(Noah)

"Damn it!"

Elle's digging through her purse when her wallet falls out. I'm impressed that she manages to catch it mid-air, but can't help but laugh when she then drops her cell phone in the process.

"You okay there, butterfingers?" I ask as she stares at her phone after picking it up. Its screen looks fine, but Elle doesn't respond.

"Elle?"

"We're not going to the Grand," she tells me as I help her up.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn that was the hotel we ended up picking. Because it had the rooftop pool —"

I'm trying to find the confirmation email, but Elle interrupts me.

"We're not going to the hotel, we're going to the hospital. I'm pretty sure my water just broke."

"What?"

Elle looks impossibly calm as she replies, and it's like she's talking to herself more so than to me. "My water broke. My water broke because I'm in labor. I'm an idiot."

"You're in labor? You're not—messing with me? You're actually in labor?"

"Mickey is never going to let me live this down. She is actually finally going to say I told you so. Oh, my god, I am such an idiot. I should have known that Mickey's always right." Elle keeps muttering to herself as if she hasn't heard me, and I squeeze her shoulder to get her attention. I kind of need her to stop talking about Mickey and tell me what's going on.

"Elle, back up a second. You're in labor? Like, just now?"

Elle finally looks at me, her expression still strangely calm. "No, not just now. I mean, my water broke just now. But it's possible I've been in labor all day."

"You've been in labor all day? And you're telling me this now?"

"Well, I didn't realize it until now," Elle matter-of-factly explains. "But now that I think about it... yeah, probably."

The disconnect between what Elle's saying and how composed she's acting is bewildering. There's a tall stone planter between the sidewalk and the curb, and I'm glad it's there because I really need somewhere to sit down right now.

"Okay. Start from the beginning and tell me what the hell is going on."

Elle is looking down at me now that I'm sitting, her hands at my shoulders, and her expression is an odd mix of confusion and determination.

"I didn't think I was in labor. I mean, it didn't feel like labor. It still doesn't. Well, I guess I don't actually know what being labor feels like. Maybe this isn't it, I'm not sure. Except I am sure my water just broke. And my back's been hurting all day, which I thought was from these stupid shoes, but now that I think about it... it's been coming and going, and it keeps getting worse even though I've been sitting most of the last hour. So maybe I was just really wrong about what labor feels like."

"You're not sure?" I'm trying to keep my voice normal, but seriously?

"Exactly how many times do you think I've been in labor before today? Zero. I'm not sure how you think I'm supposed to know these things."

She has a point, but—it also seems like this should be one of those obvious things. But, I guess I've got even less experience to go off than she does, and this really isn't the time to argue.

I massage at my temples. "Okay. So. You think you're in labor, and you're sure your water has broken."

"That part's hard to mistake."

"So... do we go to the hospital now?" My brain has inconveniently chosen this moment to go blank on everything I've read or been told about birth.

Elle pauses, then slowly nods. "Yeah, I think. The nurse at the childbirth class said not to come in too early, but... I have no idea if this is early or late. And I'm not feeling super confident about my instincts on any of this right now. So probably we should. Go to the hospital, I mean."

I'm not about to second guess her on this. Besides, our apartment and the hospital are in opposite directions, so if we go home first and then decide we need to go in, it'll be an even longer drive. Hospital it is.

"Should we tell anyone? Our parents?"

Elle thinks about it before answering. "Not yet. Once we're sure." She flinches then, her hands clenching painfully at my shoulders before slowly relaxing. "That... felt different. And not in a good way."

I see the valet finally returning with my car, and I pull Elle closer before standing up. "You really didn't need to make today more memorable, you know."

I relax slightly once we're driving. Traffic isn't too heavy, and Elle seems more like herself, no longer in that weirdly detached state. I'm about to ask her to look up where we're supposed to park at the hospital when she suddenly makes an odd sound and doubles over in her seat. I panic briefly before realizing she's laughing. Hysterically so, but definitely laughing and not crying.

"Elle? Everything okay?"

I put a hand on her knee, and that seems to help snap her out of it.

"I'm such a cliché. You realize that, right? I mean, look at us," Elle waves a hand between us as she slowly sits up again, still laughing.

"Because you didn't realize you were in labor?"

"No. I mean, maybe that too. But all the rest of it. I freak out on you because I can't deal with anything long-term, except whoops, I'm totally pregnant. I can't figure out how to tell you, so you conveniently show up. I don't want us to get married just because we're having a baby, except then I do want us to get married because, well, I want to, and I make us rush and do it before the baby shows up, except then I go into labor at our wedding, and now we're racing to the hospital. In our wedding clothes. It's just... it's a really cheesy sitcom. All of it," Elle concludes.

"I guess. We do have great timing, don't we?"

"Starting with you managing to show up right when my birth control decided not to work—that's another bad movie trope right there." Elle snorts.

I was thinking starting with Elle deciding to staff the kissing booth just when I gave in and showed up, but we don't need to rehash our entire history right now.

"So what's next on the cliché list? Just so I know what to expect."

"If this were a sitcom? Probably me yelling about how much I hate you, you fainting, surprise twins, maybe some kind of terrifying medical thing that instantly resolves after the commercial break. If we hadn't gotten married already, you would definitely propose. Oh, and if this were a Hallmark Christmas movie, a blizzard would strand us on the freeway and I'd have the baby in the car and the kindly bearded paramedic who comes to our rescue would turn out to be named Kris Kringle. But it's LA in July, so probably not that part."

I look over at her with raised eyebrows. "Probably not that part, but you're not ruling out the rest of those?"

"Surprise twins are a definite no. I've had a million ultrasounds, Dr. Kim's not an idiot, and besides, I may be huge right now but I'm not twins huge. I probably will yell at you, so I apologize in advance. You fainting is up to you. And I don't want to jinx us by saying no scary emergencies, but hopefully not."

I'd rather not think about that possibility right now, so I'm going to focus on Elle's more entertaining predictions. "I can deal with you yelling at me. Try not to punch me, though."

"No promises." Elle winces as she says it, and this time when she doubles over it's not because she's laughing. "Yeah, definitely no promises about the punching. That contraction sucked."

"Aren't we supposed to be timing those?"

"Probably. I've been distracted. How long have we been driving?"

I check the GPS. "Six minutes."

"So, about that long. I think that means we've got time."

"You think?"

"Once again, how many times do you think I've done this? And you clearly have even less of a clue. Just... get us to the hospital where the people with a clue are."

Elle's rising crankiness is probably also an indicator we should be tracking, but I'm going to shut up about that one.

"Do you have any sour candy?" Elle suddenly asks after rifling through her purse. "I finished all the ones in my purse and I really really want some."

Elle's gone through three large bags of sour gummies this week. I don't question these things anymore, but I also didn't have the forethought to stash any in my car, so I shake my head. "Sorry."

"I see a drugstore ahead of us. We could stop and you could run in?"

I assume she's kidding until I see the hopeful look on her face.

"Elle, exactly how badly do you want that candy? Delay getting to the hospital and potentially give birth in a drugstore parking lot badly?"

I swear she actually thinks about it before answering.

"Fine. I can live without the candy. Notbecause I think stopping for five minutes would be a problem—you're being a total drama queen. But the hospital has the pain meds and I want those more than the candy."

"Any other insane last-minute errands, or can I just get us to the hospital?"

"The odds of me punching you are getting higher."

"Just try not to do it while I'm driving."

"Fine." She's trying to sound mad, but her smile betrays her.

Elle's quiet after that, cranking the music up before leaning her seat back and closing her eyes. She doesn't look like she's in pain, so for a minute it feels like a normal drive. Except it's really not. The next time we get in this car, it'll be with a third passenger. Well, the next time Elle gets in this car. I'm going to have to go home first for all those things it didn't occur to me to throw in the car today. Like the infant car seat. And I'm guessing the clothes we packed to stay at the Grand for two nights aren't what we'll want now. But all that's getting ahead of myself, because first we need to get to the hospital. Soon.

When the next contraction hits, it's again been six minutes. I've been searching my memory while Elle zoned out, and I'm pretty sure that five minutes is the frequency they told us to definitely head to the hospital after. So, we should be fine. Assuming Elle isn't withholding any other information.

"I've changed my mind about your car being comfortable. I hate this seat and I hate the stupid sporty suspension," Elle complains as she relaxes after the contraction.

"The GPS says we're ten minutes away, so hopefully only one more before we get there." And I'm pretty sure she'd hate any car right now, but sure, blame my car.

"I can't decide if I want this to hurry up or slow down." Elle sighs.

"I'd rather you not hurry up until we get to the hospital."

"Yeah, but I want this to be over sooner."

"She could end up sharing a birthday with our wedding," I point out, attempting to distract Elle.

"Good. Less chance you'll forget our anniversary." Elle mutters, her eyes closed as she tries to zone out until the next contraction.

"November seventh, November twenty-second, June sixth, August nineteenth, October twenty-fourth, March twenty-seventh, April second, June twentieth, July third." I remember the breakup dates, too, but they don't bear mentioning.

Elle looks like she's about to say something, then just smiles.

"You're very good at that."

"I accept your apology for suggesting I'd forget."

"Fine. I'm sorry for doubting you. We can keep celebrating all of our anniversaries, right?"

"Maybe. At some point Dinah will ask what all of those dates are."

"Good point," Elle laughs, and I'm glad the distraction is working. "We'll just keep some of those milestones to ourselves."

"Agreed."

(Elle)

Things get more boring after we get to the hospital and the initial adrenaline rush wears off. It's clear the doctors and nurses don't think I'm any kind of emergency. Sure, everyone agrees I'm in labor, but I've got a ways to go, it seems. Not so long that they're sending me home, but also not soon enough to inspire any kind of speed from the hospital staff. There's a pile of admission paperwork to be filled out, some waiting in the triage room, more than a few amused comments about our outfits, and finally I'm admitted and given a room. And then the waiting begins. The mostly boring, intermittently very painful, waiting.

I hadn't wanted to panic everyone before being sure what was going on, but now that medical professionals agree both that I'm in labor and that nothing's imminent, we call our parents and I send off texts to Lee and Mickey. Hers just says go ahead and say you told me so.

Lee is the first to show up, bringing with him leftover wedding cake. It's such a sweet gesture that I don't have the heart to tell him the thought of eating makes me want to puke. Lee's way too wound up, though, and after the second stupid argument he picks with Noah over absolutely nothing I tell him he's stressing me out and I kick him out. Lee's been there for me through a lot, but this milestone I'd rather he sit out.

Dad shows up next, with June and Matthew close behind, and I'm relieved when they all know better than to linger after checking on us and making us promise to call at any hour, no matter how late, with any news. I decided weeks ago that Noah is the only one I want with me when Dinah's born, and I definitely don't want our parents spending the night in the waiting room. I almost reconsider as June hugs me before leaving, but no. As comforting as her brief visit has been, this needs to be just our moment, mine and Noah's.

Mickey is our last visitor, and I'm grateful for the reason behind her delayed arrival: she's got our spare apartment key, which means she's the one I sent to grab the hospital bag I packed last week. I'm not a complete procrastinator—I did have a bag ready, it just hadn't occurred to me to bring it along today. I'd say it's a lesson learned for next time, except holy shit, there is never going to be a next time because who the hell is deranged enough to have a second kid after experiencing labor? The other reason I'm glad Mickey is our last visitor is that my mood and language are steadily worsening. The nurses keep swearing the anesthesiologist is on the way with my epidural, but I'm starting to think they're lying.

"And that's my cue to get out of here," Mickey announces after a particularly grumpy tirade of mine. "Elle, you're going to do awesome. Try not to throw anything at the nurses or at Noah, I promise they're on your side. Noah... good luck."

As soon as Mickey's gone I dig through my bag for the nightgown I'd packed. The nurses insisted on getting me into a hospital gown, but I can't wait to get it off. Hospital gowns are for being sick. They're for terrible, horrible reasons to be in a hospital. I've seen enough of them to last me forever, and I'd rather welcome Dinah naked than in one. For the sake of propriety, though, this battered old nightgown I won't mind throwing away when it gets gross seems more advisable. Noah's changing out of his suit, too, and it's like we're settling in for a really weird sleepover. A surreal sleepover in an incredibly ugly hotel. There's no mirror where I can see all the pins Mickey jabbed into my hair his morning, so I have to ask Noah for help.

"I've been wanting to do this all day, you know. I just hadn't pictured it like this." Noah comments as he slowly undoes Mickey's careful work.

"Oh yeah? How did you picture it?"

Noah merely smirks at me.

"This is definitely the worst honeymoon ever," I sigh.

"Oh, come on. We could be on an island that gets hit by a hurricane. Or getting food poisoning on a cruise."

"Speak for yourself. I've had food poisoning, and this is worse."

The anesthesiologist finally shows up, and while I'd gladly have skipped seeing the size of the needle that just went into my back, I'm also really happy about it. Like, so happy I might have proposed to this guy if Noah hadn't been in the room. Life is suddenly great again, other than the unsettling inability to feel my legs.

Life is great, but I'm exhausted, and I find myself nodding off as I watch some weird game show on the hospital's limited TV lineup. It's blissfully bizarre, knowing that I'm having contractions but barely feeling them. Dr. Kim isn't on call tonight, but the OB covering for her thinks I've got several hours to go and encourages me to rest.

"Go have dinner," I tell Noah. "I'm falling asleep, and the cafeteria will probably close soon. Nothing's happening any time soon."

"Are you sure?" Noah looks skeptical.

"Totally sure. I need a nap, you need dinner, and it's going to be a long night. Go stretch your legs while you can."

"You'll call me if anything changes? You've got your phone within reach, right?"

"Phone right here, call button to alert team of medical professionals right there. I'll be fine, and I can't stay asleep with you fidgeting around the room. Give me, like, at least an hour."

"Man, I put up with all your complaining earlier, and as soon as you're in a good mood again you kick me out." Noah jokes.

"Complaining? Well, now I'm definitely not in a good mood. OUT." I mock glare. "But seriously, I want this nap. I need this nap."

"Fine, fine, I'm going." Noah kisses my forehead and dims the lights on his way out. "Love you, Shelly."

"You too, jerk." I grin.

"I know that's just the drugs talking."

"Yeah, I'd be swearing a lot more without the drugs."

I turn the TV off, put some soothing music on my phone, and I'm asleep before getting to the third song in the playlist. Epidurals really are amazing.

Suddenly I'm jolted awake by an angrily beeping monitor. There's a nurse fussing with the monitoring belt around my belly, but Noah's not here and I have no idea how long it's been. I feel fine, but the way the nurse is staring intently at the screens panics me.

"Is something wrong? Is the baby okay?"

"You're fine, honey, I didn't mean to spook you. You're just contracting a lot, and I wanted to make sure the monitors were still positioned right."

"But she's okay?"

"Her heart rate looks perfect, I promise. So it's a girl?"

I relax back against the pillows. "Yeah."

"Your first?"

I nod, feeling my own heart rate return to normal as the nurse keeps checking on me. I look at my phone, and it's only been thirty minutes since Noah left. No wonder I don't feel any less tired.

"Well, get ready to meet her, because she seems to be in a big hurry."

"What?" I sit back up, gaping at the nurse. "No, the doctor said it would be hours."

"This baby says differently. I'm surprised you were sleeping through these contractions, even with the epidural."

"Oh god. I've got to call Noah. I made him go have dinner."

"Your husband?"

"No, we're not—shit, wait, yes, yes we are. Today. We got married today."

The nurse looks amused. "So, it's been a big day. You go ahead and tell him to get back in here, I'm going to call the OB and have her check you out."

I'm already calling, but it's going to voicemail. Not good. I send Noah a text, then try calling again. Still voicemail. Very not good. I send another text, but the first doesn't say delivered yet. If Noah has chosen tonight to mess around with his phone, I swear I am going to kill him. But first I need to find him. I try calling a third time. This time I leave a message: You need to get back here. Now.

"Dr. Brindle is handling a delivery, but she'll be here as soon as she can and I've got you until then. I'm Julia, by the way. Is your husband on his way back?"

I have now sent Noah five text messages and none of them have been delivered, let alone read.

"I can't get ahold of him. He must have his phone off. I'm going to kill him."

Julia pulls a stool up to the head of the bed to sit near me. "Do you know where he went?"

"I told him to go get dinner. And to leave me alone for an hour so I could sleep. But I didn't mean he should, like, disappear." I am trying very hard not to freak out.

"Oh, if he went to the cafeteria, that place is a dungeon. My phone never has reception."

Awesome. Great. Perfect. Fanfuckingtastic. I'm pretty sure I'm crying, and now Julia is squeezing my hand.

"Hey, hey, Elle, this is going to be okay. You're not delivering right this minute. We'll page him if he doesn't pick up soon."

"You can do that?"

"For important messages. Like telling wayward dads-to-be to get their butts back to the maternity ward." Julia smiles.

A contraction hits, and damn, I'm feeling these now. Not painfully like before, but it's hard not to notice your entire midsection being squeezed in a vice.

I try calling Noah again afterward. Still nothing. He's been gone forty minutes now. I told him to give me at least an hour to sleep. Of all the times for him to actually do what I ask...

Julia's been rubbing my back through the contraction as she watches the monitors.

"No luck?"

I shake my head. I'm trying very hard not to freak out.

"Okay. You sit right here, I'll call the security office and have them page the cafeteria. What's his last name?"

"Flynn. Noah Flynn." He's going to panic when he hears the page, but that's fair, because I'm panicking. "You're not leaving me, right? You can call from this room?"

"I'm staying right here, Elle."

Another contraction hits and I force myself to relax and breathe through it. I wasn't watching the clock but it can't have been much more than two minutes since the last one.

"Alright. Dad has been paged, and I'm also having them remind Dr. Brindle that things are speeding along in here."

Noah is AWOL, the OB is busy, and things are speeding along. Awesome. Everything is awesome.

The next eight minutes are an increasingly terrifying loop of contraction, attempt to call Noah, curse at his voicemail, listen to Julia telling me it's all going to be okay, repeat. Or maybe it's a million minutes. It definitely feels like a million minutes. In between contractions I have attempted to tell Julia a very abbreviated, probably incomprehensible, version of the past seven years. I also think I offered to wager a thousand dollars over whether Noah or the OB will show up first. I don't think she took me up on it, but I'm not entirely sure.

Finally, the door swings open and... Dr. Brindle walks in. Damn it. I mean, I'm glad she's here, except she immediately proceeds to confirm that Dinah wants out. Soon. Very very soon.

It is really rather ironic that on the same single day I will have married Noah, had his baby, and then killed him. If he ever shows up so that I can do that.

I try calling again after the next contraction. There's no point, but it's tradition now. Except this time it rings. Hallefreakinglujah. And then it rings again. And on the third ring Noah picks up, and I'm about to start yelling when the door opens again and I realize I'm hearing Noah's breathless voice both over the phone and live. Blessedly, immediately live, right here in my room, and then even closer.

"You're here." My anger has been entirely replaced by pure relief, and I grab Noah as soon as he's within reach.

"I heard the page, and I tried to call you, and that's when I saw I had no reception. And holy shit, this place is a maze and I swear they've hidden the elevators, so I ended up taking the stairs, and that's when my phone notifications started to explode. I'm guessing all the missed calls and voicemails and messages are from you?" Noah's sitting on the edge of the bed now and I've got both arms wrapped around his neck, my head buried in the crook of his neck. He's here, and if he's here I can do this.

"Just... erase them. All of them. Where were you?"

"The cafeteria, and then I went to find the vending machines, which turned out to be in an entirely different corner of the basement. And that's when I heard the page and saw my phone and started looking for the damn elevators."

"The vending machines? Why —" As much as I want to know why Noah picked tonight to start craving junk food, I've got more pressing concerns as the next contraction kicks up.

It gets crazy after that. I'm fairly certain that at no point do I punch Noah, but I definitely do some yelling of unfair blame and empty threats, and several times I see Noah wince while I'm squeezing his hand. Nobody faints, though, and we're spared any scary emergencies. And, oh yeah, no surprise twins. Just one very loud, very indignant, very perfect baby girl.

My room is quiet again after being a hive of activity in the hour following Dinah's birth, and we're slowly coming off our giddy endorphin highs. The OB has moved on to the next birth, promising Dr. Kim will be by tomorrow morning. A pediatrician has come and gone, confirming Dinah's perfection. I can feel my legs again now that my epidural is out, which I'm guessing means I'll also start feeling sore in all kinds of places soon, and I'm no longer starving now that I've demolished an entire bag of sour gummies. That's why Noah was wandering the basement looking for the vending machines: he'd decided to use the hour I'd asked for to find me sour candy. Various other doctors and nurses have floated through and left again, and now it's down to four of us, Julia and Noah and Dinah and me.

"Any progress on a name?" Julia asks.

I shake my head. We've tried a few out, but nothing sounds right; she's not a Dinah or a Penny or an Alex or any of the other names we'd thought might work. I joked that she has a definite Lee look to her, but Noah didn't appreciate that humor. So, for now she's just The Baby or Her, and sometimes still Dinah by force of habit.

"Give it time. And sleep on it—you're in no shape to be deciding anything."

Sleep is also what Dinah is up to, and on her way out of the room Julia tells us to seize the opportunity to rest while we can.

So, we do. Except, I can't sleep. I'm beyond exhausted, I've got a fresh nightgown on, my favorite pillow from home, and white noise on my headphones, but still I can't sleep. I'm too keyed up, the room is too unfamiliar, the hospital bed is too uncomfortable. I doubt Noah's any more comfortable on the too-small fold-out bed provided for partners, so I feel guilty about what I'm about to do... but it doesn't stop me gingerly sliding out of the hospital bed with my pillow and tucking myself into what little space is left next to Noah.

"Really?" Noah mutters, but I can feel the rumble of his quiet laughter.

"Yeah. It's lonely over there." This bed really is too tiny for one, let alone two, and I'm sore everywhere, but I'm more comfortable already.

"You're ridiculous."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yeah." Noah's arm wraps around me and I'm home.