In fact, in his tenure here, I’m sure he’s encountered lots of new dads arriving at the hospital in a bluster of panic and excitement and stupidity. No matter how prepared, how ready they are to be fathers, the transition is both sudden and rude. There’s no going back from being responsible for another human being. No redos, no second chances, no pushing the pause button.
I don’t bother discrediting his assumption, as an explanation would be a lot more labor than I’m prepared to take on, instead grinning in his direction and bowing my head in a nod of acknowledgment as I head toward the bank of elevators in the lobby.
Truthfully, I imagine many a spectator would think I am the father. I mean, I am the guy who arrived alongside Maria in the ambulance with an obviously flustered appearance—and with a shirt that has seen some shit—and waited nervously for news of the doctors verifying that both mom and baby were okay. And then, I even talked my way into her hospital room as her support person.
Maybe I shouldn’t have done that, but I couldn’t find it in me to do anything else but stay by her side. Didn’t want to do anything else but that.
An empty elevator is ready and waiting, and I scoot inside with all of Maria’s baby loot in tow. The maternity ward is only a short ride to the fourth floor, but it’s long enough to have a brief moment of realization—I’m not really connected to this woman and her child, other than being a part of the birth.
Sure, Maria and I have a past. History. But it’s been years since we were together. Two decades worth, in fact. Other than someone she used to love a million years ago, I’m simply a man who knows as much about her life now as she knows about mine—very little.
God, I hope I’m not making her uncomfortable by hanging around and semi-forcing her to let me run the errand to her apartment for all the planned items she didn’t have with her. But without any family showing up to replace me, it doesn’t feel right leaving her alone. She really is a one-woman show, and wholly welcome or not, I won’t leave her to that. Can’t leave her to it.
She’s doing a lot of things alone right now, and the thought of adding to that pile makes my stomach churn.
When the doors open on the fourth floor, I step off and make my way down the hall, the nurses offering friendly waves as I pass their station. They recognize me by now, our story of birth in an elevator becoming hospital lore in a flash of a second upon our arrival.
I smile glancingly, knowing that staying in the good graces of the nursing staff in the hospital is about the smartest thing you can do, but mostly focus on making my way to Maria and the baby.
The door is cracked as I step up to it, the tiniest sliver of light from the hallway cutting into the darkness of the entry hallway. I push it open gently, careful to be quiet, and pause at the corner by the bathroom when I see that both Maria and the baby have fallen fast asleep.
It’s a sweet vision, to be honest, and I refuse to be the bastard who wakes them up.
Backing out slowly, I set the car seat and bag on the chair by the door and head back toward the nurses station. Several of them are milling around as they scarf down their midnight snacks, so I belly up to the counter and raise a finger to get their attention.
“Yes, sweetie?” the one with hot-pink scrubs and barely graying hair asks me with a wink.
“I was just wondering if one of you could point me in the direction of the gift shop. I thought I might pick up a few things while mom and baby are resting.”
“Sure, sugar,” offers another nurse, this one older and hungrier, if you know what I mean. Maybe she can smell the singledom on me, but something about a woman trying to pick me up in the maternity ward of a hospital when they know I arrived here with another woman seems wrong. “Want me to show you? I have a little break.”
I smile broadly, keeping the tone light and easy. “Thanks for the offer, but I think directions will do just fine.” She frowns a little, and I cock my head to the side slightly. “I’ll be sure to have them call up here for you if I need help carrying stuff, though.”
She laughs at that, as do the others, and the easiness of casual acquaintances washes back in.
“You just have to take the elevator back to the bottom floor and then follow the signs toward the cafeteria. The gift shop is right across from it and open twenty-four hours, so you’re in luck.”
“Great,” I reply with a slap of my hand on the counter. “I appreciate it.”
Turning back for the elevators, I push the call button, climb aboard, and make my way back down to the ground floor.