I round the counter and find her sitting on the floor with a dozen muffin tins resting around her, all filled with baked—what I’m going to assume are—pumpkin cupcakes.
“What, uh, what are you doing?” I ask her, terrified of the answer.
“I wanted to make you cupcakes, but they weren’t coming out right.”
“What do you mean? They smell amazing, and they look great.”
“I made five batches, and I can’t remember if I put sugar in any of them.”
“Okay, well, I can try one if you want.”
She nods her head. “Please, and tell me the truth.” I won’t tell her the truth if my life depends on it. No way in fuck am I about to make her feel bad about forgetting the sugar. Even if they are the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, I’ll be eating every single one. For months.
I sit down next to her and reach for a cupcake. When I pick it up and start peeling the wrapper off, I casually ask, “Why are you on the floor with the cupcakes?”
“I was sniffing them.”
“On the floor?”
She nods. “It was easier than standing once my water broke.”
“Your what?” I shoot to my feet. “Your water broke? Penny?”
She nods as she pushes her hair out of her face. That’s when I notice she’s still wearing oven mitts.
“Jesus Christ, Penny, we need to get you to the hospital.”
“Do we, though?”
“Yes,” I answer in hysteria. “Penny, if your water broke, you’re in labor, and we have to get you to the hospital. When did it break?”
She shrugs as she leans back on her elbow and grips her stomach with a wince. “Like half an hour ago? Can’t be sure.”
“Holy fucking shit, Penny, why didn’t you call me?”
“You were at hockey.”
I’m going to freak out.
But instead, I lean down, take her oven mitt-covered hands in mine, and lift her to her feet. “Are you having contractions?”
“Totally. They don’t feel good.”
Keep it together. Don’t freak out on her.
I need to get her to the hospital as quickly as I can. I can have Winnie or Blakely come grab the things we need.
I scoop her up into my arms, and she protests. “What on earth . . . ooo, God, this one really hurts.”
Panic pierces through me as I forget about her shoes, forget about jackets, forget about everything. My phone is in my pocket as well as my wallet, and I rush her out of the apartment, not even bothering to lock up. I rush her down to my car, buckle her up, and head to the hospital in minutes. On the way, I hold her hand while driving and call Blakely.
“Hello?” she says over the car speaker.
“Blakely, Penny’s in labor. I’m taking her to the hospital.” She squeezes my hand and groans as she holds her stomach. Jesus Christ. “I didn’t lock up, there are cupcakes all over the place, and we don’t have our bag.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on it.”
“Thank you so much,” I say before hanging up. “Ten minutes, babe, are you going to be okay?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not ready, Eli. I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can, Penny. Remember, you’re so strong. You’re prepared. You’re going to be the best—”
“Don’t bullshit me, Eli,” she says in a strange, demonic-like voice. “It’s going to hurt. It already does. You’re not going to want me after this. I’ll be an ugly, flappy-vagina woman after this record-size watermelon comes out of me.”
“Baby, listen to me,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “It will hurt. I’m not going to lie about that. But I can guarantee you, no matter what happens, I’ll always love you, I’ll always want you, and even if you are a flappy-vagina woman, whatever the hell that means, you will be my flappy-vagina woman.”
She groans again, this time buckling over. “Oh God, you’re so good at saying all the right bullshit things. I love you.”
If I weren’t so scared, I’d laugh. “I love you too, Penny.”
Penny wasn’t wrong about the record-sized watermelon that came out of her. Our boy was so big that there was no way she could deliver him naturally, so she had to have an emergency C-section. Prepping for that was scary because I knew there was some risk involved. But I kept it together, and as I stared into her eyes, holding her hand, I kept telling her how much I loved her, how strong she was, and how I’d still have sex with her after—her demands, not mine.