Quandary | Noah Sebastian |

twenty-seven

"Oh, shit."

When I went to bed last night with a dull ache in my lower back, I didn't think anything of it. Not even when I woke up this morning, prying Noah's arm from around me so that I could get up to alleviate said ache—which by then had spread to my abdomen and lingered.

But I certainly realized now, as I stood in the kitchen with a steady trickle running down my leg, that this was the start of labor.

My water just broke. It's beginning to pool at my feet, and I'm too stunned to do anything about it. Even as a contraction pulsed its way through me, all I could do was brace myself with a hand against the refrigerator as more leaked from me.

At least it's on the linoleum and not on the carpet.

"Noah!" I call through a strangled breath, the first wave of panic settling in. I don't know if he can hear me, and I don't know if I can move without slipping on my own goddamn mess. "Fuck," I whisper to myself when he doesn't come running in, "you got this, Olivia. Just breathe. Small steps."

I puff out a large breath, lifting my trembling hand away from the fridge to inch myself towards one of the kitchen stools. If I can just make it there, I can take a seat, collect myself, and call for Noah again.

If. The keyword here is if—my legs were not functioning. Each step was proven to be more difficult than the last, my nerves strapping lead weights to my feet and anchoring me down. Maybe it was best if I stay put. One misstep and down I go.

"Noah!" I shout, palming the fridge once again as my eyes squeeze shut from the pain of the next contraction. I grit my teeth and hiss, "I could use a hand in here!"
"I'm here!" Noah announces as he rushes into the kitchen moments later. "Sorry, I was in the bathroom—" He takes one look at me and stops himself short, his eyes widening as they zero in on the puddle at my feet. "Oh, shit."
"Yeah," I huff out a dry laugh, "oh, shit is right."
"Okay, uh..." He runs a hand through the front of his hair, pausing as his eyes bounce back and forth, thinking. "Don't panic. I-I'll be right back. Let me grab a towel, the bag, dry clothes—"
"Get me out of this damn kitchen, now, Noah. We'll take care of that once I'm situated."

He gives me a quick nod and closes the gap between us with his hands outstretched for me to take hold of. Cautiously, he guides me through the mess, allowing me to take my time as I walk on stress-induced trembling legs. My heart hammers in my chest from the apprehension of what's to come, and I let out a panicked whimper. If my body is already reacting this way at the very start of labor, I can't imagine how the rest of it will go.

We make it back to our bedroom where he grabs a pair of sweats and helps me change into them so that my bottoms aren't completely soaked, even though there's a chance more will trickle out of me. He sits me on our bed, telling me to sit tight for a second, and I lean back on my hands as I focused on my breathing to regulate my erratic heart.

It doesn't take long for Noah to reemerge. He has our overnight bag slung over his shoulder and he wears a half hearted smile on his face. He's trying to school his features with said smile, but I can see it in his eyes that he's holding back the panic that I know he feels. I do appreciate the attempt; if he stays calm, there's a better chance that I'll stay calm, too.

"You ready?" Noah asks.
I glance down at my belly, running a hand over it, and I feel him shift and press against my palm just as another contraction starts. I grimace and hold my breath as I wait for it to pass. Moments go by before I exhale a quiet 'Yeah' when the pain ebbs, bringing my gaze back to Noah.
His lips pull into a playful smirk before he holds his hand out towards me. "It's showtime."
"It's showtime," I concur, placing my hand in his.