Liya: Thanks for tonight. Let me know if you go to the hospital tomorrow and maybe I can come? GN
Then Jahn sent me a baby and heart emoji, and Liya sent a kiss emoji.
Damn emojis.
I slammed the bottle down and went to the bathroom. I rinsed my face with ice-cold water and downed a couple of nighttime ibuprofen. I’d rather struggle with getting up after six hours of medicine-induced sleep than struggle with a self-loathing hangover.
After stripping off my suit and hanging it over a chair, I crawled beneath the covers in my boxers, set my alarm, and played a soothing R&B playlist that always took me back to happier places.
Because I had picked up Liya from her office yesterday and took her straight home, her car was still at work. I offered to give her a ride the following morning, and the instant I saw her, I definitely woke up. She jogged down the steps in high heels; how anyone could do that and not fall flat on their face was beyond me. She deserved a medal for that talent.
The morning light shone on her sleek, black hair, always a different mixture of curls and waves when she wore it natural.
Her white blouse glowed in the light, making her skin radiant, a goddess descending the stairs. A dark gray skirt wrapped around her thighs and ended in a dark purple hem, matching her shoes. A giant white purse bounced against her side as she expertly checked her phone while walking.
She hopped into the car, fully rested and alert, her energy a viable entity that breathed life into me. Her rosy perfume hit my senses, and in the span of half a minute, the entire world changed. For the better.
Liya grinned, her plump lips painted pinkish purple. She’d probably get upset if I kissed her and messed up her perfectly placed makeup.
I shrugged. Riling her up was the fun part. I weaved my hand through her hair, and she almost batted me away, complaining, “You’re going to mess up my hair!”
I planted a soft kiss on her lips and she quieted. I smacked my lips. “I always wondered how pink lipstick would look on me. What do you think?”
I puckered my lips, and she laughed, swiping a finger across my lips to take off the color.
“You look more like a burgundy man,” she teased.
I chuckled and we headed on our way. “Not upset about the company closing?”
She shrugged. “Like you said, I’ll have something lined up. Worrying doesn’t do anything. Besides, I have something more important to focus on right now. Shilpa asked me to be her delivery photographer.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah. I didn’t think we were that close yet. I’m going to go right after work, unless she delivers earlier. Apparently Jahn bought this fancy new camera and she’s not sure that he knows how to use it.”
I laughed. “Sounds like him. Good. No one will ask me to take any pictures. I don’t plan on being in the room when she delivers.”
Liya cringed. “Oh, right. I’d have to be there for that part. Wonder if she thought of that.”
“I’m sure that’s what she meant.”
“Never seen a delivery.”
“Me, either.”
“It’s kind of gross and horrifying, I hear.”
“Better you having to watch than me!”
“But that means I’ll get to see your nephew before you do!” she teased and stuck out her tongue.
We pulled up to the front lobby. “I hope you have a good day, Liya.”
She frowned. “We sound like a couple.”
“We sort of are a couple.”
She nodded in agreement with a genuine smile. “Thanks for the ride. Meet you at the hospital?”
“Yep.”
The first half of the day slogged on in a groggy daze full of paperwork over final lawsuit and closure details. I had to concentrate on meetings and getting myself together. Part of me, thanks to the medicine, was numb. Part of me fought against the myriad of sorrows from the approaching anniversary of Dad’s death. Part of me remembered that my brother was about to have a freaking baby. Once that joyous realization took center stage in my thoughts, I was antsy to get the day over with.
Jahn texted once in a while with updates. Shilpa was doing very well. Ma was impressed, and Shilpa wasn’t screaming her head off…yet. Baby looked good on the monitors.
As soon as work ended, I went straight to the hospital, anxious to meet my nephew.
I walked through the labor and delivery hallway, busier than it had been last night. It was filled with doctors in white coats, handfuls of nurses in matching blue scrubs, and occasional family members.
I walked into Shilpa’s room. “Hi, I brought pizza!”
“Oh, no, you did not…” Liya chided and jumped up from the bench, ushering me back out.
“What did I do?” I asked.
“You and Jahn and your mom can eat that in the waiting area. Don’t bring food into Shilpa’s room! She can’t eat! Do you know how miserable that’ll make her? Smelling this delicious food while you chow down in front of her?”
“Oh, crap. I didn’t think about that.”
“Mm-hmm…” She looked me over like I’d lost my mind, went into the room, and out came Jahn and Ma.
We ate quickly in the lobby and returned to the room, but only when Liya ascertained that we didn’t smell like mouthwatering food.
“How are you?” I asked Shilpa.
She gave a weak smile as she lay in bed. “Tired.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Some last night, but all day someone’s checking me, or the contractions get worse. I’m exhausted.”
“Can the nurse give you anything to sleep?”
“Not at this point. I’m so close. I’m fully dilated, and the baby just came down all of a sudden.”
“In a few hours, then?”
“Hopefully not that long! If I’m this tired now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to push!”
“You can do it. You’re strong,” Jahn encouraged as he replaced the cold, damp washcloth on her forehead. I walked toward Liya as Jahn cooed over Shilpa.
“What are you doing?” I asked Liya.
She turned from the room, her back to me, and fidgeted with the camera. “Why is this thing so complicated?”
I chuckled. “You don’t know how to use it, either?”
“I’m not a photographer. I use my phone camera. Why does a camera need so many pieces? And why are there so many buttons?”
“Let me help you,” I offered.
“Like you know?”
“I messed around with Rohan’s camera; it’s not as complicated as this one, but it’s close, same brand, older model.”
I wrapped my arms around her, and she stilled as I worked with the camera in her small hands. Her hair, thick and tickling my throat, smelled like shampoo from her morning shower. Her blouse was untucked but unruffled, and she wore the same high heels from work so her head landed closer to my shoulder than my chest.
“Your mom’s here,” she muttered.
“I’m aware.”
“She isn’t going to snatch you by the hair and ask what you’re doing?”
I chuckled against her. “No. And I thought you didn’t care what other people think.”