A Life More Complete(124)
“Well, you thought wrong. This is your mess, not mine. And from what I gathered while waiting in line at the grocery store, it’s a serious disaster.”
I shake my head at my own stupidity. Why do I torture myself looking for the approval of people who don’t care? “So, can I stay?” I ask since she doesn’t offer immediately.
“I’m not going to ask you to leave. You can stay, but just know there is a time limit on this. You have two weeks from the date the baby comes to get out.”
“Got it. That’s fine.” I pull a thousand dollars from my purse and hand it to her. “This is for letting me stay.”
“Thanks,” she says taking the money and leaving me standing in the entryway to the house. I drag my suitcase upstairs and into my old bedroom. My home for the next several weeks and strangely it feels somewhat comforting to be away from it all.
The weeks float by and nothing changes. My mother and I rarely speak. I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me. I hoped for something different. I should have expected nothing in return and my feelings wouldn’t have been so hurt. She has no interest in the baby or me for that matter.
Two weeks from the day I arrived the pain begins. I roll over and look at the clock. It comes again, this time quicker and a little more intensely. I call Gia at a quarter to five in the morning not even giving a second thought to the time. Gia, gravelly and hoarse, answers on the first ring. She’s prepared and is in the car before we even hang up.
“Should I call the doctor? When do I go to the hospital? Should I wait for you or meet you there?” I spew out a series of questions never pausing long enough for her to insert an answer. I’m a planner, an organizer, a lover of all things controllable and this is none of those things.
“Wait as long as you can,” she replies. “I’ll be there in under three hours. I’m hauling ass. Pray I don’t get pulled over. How far apart are your contractions?”
“Ten minutes, maybe nine? I haven’t really been keeping track. I was starving so I cooked myself some breakfast. It distracted me.”
“Start now. When they get to five call the doctor and if I’m not there by then go to the hospital.” She takes a deep breath and exhales in sigh. “Text me if you leave for the hospital. I’ll meet you there.”
“Stupid question, but how am I suppose to get to the hospital? Can I drive myself?”
“No!” she shouts. “You can’t drive yourself! When the contractions get bad you’ll want to drive the car into oncoming traffic. Totally not safe.”
I start to feel a small amount of worry build. “So how do you suppose I get there?”
“I don’t know. Ask your mom?”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Sorry. Stupid. Call my mom. Call a taxi. It doesn’t really matter.”
“I’ll have the baby in the upstairs bathroom. That will solve the issue,” I say trying to appease my worry with humor.
“It’s gonna be okay. I’ll be there soon. I love you.”
“Thanks Gi. Love you, too.”
I waddle over to the couch to finish eating my breakfast for two.
My mother emerges from her bedroom ready to conquer the insurance world. Her face is stoic and cold, but that’s nothing new. Without looking at me she says, “You’re up early. I don’t think you’ve seen the dawn since you took up refuge in my extra bedroom.” Coming from anyone else this would have been mildly humorous, but her words are laced with annoyance. She’s given me a time limit and she’ll be happy to know it’s about to expire.
“I think I’m in labor.” I hesitate awaiting her response. She walks around the counter top peninsula that separates the kitchen from the dining area appearing seconds later in the living room. Her presence surprises me and I ask, “Any chance you could take me to the hospital?”
Turning back toward the kitchen I hear her shoes clicking alternately on the ceramic tile before she replies, “Not a chance. I have to work. By the way, you’re seriously going to regret eating like that. It’s all coming back out the way it went in.”
Leaving my mother to her busy career, I call Gia’s mom who rushes me to the hospital. Not really necessary given it is only five minutes from the house but judging by Mrs. DeRossi’s reaction to me calling her, she feels the need to hurry. You’d have sworn this woman had never had children or that she wasn’t there for the birth of her three grandchildren. She panics about Gia not being there, she also begins to pray about me being a single mother. When Gia strolls in completely composed I can’t help but send up a prayer too.