Chris Evans: The Collection (Imagines and Short Stories)

Breathe 3

Part 3: Push! Push! Push!

Hours later following a failed epidural...

"Gahhhhh!" Guin groans in discomfort after a round of futile pushing. She presses her legs together with a slight gap. When they touch without space, more pain radiates through her system like wildfire. The dragon emerging from the cave wouldn't pop out. Guin's breathing becomes sharp and strident as she feels that she can hardly catch it, "I'm hot and I can't fucking breathe."

"Let's take a five-minute break, Guinevere," the doctor tells her. "You're doing so well. Sometimes babies like to take their time...If you feel the urge to push again. Just holler...Chris, maybe you could fan her or dab a cool cloth on her head...She's been working hard and deserves a chance to cool down."

He nods and asks his wife, "Which would you like me to do, Guin?"

She croaks and coughs from pain and air hitting her lungs the wrong way, "Both, please. I'm going to hurl! Oww!"

Quickly, Chris has the bucket in front of her and as promised, an explosion of vomit erupts like lava from a volcano. The burning sensation crawled from her stomach into her esophagus and finishes its scorching trail in her tongue and cheeks.

"Drink some water," Chris hands her the half-full glass from the counter next to the bed. Her arm shakes from a weariness of being in labor for twenty-four hours and an hour of pushing with their child no closer to making an appearance. Chris questions if intervention is necessary and if good intentions will warrant scolding and a squadron of insults linked with statements of strong womanhood. The quivering in Guin's right arm continues to be a struggle for the cool liquid to reach her lips.

This is ridiculous. She's in the worst pain of her life and I'm just standing here watching her unable to drink water. If she yells at me, I can take it because she's going through the gamut to have our baby.

His palm gently cups her tricep and guides it towards her mouth gingerly. In the state of overheating, the cold water soothed her throat and froze her senses.

"Thank you...Ahhhh," she manages and drinks its entirety while wincing.

"I'll get you some more, Guin," Chris pops kiss onto her cheek. "You need to stay hydrated."

A nurse approaches with a blue cloth in between the fingers of her left hand and a silver basin in the other saying, "I'll get the water, Mr. Evans. Here's a cloth and chilled water."

Chris takes the basin and without sloshing it about too much, he puts it down near the drinking cup. He dips the cloth into the water, goosebumps rise upon contact. With a squeeze and a drip-drip, he pats Guin's glistening forehead.

She exhales and her limbs lose their tension. For a brief moment, Guin melts into the bed. Her head reclining toward her pillow. Her arms are gangily and her fingers are holding the rail by the tips. She says in a breathy voice, "Much better. I know I'm being high maintenance, but can you fan me? I feel like I'm out on a humid day in Boston where you get heat stroke by existing."

Chris chuckles , "You're not being high maintenance. Of course. Unlike that one time, you're working the hardest you ever have."

He strides over to the bag on the bench cut into the window. Chris brings out the white fan with watercolor cherry blossoms painted all over the ribs and leaves that they bought on a trip to Tokyo a few years back.

It's crazy to think that next time we travel, it won't be as a family of two, we'll be a family of three. From today onward, we'll be trio we dreamed of being...Oh my god! I gonna be a dad. Finally. I can't wait to hold my little girl in my arms for the first time. I can't wait to take her to the place where dreams come true for the first time. I can't wait to welcome her to the massive Bostonian family on both sides for the first time. I can't wait to take her to a Patriots game(which like Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters she is going to have to love). I can't wait for all her firsts and to be there to hold her hand if they make her fall.