A/N: I'm back from the concert and let me tell you it was by far the most profoundly magical experience of my life! The post-concert depression has hit me hard though, so enjoy this angsty chapter that I'm definitely not projecting onto :)
The beeping of various monitors and the smell of antiseptic normally brought me comfort, letting me know that I was in my element, that I was in control. Today, though, I felt anything but.
I felt the circulation in my right hand beginning to dwindle but I didn't dare utter a complaint. Elizabeth insisted she do this unmedicated and I wasn't going to be the one to stand in her way. I knew she was tough enough, at this point it was simply a matter of if my hand could make it.
She continued to grip my hand like a vice before finally releasing it, allowing me to quickly shake it out before the next contraction came. They were coming closer together and more intensely, meaning we were nearing the end, thank goodness.
"You're doing great, hon. Just a few more rounds of pushing and you'll have a brand new baby," encouraged the nurse.
I stroked my wife's hair, unsure of what to say. I couldn't imagine the pain she was in, and I didn't think she would be too keen on me over-explaining what was happening in medical terms.
"You're getting closer, Liz, just stay strong," I soothed, moving to give her a one-handed shoulder rub.
"Baby's already taking after you, taking their sweet time—" Liz's joke was cut off with a groan and my hand was once again subjected to her strength. I had never questioned it before and after this experience, I'd be sure to never question it again; my wife was the strongest person I knew.
"Deep breaths Lizzie," I coached.
"Shut up," she responded.
"Alright, it's time," called out the doctor. "One more big push!"
Liz gripped my hand with one of hers and the bed rail with the other, letting out a scream that was soon replaced with cries. Liz sighed and breathed heavily, turning to smile at me. I smiled back, but all I could think about was the pang those cries put in my heart. How desperate they sounded, how my baby needed me. I could tell Elizabeth felt it too.
"It's a girl!" announced the doctor, causing our smiles to grow even bigger.
"You were right," my wife admitted.
"And you were amazing," I said, kissing her on the head.
It wasn't long before they brought her over, my daughter, and placed her in the arms of my wife. I eased onto the bed next to them and gathered the both of them in my arms, two of us being astounded by the third.
"She's remarkable," murmured Liz.
"She's ours," I marveled. "I can't believe she's ours."
Liz smirked at me. "You know, we never fully decided on a name."
I laughed, remembering our countless failed attempts to agree on a name. It didn't seem to matter anymore, though. My daughter's name wouldn't change the fact that she was perfect.
"What do you think about Clara, after my grandmother," Liz suddenly declared. "I think it fits her, don't you?"
"It does," I agreed.
"You pick the middle name since I picked the first," insisted Liz.
I stared at the face of my sleeping daughter, racking my brain with the possible names I had come up with despite knowing exactly the one I'd choose.
"Margaret."
Liz raised her eyebrows at me, knowing my complicated relationship with my sister. For a moment I was worried she'd object to the name, but her eyes drifted back to my daughter and a smile spread across her face.
"Clara Margaret Price," she announced. "It's perfect."
And she was.
— — — — — — — — — —
Some may call me a coward for how fast I flew out of that house, but tell me what you would do if a glass was being hurled at your head? I peeled it out of the neighborhood before Darrel could utter an apology, which of course assumes that he was planning to give one.
I definitely overstepped, I see that now, but the feeling of the wind whooshing by my face as the glass nearly missed it prevented me from apologizing either. There was a slight silver lining to my almost-head injury, though; I learned more about Darrel Curts when he threw that glass at my head than I've learned in the past month. He doesn't want my charity or my help, in fact, even offering it offends him. His fear of not being a good enough guardian for Sodapop and Ponyboy consumes him to the point where any offering of help is seen as an attack on his abilities. And now he's 21 years old with the responsibility of someone twice his age, working day and night to keep his family together and I don't—
"Slow down, Michael, I can barely understand you."
I took a deep breath, relaxing the tense grip I had on the telephone. "I'm sorry, I've just really screwed up things this time."
Liz sighed. "You know, it's not on you to 'fix' things. If the boys want to have a relationship with you, that would be wonderful and we would welcome them with open arms. If they don't, then they just don't, and there's not much you can do about it."
I felt my eyes well up with tears and fought to keep my voice from breaking. "I just wanted things to go back to the way they were with Maggie and I—"
I stopped, cupping a hand over the phone to muffle the sounds of me breaking. Liz knows me too well, though.
"Hey, Mike, listen to me. Remember what happened with your parents? How you had to come to terms with the fact that you can't always change people, you can only put your best foot forward and hope they reciprocate. There are some things you simply can't control and people you can't change. Darrel isn't someone you can just change."
"That doesn't stop me from trying, though," I countered.
"Oh, I know. And you did what Maggie would've wanted; the boys know that you'll always be there for them if they need you. Whether or not they accept that help is out of your control."
"I suppose you're right…as usual. I don't know what to do with myself now," I admitted.
"Mike, say the word and I'll call my mother to watch Clara and drive down there to be with you. Or you could come home, tell the clinic you're done and they'll just have to do without you. Michael, you need us, and we need you."
I sighed. Darrel Curtis needed someone he could turn to. Someone who could help him through the complicated stage of life that is young adulthood, someone who could guide him through life's toughest challenges. I just had to accept the fact that that person simply wasn't going to be me. There was too much resentment, too much history. I just hoped he could one day see that it was okay to accept help.
"Okay. I'll come home."
"Really?" Liz asked in disbelief.
"Really."
"In that case, there's someone here who's very anxious to talk to you. Would you like to share the good news?"
I took a deep breath, doing my best to convey a happy persona over the phone. "Sure, put her on."
There were a few moments of silence before an ear-piercing shriek filled the phone earpiece. "Daddy!"
"Hey, Clare-bear. How's my favorite girl?"
She ignored my question entirely. "When are you coming home Daddy?"
"Soon, baby, real soon."
"And we can watch The Flinstones?"
"Yeah," I chuckled, "we can watch The Flintstones."
"So how many sleeps until you get home?"
"Hmm," I wondered, silently hoping that my four-year-old would never stop measuring time in 'sleeps.'
"Three sleeps," I answered, just to be safe. It would likely be closer to two, but I didn't want to be on the receiving end of a phone call from my daughter if I didn't follow through on my promise. She was stubborn, just like me.
"Mommy says I have to get off the phone now and go to bed," Clara whined, the disdain evident in her voice.
"Alright, you mind your mother and get to bed. Hey, I love you Clare-bear."
"I love you too Daddy! Don't forget to bring me a present when you come back!"
I chuckled. "I won't. I love you, Clara Margaret."
— — — — — — — — — —
My palms were sweaty as I approached the front desk. I'd stayed up all night thinking about what I was going to say to Martha, how I was going to tell her that I would be leaving the clinic a few weeks early. To make matters worse, I hadn't had a long enough break to tell her all day, making me feel even more guilty about leaving them understaffed on such short notice. She smiled at me as I approached the front desk.
"Dr. Price, been a busy day, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, sure. Hey listen, Martha, I need to talk to you about something."
"Sure, what—"
The shrill ringing of the phone cut her off and she held up a finger, signaling for me to wait.
"Tulsa Regional Clinic, how may I help you?"
I couldn't hear the voice on the other end of the line, I could only see the way Martha's face instantly fell and the way her eyes refused to meet mine as her expression grew more panicked.
"Sir, I need you to slow down, I can't understand you, I—"
She listened for a few moments before speaking again. "Yes, he's right here," she answered, handing the phone to me. I gave her a confused look before taking it. I never got calls at the clinic.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end of the line was frantic.
"Michael, you've gotta get over here man, we need you."
A/N: Sorry this one is a little shorter, but I promise the next one will be good! Leave a comment and let me know what you think!
P.S. As a Political Science major I feel legally obligated to encourage you to vote if you are over 18 and in the U.S.! Go vote!
