When he entered the bathroom, he found Julia almost doubled over, clutching the marble-topped vanity with white-knuckled hands. She was breathing deeply.
“Do you want me to wake Rebecca?” Gabriel turned to go, readying himself to sprint down the hall.
“No, call the hospital.”
“What should I tell them?”
“Tell them I think I’m in labor.”
Immediately, he flew into a panic, hurriedly asking her questions, fumbling back into the bedroom to find his glasses and his cell phone, and hastily dialing the maternity ward of Mount Auburn Hospital.
“Has your water broken?” he asked, after he successfully reached a nurse.
“No. Your hardwood floors are safe.”
“Very funny, Julianne. Are you in active labor?”
“I think so. The contractions are painful and regular.” Julia tried to keep her breathing deep and relaxed, a technique she had practiced over and over again with her prenatal yoga teacher, who had promised success.
(Julia was contemplating asking for her money back.)
“How far apart are your contractions?”
“Six minutes.”
She focused every ounce of her attention on her breathing and shut out the sound of his voice.
(She loved him, it was true, but he wasn’t exactly helping.)
“The nurse said I should bring you in right now. I have your bag and the bag you packed for the baby. Are you ready?” He tried to sound calm and began to rub her back through her loose-fitting T-shirt.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
Julia straightened up and took a good look at her husband.
“You can’t go like that.”
“Why not?” He combed his hair with his fingers, trying to make himself look like someone who’d had a full night’s sleep. Then he scratched at his stubbled face. “I don’t have time to shave.”
“Look at yourself.”
Gabriel gazed at his reflection in the mirror. To his shock and dismay, he was clad only in his underwear, a cheeky pair of boxer shorts that had the phrase Medievalists Do It in the Dark (Ages) printed all over them in phosphorescent lettering.
“Damn it! Give me a minute.”
Julia waddled after him into the bedroom, chuckling. “Scott will be very pleased that his Christmas present is coming with us to the hospital. At least if there’s a power outage we’ll be able to find you. You’ll just have to drop your pants.”
“You are the soul of comedy, Mrs. Emerson.”
She giggled, finding his fashion faux pas slightly funnier than usual.
During the past couple of weeks, she’d forgone the expensive lingerie he’d bought her at Agent Provocateur, arguing that the items weren’t warm enough. In response, Gabriel had declared that her maternity yoga pants and T-shirts “did a grave injustice to her sexiness” and suggested she rely on his body to warm her.
She hugged a body pillow instead.
“Those medieval boxer shorts do a grave injustice to your sexiness,” she goaded him, clutching at her protruding abdomen as she cackled with delight.
He cast her a withering glance as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt. Then he took her elbow and accompanied her down the hall. They paused just outside the nursery as another contraction seized her.
Gabriel switched on the pink-and-white chandelier so he could see her face. “Is it very bad?”
“Yes.” She tried to distract herself by leaning against the doorpost and staring into the baby’s room.
She would have been content to purchase all the furnishings for the nursery from Target, but Gabriel had insisted on Pottery Barn.
(Parenthetically, it should be noted that Julia referred to Pottery Barn as Protestant Barn, for it featured fine furnishings that were WASP-ish in the extreme. Furnishings that she was enamored of but thought were too expensive.)
Together, and with items generously given by their friends and family, they’d transformed one of the guest rooms into a tranquil space for a little girl. Julia chose sage green for the walls and a soft white for the woodwork and crown molding. A fanciful area rug that featured flowers in pink, yellow, and green pastels covered the oak floorboards.
“This is my favorite room in the whole world,” she breathed, gazing at the classic Winnie the Pooh decals they had placed over the crib and changing table, in anticipation of wide and eager little eyes.
“It’s waiting for her.” Gabriel smiled. “It’s waiting for our little Spring Roll.”
When Julia’s contraction subsided, he took her hand and helped her down the stairs and into the Volvo, in which he’d already installed the baby’s car seat. He sent a text to Rebecca, explaining what was happening, and assured her he’d be in touch.
A short while later, they arrived at the Bain Birthing Center at Mount Auburn Hospital. By the time they were settled in one of the birthing rooms, Gabriel had managed to conjure a calm exterior. He didn’t want Julia to see his anxiety or to feel the way his insides churned with unspoken fears.