Vivian Arend - Turn It Up

He held out his hand to Tasha and she smiled at him, squeezing his fingers tight.

A shout in the distance made his heart leap as one of his uncles arrived, and he gratefully passed Gramma over with a whisper to his uncle to have an ambulance sent.

Tasha winked at him, then tucked her fingers under her belly and rubbed. An instant later he had her enfolded in his arms, his hands supporting her belly.

“You…martyr. What happened?” He helped her up and she let out a whoosh of air.

“There was something I wanted to talk to her about, and then after we’d already visited for an hour, she asked if I’d drive her to the seniors home. There was nothing wrong with that, but the next thing I know she’d convinced me to come and visit… Oh, hang it.” Tasha bent slightly, hands on her knees, her breath escaping in rapid gasps. Far too rapid.

He rubbed her back, feeling more than a little helpless. “Hey, remember our classes. Slower, if you can. You’ve got a long time to—”

“Maxwell, I’ve been in labor for the past three hours, I think I’ve figured out the damn breathing bit. My water broke just after we got to the graveside and I sat down intending to call you. But reception sucks, and then your Gramma took a step the wrong direction and…oh my God, this baby is on the way.”

This was not at all how she’d planned her afternoon to go. It was supposed to have been a short, simple trip. She’d be back in plenty of time to drag Max from his work and slather him with kisses before making her big announcement that she loved him silly. Tasha waited out another set of contractions, staring at the greenery around her as it faded into invisibility, the bright dashes of color muted as darkness settled. The other part of her brain worked hard to ignore the fact that unless an ambulance showed up soon, very soon, she just might have this baby in a graveyard.

It was sure to be one of those stories that down the road the kid would love to share with everyone.

Max supported her, touching her gently, rubbing and asking how he could help.

The comfort of his presence made a world of difference. “Just hold me. I’m so glad you made it. I didn’t think your Gramma wanted to be a baby catcher.”

“Why you didn’t tell her you were in labor?”

Tasha took another slow step, his arms around her torso. “I didn’t feel anything unusual at first. It’s only gotten bad since I got hold of you. I thought it was more Braxton Hicks, and I didn’t think Gramma needed something else to worry about.”

Max swore, holding her carefully, guiding them down the rocky path. “On the relative scale of things to worry about, going into labor trumps a twisted ankle.”

Tasha shrugged. “I guess. Oh damn. Fuck, fuck, fuck , that one hurt.” She stopped again, trying to catch her breath, but it was a struggle. In the far distance, the siren of an ambulance cut through the air. The pain shifted, and suddenly instead of squeezing her to pieces, a sharp pressure speared between her legs. “Umm, Max?”

He ducked in front of her, staring up into her eyes. His face was white in the pale light, and he looked far older than usual. “What?”

“I need to push.” And like right now. She might want to wait, but this kid had other ideas.

“Shit, are you sure?”

She snapped at him. “No, it’s just a sudden fancy I have. Arghh, crap, this hurts. It didn’t so much… shit …until now, but… Oh my God.”

“Okay, okay, let me…” He looked around frantically while she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Oh yes, there was something going on, and the men with the nice flashing lights and blaring siren racing toward them might not make it in time. Maxwell ripped off his shirt, laid it on the ground and carefully helped her down on top of it.

“Another one of your school shirts bites the dust,” she teased.

He lowered her pants, hands gentle on her body. “How can you joke right now?”

She wasn’t sure. “It’s joking or screaming. Which would you—?”

The pain struck the words from her mouth and Max scrambled to finish undressing her, her pants getting caught on her shoes until he tore them off her feet.

This wasn’t how they’d pictured it. There was no sterile birthing room with a shower and tub to relax in while they waited for the little one to arrive. Of course, if Tasha was honest, she’d never thought too hard about the messier parts of the process, skipping straight from announcing “I think it’s time” to “It’s a girl” in one smooth blend like a television-friendly soundtrack-filled sitcom.

She might have made a detailed list of what she wanted, what she didn’t want, but she’d never actually considered how much it would hurt, especially as all of her chosen cocktails were denied her. She’d briefly debated having a natural birth, but this—this was going too far.

“I can see the top of her head. She’s got fuzzy hair. Okay, this is actually very cool.” Maxwell looked up from where he knelt between her legs, his smile shaky. They had one hand joined, her fingers crushing his as she fought the pain. It wasn’t the most elegant of locations, with her head resting on the grass, the dark shapes of tombstones casting shadows around them.

She didn’t give a damn where they were anymore.

“Can I push?” Oh please, sweet baby Jesus, let me push.

“I think so. Not too hard.” He pulled his hand from hers to touch her carefully, a light stroke over her burning skin. “This is her head pushing against you. You need to go slow—”

“Dammit, Max—”

“Stop. Not so hard. Hit me later, but you’ve got to slow down, slow…oh shit, yeah.”

The cries escaping from her throat blended with shouts from the parking lot. Bodies surrounded them as the paramedic team arrived. Latex-gloved professional medical attendants raced up, white smears against the darkness around them. She wasn’t sure what she expected. The pain was focused enough as it gripped her she just wanted this over and done, and she didn’t care who pulled the kid out. It was in an almost dreamlike state that she noticed one of them squatting beside Max.

And Samantha arrived.

The pain washed away in seconds, mysteriously leaving nothing but the ecstasy of seeing their little girl held in her husband’s arms. Her heart pounded loud enough she was sure everyone heard it. Then everything blurred together. All through getting cleaned up and transferred to the stretcher. The entire time it took to bring her to the ambulance and tuck the three of them in for the trip to the hospital—she saw nothing but her daughter, now cradled in her arms. The perfect gift, with her hair still wet. Little lips puckering into a bow and pulsing together, looking for something.

Maxwell opened her shirt and helped her bring the baby to her breast and it wasn’t sexual, but it was the most intimate of moments. Her eyes were so full of tears she could barely see him not a foot away from her.

His one hand rested on the baby, the other behind her head along the back of the stretcher. Protecting and guarding them both, and the love inside him blazed out like a beacon.

It didn’t matter what nasty things other people had said over the years, or the misunderstandings of her youth. What was real was now. What was true was this. She looked down at the baby once more, shocked to find such perfection in her arms, and yet what else could she have expected?

It was perfect love that had made her.

She reached for Max, sniffing back the tears. Whispering softly into his ear, for him alone.

“I love you.”

He sucked in a quick breath at her words, the fingers cupping the back of her head shaking slightly as he kept their cheeks tight together.