Page 72 of Lift Me Up

"Is it Braxton Hicks?"

"No, I've had those before this is—ah—fuck this hurts. A lot." She whimpers.

"Okay, okay. Sienna, it's okay. I'm right here. Let me just—" I ding the call bell for help, pushing it over and over and shouting, "Can I get some help in here?"

Sienna gasps, looking panicked, "Georgie, I'm scared."

"It's okay. You're going to be okay. This baby is going to be okay. I'm right here." I keep reassuring her, touching her tummy gently. I can feel the tightening and releasing of her muscles, and I know that can't be good. Is it contractions? Is it something worse?

"Everything okay, Georgie—Oh! Hello." Joanna stumbles when she realizes it's not me in distress, but Sienna.

"I don't feel right, I feel—" She grits her teeth, and squeezes her eyes shut. "My baby, it's my baby, please. Help me."

"Stay right where you are, okay?" Joanna’s eyes widen, she jumps into action as she backs out the door to shout down the hall.

Sienna’s grip tightening on my hand.

Joanna comes right back to Sienna’s side. "I just had a coworker call up to Labour and Delivery. Something tells me we might be having a baby." With permission, she kneels in front of Sienna, pulling up her dress to have a look at what’s happening. I look away, still holding Sienna's hand tightly. I hear Joanna curse softly.

"What is it?" Sienna asks softly, her face pressed into the crease of my neck, hiding.

"I don't want to say for sure, I'm not an expert like the L&D nurses but⁠—"

"Is my baby okay? Please just tell me my baby's okay." Sienna whimpers softly.

Joanna holds up her gloved hand to reveal crimson on her fingertips.

Sienna gasps, “Is that blood?"

We all just stare in silence. Like a moment frozen in time. Everything snaps back to real life, it happens in a rush, the team of doctors for Sienna whisk her away. Joanna gets me a wheelchair to finish the discharge process, and the next thing I know I am discharged and good to go home, but instead of doing that I'm sitting alone in a delivery ward waiting room, wondering who to call first. There's only one number I know to call, but it's the one I am not quite ready to dial. I do it anyway, because I know if I don't I will regret it.

"Georgie? Are you okay?" His voice is instantaneous. Tears spring to my eyes.

"Noah. I—You—" But I can't do it. I can't get out the words because I wouldn't know what to say so I just sniffle and sob instead.

He hushes me on the other end of the phone, "Breathe, G. Just breathe. What is it?"

"It's..." I let out a ragged breath, suck a large gulp of air and finally speak, "It's Sienna. You need to get to the hospital. Please. We need you. I need you."

"I'm on my way."

When Noah arrives, he takes one look at me and he crumbles. Like he hasn't seen me in years, and he's finally reuniting with the one person he's wanted to see. God, how I've missed him. His hair is unkempt and likely tangled, his eyes are darkened by red circles, and yet he has never looked so good in his life. Here I am in a wheelchair, in my lounge pants, no bra and absolutely no underwear whatsoever, my hair a mess on top of my head, my face is still pale.

He falls to his knees in front of me and all at once, every emotion I tried to suppress or hide comes flooding back. It's easy to feel like you don't miss someone when you have nothing but memories to think about, nothing to remind you of how badly you want them other than the ache in your chest calling you home. But when they are right here in front of your face, and you can smell them and feel them and see them... It's so hard to forget why you ever felt like you needed to pull away and create space in the first place.

He starts, "Is she⁠—"

As I say, "I don't know what's going on yet."

He nods. I move to stand, and when I do, his instinct is to reach out and help me. I give him a small smile and ignore the way his fingers outstretch toward me. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"Georgie," his tone is a warning, that typical 'we need to talk' Noah tone that I have come to know and dread hearing.

"No." I shake my head, dismissing the tone and walk as normally as I can past him toward a vending machine to distract myself. He stands behind me, looming. "Not here."

"Georgie," His voice shifts to one that is shaky, less confident, less sure of himself. I glance over my shoulder; see the way he twists his fingers in anxious worry. "Georgie, I'm scared,"

All at once, anything I was feeling, suppressing, hiding, it all fades away. Noah breaks my resolve with three simple words that ring loud and clear in the other words he doesn't say. Georgie, I'm scared. It might as well have been I need you. I turn to him, I open my arms and let him fill the space I worked so hard to create, so hard to maintain. He fits perfectly, just as I knew he would. I hold his trembling body close to mine, and we don't say a single word. Everything left unsaid looms around us, but right now this is what he needs. He doesn't need explanations or reasons why; he doesn't need excuses or reassurances that everything will be ok. He just needs this moment of silence, this embrace. He needs to know he's not alone. That I can do.