𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒! | harry styles

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

five years gone by...

"DO you want more ice?"

"No."

"I think you need more ice. Your forehead is getting all shiny."

"God, Zoey. Leave me alone."

"Don't act cranky, I'm just trying to help."

"Harry..." I whine. "Make her stop. Please God, make her stop."

"Zoey," he berates in a warning tone, his voice sounding from my right, and the two of them get into a hushed argument that ends with her huffing and giving us both the stink eye. Which is perfectly fine by me, because at least she's no longer talking.

"I'm sure if Anne wanted her to have ice, they'd bring her ice," my mother says reasonably from across the room. She's sitting in a little fold-out chair, looking out of place with her dark tan, white capris, and flip-flops.

"Sure they would," my dad agrees. He's standing by the wall, too anxious to sit, and checks his watch for possibly the thousandth time. "Where is she, anyway?" His eyes scan the room, as if expecting Anne to pop out of the shadows at any given moment. They settle on Harry. "Shouldn't she be back by now?"

"The nurse will call her when April's ready," Harry explains.

"What if she doesn't get here on time? Does the nurse know how to deliver a baby?"

"Dad, it's under control," I say tiredly. "Stop worrying."

"My boss's wife had her baby in the car, April. Just popped the thing out like a pressure cooker. Of course I'm gonna worry."

"Carl!" My mother looks scandalized, but apparently not enough to keep from adding, "Harry and Zoey are both here. Between a doctor and a nurse, they'd never let April become a pressure cooker."

"Thanks, Mom."

"All I'm saying is we should be prepared for the worst," Dad argues.

Mom and Dad begin bickering with each other, just like old times, and Zoey taps her foot on the floor at a rapid speed, actively partaking in one of her more annoying habits. Harry rubs his hand down my forearm, avoiding the IV, and says in my ear, "I can kick them out if you want."

He's been like this since the pregnancy: attentive and thoughtful, always making sure I have what I need, ensuring that I never carry anything too heavy or that I'm not on my feet too long. I wanted to work up until my due date, despite Harry's protests, but in my third trimester, Anne sided with Harry and I was overruled.

It's funny how she remained my doctor after all. I attempted to switch to another office, but I had an honest-to-God dream about her place - about the waterfall, the soothing music, the coffee - and I was simply unable to part with it afterwards. When I tried to make my next appointment with Dr. Cooper, Anne must have snagged my file for herself, because I was forced to endure another awkward exam beneath her scrutiny.

I haven't had the heart to say anything since. Especially since the pregnancy, which brought tears of joy to her eyes. She's been so excited at the thought of delivering our baby.

I suppose Zoey has been right about some things. But at least now I won't have to choose between allowing Anne or my mom in the delivery room. Zoey was downright gleeful over this detail whenever I brought it up, exclaiming, "I told you letting Anne be your coochie doctor had its perks!"

The nurse comes in and makes everyone except Harry leave the room so that she can do an internal exam. He holds my hand, rubbing my knuckles with his thumb, and she announces that I'm seven centimeters dilated before glancing at my IV bags and leaving the room.