When Girlfriends Step Up (32 page)

A quick pinch of the wrist and I knew I wasn’t dreaming.
 

I think I’m going into labor.

“Lara!” I cried, inching the rest of the way to my door, feeling the doorknob, then the light switch. “Lara!”

Before the next jolt of pain arrived, Lara was by my side.

“I think I’m going into labor,” I cried, holding onto my stomach and trying to practice the breathing techniques I’d learned in Lamaze class. “It’s too early but—” Another painful stab. “But…I think it’s happening.”

Fast as a flash, Lara darted about, gathering her things, my overnight bag, making sure (and double-checking) she had our cell phones. About mid-way through her rescue mission, I noticed the pain had stopped. It was the longest amount of time since the jabs had started that I didn’t feel any sharp burns or aches.

Is that it? Is it over? Maybe this isn’t labor after all.

“I think the contractions went away,” I told Lara, not fully convinced of my own words. “Maybe it
was
indigestion.”

“I don’t think indigestion can be
that
painful. You looked like you were in a hell of a lot of pain, Robin. And you’re all pale and sweaty. Are you sure?”

I wasn’t sure, and that was the problem.

Is this labor? Am I going into labor prematurely? Oh no! Will Rose be all right? She’s not supposed to come yet. Am I miscarrying? No. That can’t be it. It’s much too late in the game for that, isn’t it? What do I do?

I looked to Lara, panic in my eyes, but I spoke even-tempered. Rose needed me to be confident and calm, so I told Lara to go ahead and call Dr. Jane Buschardi’s office and let them know we were going to the hospital. I didn’t want to risk anything. And, while Lara was at it, she might as well send out to the girls the prepared alert text she had saved, ready to hit the send button whenever the big moment arrived.

As we made our way to the car the pain started up again. “Okay, maybe this
is
for real,” I said, picking up my pace. “Let’s go. Get me to the hospital.” Ouch! Another sharp pain. “
Now!
”

Chapter Twenty-Two

I’d been in the hospital for nearly thirty minutes, lying comfortably (surprisingly) in a bed in the maternity ward, hooked up to all sorts of monitors. The beeping of my heart rate monitor was beginning to grow irksome as a nurse came to check on me again (it had to be the fourth or fifth time already), making sure my vitals were good and my pain was diminishing. Luckily the pain
had
diminished, and significantly, once I was set up in the maternity ward. Funny how that happened. The pain was doubling me over in the car ride, then the moment I settled down into the hospital bed the pain decreased incrementally. Before I knew it I was back to feeling only the pain of the heavy pressure of “baby on the bladder” that’s typical of nearly full-term moms-to-be.

“I can go ahead and let your friends in now if you want,” the nurse told me, writing something on her clipboard of papers.
 

“Absolutely.” I was wondering when my girls could come in.
 

“We’ll keep you here for another half hour or so. Just to be sure everything’s still all right.”
 

I thanked her and as soon as she left the girls were by my side, asking a million questions a minute.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said, not wanting them to panic.

“So no baby tonight?” Sophie asked, incredulous.

“We don’t get to meet Rose?” Claire said.

“Not tonight,” I sighed, relieved. “Turns out I wasn’t going into labor, only having very minor contractions.”

“Uh, doesn’t that mean you
are
going into labor?” Jackie asked.

“Apparently the contractions I was having were these things called Braxton Hicks. Long story short, it’s false labor.”

“Oh yeah, I read about that,” Sophie said. “New moms especially can have them. I think I read that in your baby book, Robin.”

“Yeah, well, guess I missed that chapter. Anyway, I’m glad it was only false labor.”

“Why are they still keeping you here?” Jackie poked around at the wires that connected me to one of the machines that was still beeping aggravatingly.

“Precautionary. No biggie.”

“Phew, well thank God everything’s all right,” Lara said. “It’s too early for Rose to come.” She patted my stomach lightly. “Too early, little baby. You stay in there a few more weeks.”

I stole a glance at the clock on the opposing wall. It was five minutes past midnight.

“Girls!” I shrieked, alarming them. They immediately assumed I was in pain or about to deliver—a real ticking time bomb. “It’s someone’s birthday today!”

As if on cue, a gasping Sophie pulled from her large designer handbag a chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot. “I come bearing sustenance, ladies!” She waved the easily recognizable orange-labeled bottle.

Jackie withdrew a handful of clear, plastic cups from her own handbag. “And
always
prepared for a party.”

“Champagne is part of the emergency Operation: Labor equipment, so naturally we came prepared,” Sophie said, popping the cork. She began to pour the bubbly. “As essential as baby’s first outfit home, baby’s car seat, the camera…you know.”

“Just as essential,” Jackie chimed in, starting to pass around the cups.
 

“Sorry, girl,” Claire said, making a sad, puppy dog face. “We’ll get another bottle for Operation: Labor and you can have a sip then.”

“Definitely. But tonight,” Jackie said, raising her glass, everyone else following suit, me holding up the cup of water the nurse had brought me. “Tonight we toast to Lara. She’s growin’ up on us.”

“Happy birthday, Lara!”

“Cheers, Lara! Happy birthday!”

“May the next twenty-nine be just as fabulous!”

Lara clinked cups with everyone. “Girls, that’s so sweet.”

“Worked out really well, actually,” Sophie said, as the nurse walked in.

“Ladies, you can’t have that in here,” the nurse said, pointing at the chilled bottle of champagne in Sophie’s hand.

“But it’s her birthday,” Jackie said, patting Lara on the back.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but you can’t have that. There’s no drinking allowed in here.” The nurse unhooked me from the equipment and said that I could get dressed and be discharged, then she shook her head discouragingly at the girls as she exited the room, saying once more, “Hospital rules.
No
drinking.”

The girls burst into laughter, throwing back the last of their small amounts of champagne.

“Happy birthday, Lara,” I whispered under the girls’ cackling.

Lara helped me tie back my hair, then took my overnight bag off my hands. “Now let’s get you and little Rose home to get some sleep. You must be exhausted.” She turned to the rest of the girls, who were trying to re-cork the champagne, desperate to take the bottle home. “Girls!” Lara’s voice was stern. “Forget the bottle; let’s go home.”

“But it’s a forty dollar bottle of champagne,” Claire whined.

Lara couldn’t help but laugh, and I tossed up my hands. “It’s like junior year all over again,” I said. “Whatcha’ gonna’ do?”

“Hey, this is a serious party foul,” Claire protested.

“Then swig some back and let’s go. Honestly,” Lara said, looking from the girls, back to me. “They’re like children.”

Sophie, Claire, and Jackie shared last-minute swigs of the champagne, Sophie coughing and spraying champagne from her nose as she downed too much. The cackling became even more boisterous, and I tugged on Lara’s hand, telling her to tell them they were going to be left behind and could call a cab home. Exhaustion was hitting me hard.

“Girls, come
on
,” Lara urged. Just then the nurse walked right up to me in the doorway.

“I said
no
drinking in here, ladies. Are you hard of hearing? Or am I going to have to call in security?” The upset nurse crossed her arms over her puffed out chest and tapped her foot.

“Come on!” I said to the girls. I made a strict motion with my hand for them to cut the crap and get a move on. “I still want to have my baby in this hospital. I don’t want to have a warrant out for our arrest or something stupid.”

Jackie took one last swig of the champagne before leaving the bottle on the bedside table. “Sorry, Robin.” She ushered the rest of the girls towards the door.

“God,” Claire moaned in a tone that sounded as if the champagne had already hit. Always the lightweight. “Nurse Ratched’s sure got a pin in her ass.” Claire hiccoughed loudly and she and Sophie fell into a fit of giggles.

“Good God,” Lara moaned. She shoved the girls through the door and managed to get us all into her car without any more violations of hospital rules.

“Happy birthday, Lara!” Jackie cried from the backseat. Lara helped Claire, the last of the girls, get into the car. “We love you so much!”

“Yeah! Happy birthday, Lara,” Sophie chimed in, then she, too, hiccoughed, and the backseat roared with mindless laughter.

I rubbed my stomach, relieved not to have any more false labor pains and contractions.

Welcome to the family, little Rose. Your aunties are crazy, but they’re my sisters and I love them.

***

Thanksgiving was around the corner, I was nearly finished with work before my maternity leave, and, what was more, Emily was due home in only two weeks! Not to mention I hadn’t had any more frightening Braxton Hicks scares since the girls and I had rushed to the hospital. Things were still as great as ever with Bobby. I couldn’t wait to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with him and my best friend. And though I hadn’t heard back from my dad (surprise) about my being pregnant, and although I still hadn’t received any financial support from Brandon (even less of a surprise), the girls, Kaitlyn, and Bobby were all set to be there for me at the hospital when Rose would be born. What a great support group!
 

As well behaved as my mom had been at the baby shower, she didn’t express an interest in meeting the baby at the hospital, and I didn’t want to contemplate the possible melodrama that would ensue if she were there. Besides, she was busy working on her suntan and social status in Florida for the winter with architect Archie or whoever the hell he was. So my mother and I civilly agreed that she could meet baby Rose when she found the time. I wasn’t going to hold my breath. And I was, honestly, all right with that.
 

Nearly every loose end at work was tied up, and I was looking at a nice, long, two-and-a-half month break from sharing an office with Janet. There was still no word about whether or not Forster & Banks signed the new author. Part of me really hoped I
did
get the PM position so the likelihood of me no longer needing to share an office with the co-worker from hell would be slim. With the new position, I imagined I would either move into a larger space, maybe even a more private space, or, what I really hoped would happen, Janet would grow discouraged and become enraged over me receiving the position as opposed to her, and she’d finally do everyone a favor and quit.

“Suppose I won’t be seeing you around until February,” I said to Janet as I packed up my things for the day.
 

“Yeah, suppose so,” she said dismissively.

I bit my bottom lip, waiting for her to say something more. Nothing.

How about goodbye? See ya? Good luck with the baby?

“Have a nice Thanksgiving,” I said. “And a nice vacation.”

Janet was taking holiday before the firm officially let out for Thanksgiving. She was going up to Aspen to hobnob with the rich and the famous, I guess. She’d been rubbing it in my face for weeks that she was going to ski with some literary hotshots and that she would probably find her big break up there in the lodge and on the slopes with big-name authors and publishers. How she knew of them and, what was more, how she was able to hobnob with them, I’ll never know. In all honesty, I couldn’t care less. If being a snow bunny over Thanksgiving would get Janet out of my office, I say, “Hit the slopes already!”

“Oh, and I sent you the proofs you asked for,” I told her. “For you to check out… You know, the proofs you asked for for the—”

“That I asked for yesterday?” she cut in curtly.

“Yeah. Well, they’re in your inbox. And they should give you a good idea about the guidelines for your project. Similar styles and all—”

“If I need your help, I’ll ask.”

“Uh, sure,” I said, not really wanting to be in contact with Janet during my maternity leave, but perhaps if she really needed my help… “I’ll have my email.”

She nodded her head in a patronizing fashion, then made a shooing motion with her hand. “I’ll email if I need you. You can go now.”

That was it!
 

I’d taken the abuse long enough. I didn’t deserve to be treated like some underling or some lowly servant, at Janet’s beck and call whenever she damn well pleased. She couldn’t just shoo me away when I was no longer needed or wanted.

“Actually…” I said, pulling my shoulders back with a sudden and surprising air of confidence. I looked good. I felt good. And, you know what? I
was
good. I did a damn fine job with my work. I was always kind and responsive and courteous to everyone at the office. Always keeping my mouth shut when Janet had something insulting to say. Always remaining kosher and keeping my temper at bay with every roll of Janet’s eyes and flick of her hair and condescending gesture. Always being that meek, that insecure, that keep-to-herself and always-have-something-nice-to-say girl in her quiet corner behind her desk. Enough was enough already.

“Actually, no,” I said.
 

Janet turned slowly—creepily—in her chair. She slightly squinted her eyes, creased her brow, and said, “Beg your pardon?”

“
I. Said. No
. Don’t email me. Don’t bother me. I don’t want to hear from you while I’m gone. Until you can learn to treat me with respect and like a human being, don’t ask for another damn thing from me. Got it?”

She couldn’t speak. Her mouth just hung open, flabbergasted.

“And close your mouth, Janet. That look is
so
unbecoming.” I turned on my heels and headed for the door, proud of the way I’d garnered attention, if not respect.