Until November

Chapter 9

Jocelyn

Time is UP. We haven't signed the contract and I am flat on my back on the hospital bed. The contractions are starting up again—I bear down, squeeze my eyes closed until the wave passes.

There is something I kept hidden from Ben.

I believe he will change his mind.

If he doesn't have a change of heart...Mommy will be my new, permanent title. The money is not important to me. Ben didn't even flinch at throwing $1 million dollars my way. How can he be so callous? I think he needs this baby. He has no family left. He has no grasp on anything other than how his swing looks televised. My thinking is risky and reckless to try and get him to see how this baby is a good thing. 

UGH. The room for error suddenly takes my breath away. 

What do other parents do? Just wing it? Because these baby articles I'm perusing are mush in my brain. Half of Amazon is arriving on my doorstep because I'm not baby ready. Fingers crossed. And double crossed I will have time to put together a nursery and unpack the galaxy of shipments headed my way. Right now, I don't even have a baby blanket and Ben was annoyingly evasive when I asked about using Hannah's stuff. 

Another sharp, stabbing cramp--ow.  Contractions, I feel you. The next one hits. Let me be clear. This is not fun. The one time a handsome but moody athlete is in my life, I am not lounging in a bikini with gorgeous sunset light and wearing designer shades with a cocktail in hand. The sound of a text forces my focus towards my phone.

Leona: Stuck covering the last shift.

No, no, no. Work for Leona is at the resort bartending in one of the lounges.

Leona: I'm sorry. Be there soon as I can.

Leona: Andre and Dylan stopped by. They started a betting pool. They're placing bets on the baby's weight, height, and time of birth.

Leona: You'll do great. You are strong.

Leona: Dylan asked if you can give a timeframe? Down to the hour would be best.

Leona: Could you confirm if you think the baby will be between 8 and 9 pounds?

I grimace. My pelvic muscles tighten and loosen. Texting Leona back is interrupted by releasing a tense breath through clenched teeth. Leona's probably not coming. Breathe in. Breath out. Resting my head against the pillow and trying not to overthink my new reality. Giving birth alone. Perfect timing as ever. Ben walks in. The noise in my head shuts off.

His eyes take in all of me in his quick Ben Ryan way. From my puffy face to my bloated belly and feet poking up beneath the blanket. He does not miss a detail. His face pales. He looks like he's going to need a hospital bed. "Ben. You don't look so good." 

"I'll be fine." He stays a good six feet away from me. "When is Leona getting here?"

I look away.

"Jocelyn? Isn't Leona going to be here soon?"

"She's-ah-not coming." My attempt to brush it off as no big deal fails. Yet, I'm too tongue-tied to ask him to stay. There is a 90% chance he would say no and this is not the time for his rejection. 

"Shit." He looks at the ceiling and swallows hard. His eyes come back to me. "You have no one to do this with you."

"Thank you for making me feel worse."

His gaze jumps to mine. We're scraping the bottom barrel here for delivery room support so I shovel a boatload of pride down my throat. I know what this is leading up to and I take the pressure off both of us. "Is it okay that I don't want you to stay? It would be nice to have a hand to hold, but not yours. No offense."