Matchmaking for Beginners(32)

“There,” I hear him say. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says, which is so untrue it’s not even funny. But leave it to my sister.

I finish picking up all her lipsticks and quarters and a wad of tissues, and then I run to catch up with them. A blast of cold air-conditioning hits my face when I open the door, and I can hear Natalie saying, “Oooh! It’s freezing in here!”

“Ridiculously cold,” he agrees, and that’s when I look up at his face, and it’s Jeremy Sanders holding on to my sister.

Jeremy Sanders! Of course it is! I almost laugh. At first I think this is all an elaborate ploy by my mother to get us together. She is a busybody with mysterious ways. The color seems to leave his face as he lowers my sister onto a bench next to the elevators. Once he gets her situated, he straightens up and looks at me with wide, round eyes.

I must look as shocked as he does.

I hear myself saying, “Hi, how are you?”

“Marnie.” He looks stunned. But then he manages to recover and says, “And oh my goodness, this is Natalie? Hi! Wow. Are you okay? That was quite a spill you took. Here, take my coat. You’re shivering.”

He starts removing his white coat, which I notice says JEREMY SANDERS, DPT embroidered over the pocket. Whatever that means. Something official, from the looks of him.

“No,” Natalie says. She’s back to being her brisk and competent self now, waving him away, thanking him for taking care of her, but saying she’s got to get to the dentist’s office, and she’s fine, really she’s just fine—it was just a little slip is all. Nothing to worry about. She’s just going to rest here for a second, catch her breath, and then she’ll be off.

I keep sneaking looks at him. He seems older, of course—but in a good, mature-guy way. My mind is filled immediately with the memory of his slouchiness, his nonconformitude, his sloppy snarkiness. None of that is left. He’s obviously become a fully invested member of society. Who would have guessed?

“Hey, dude, it’s great to see you!” I say. “So you’re a DPT now! Yay, you!”

“Yes,” he says and smiles at me with even, white teeth. I never noticed how really white and even his teeth were.

“And forgive me,” I say, “but what is a DPT?”

“Physical therapist,” he and Natalie both say at the same time, and then she grabs on to her huge stomach and lets out a yell.

“Um, I’d say your sister seems to be in labor. I think we should call an ambulance. That fall did not look good,” he says in a low voice.

“NO!” roars Natalie, holding up one hand while she clutches her abdomen with the other. We watch her in fascination, and after a moment she straightens up and says, “I’m fine. I’m prepared for this.”

“She’s a warrior,” I tell him. “So you’re still living here? Or did you move back?”

He tears his eyes away from Natalie and looks at me. “Came back about six months ago. My mom’s getting up there in years and needed some extra help . . . and so you’re back here, too? Or just visiting for—?” He gestures toward Natalie.

“The baby? No! I’ve moved back. This is home. Now. Newly.” I shrug and do a ridiculous little dance to show how carefree I am. I am beginning to regret that I’m wearing paint-splattered jeans and that my hair is shoved up into a big messy knot, although he’s certainly seen me looking worse.

“No, totally,” he says, which doesn’t really make any sense, but who cares. He looks back over at Natalie, who is shivering on the bench and breathing hard, and his eyes are round with alarm. “Really. We should call an ambulance.”

“No! This . . . is . . . false labor,” Natalie manages. “If the contractions were real, then . . . my Lamaze teacher . . . said . . .” Suddenly she can’t talk anymore and her face has turned pale and she slumps against the wall, panting.

Jeremy looks at me. “I don’t know what the Lamaze teacher said, but whatever. She’s not here, and we are. I think we’ve got to do something. So . . . I’m thinking hospital?”

“Definitely.”

“Definitely not,” says Natalie, resurfacing from her breathing debacle. “That’s not the way this works. You have early labor for a long time before you have active labor . . . and I did not have early labor. So these can’t be—”

Just then she looks horrified, and a huge gush of liquid goes all over the floor.

“My water broke!” she says. “Oh my God, this is not what I planned!”

“Ohhhkay. That’s it. Ambulance time,” Jeremy says, getting out his phone.

Natalie, who would still like to be running the world even while delivering a child, is not having it, however. “No. What we should do . . . is clean all this UP,” she says somewhat slowly in her new-normal voice. “When the amniotic fluid breaks, you still have time.” As though she’s reading from some textbook.

“Natalie, honey, Jeremy’s right. Let’s go to the hospital, sweetie.”

“But the birth plan!” she says. “I do not want an ambulance! Take me in your car. And call Brian. Tell him to bring my suitcase and the tennis balls and the lollipops.”

Then another contraction hits, and she has to stop talking.