened and she started to laugh. “You should have seen Quinn’s face when he figured it out. I tried to cover the wet spot in the baby’s room with a towel but I couldn’t bend down to pick it up.”
Ignoring Janie, Quinn lifted his chin toward the SUV we’d just evacuated, to where Stan looked on anxiously, hovering just outside of the driver’s side door. “We’ll have Stan drive us since your car is already here. Kat will bring the bags and follow with Nicolas.”