Chapter Text
As always, Emmett tries to be reasonable about what is and is not within his power. Lacking a magic wand to wave away morning sickness entirely, he does the next best thing and tracks down everything that keeps Elle’s at bay.
(The winners are candied ginger and mini pretzel rods; she firmly maintains the twists don’t work as well and he figures he has no grounds to tell her she’s wrong.)
He does find it a little more challenging than expected to maintain his pledge regarding cravings. After the Pop-Tarts and cornflakes phase ends, plenty of others follow and often without warning. Cream cheese on one specific brand of raisin bread; miso soup with Caesar croutons; and his personal favorite, salad from one restaurant with dressing from another.
(He eventually asks the latter place if they’ll just sell him a bottle of the stuff, and thankfully they’re all too happy to oblige.)
Her doctor is pretty sure getting pregnant with the old Nexplanon in place isn’t going to cause any issues, but wants to see her once a month for the time being just in case. At the 12-week ultrasound, the amorphous blob they saw last time actually has attributes he can recognize, which is pretty wild.
“About the size of a plum,” the ultrasound tech remarks casually.
Elle scoffs. “The fact that something the size of a plum can make me throw up twice a day makes me think evolution is seriously flawed.”
(Still. Hearing the heartbeat doesn’t ever get old.)
He knows she doesn’t particularly want to be coddled or hovered over, but he’d be lying if he said he knows what to do with himself right now.
“Ugh, of course none of them fit,” she grumbles one morning later that week from inside the closet. It’s the only warning he gets before a bra flies past him and lands across the room, missing his shoulder by millimeters.
He looks behind him and then calls out toward the closet, “Normally I’d be all for you tossing lingerie in my direction, but we’re in a bit of a time crunch this morning.”
She groans, emerging in a fuzzy pink bathrobe she deliberately bought two sizes too big. “I can get away with sweaters for now, but everything else I own makes me look like, I don’t know, Dolly Parton after someone put all her clothes through a hot dryer. And I haven’t even started to get gigantic yet.”
He can generally tell without issue whether she wants help versus just wanting him to listen - but the last few months have redrawn the lines somewhat. He takes a stab in the dark and hopes it lands on the correct side.
“Paulette probably went through some version of this. You know? Three kids in two years.” He shrugs. “She might have an idea for the sort of… in-between stage.”
“But we weren’t going to tell anyone for another few weeks.” She bites her lip. “Just to be safe.”
“If you’re comfortable talking to her, I don’t think it would be unreasonable at this point. But it’s up to you.”
“Well,” she says, looking away. “It’s not fair if I get to tell someone and you don’t.”
He laughs. “I really don’t mind. But if it would make you feel better, I’ll tell someone too.”
“It would.” She nods. “Can I borrow your shirt? That should fit. For now, at least.”
His first instinct is to call his mom, but then he reconsiders, thinking it’s only fair for their parents to find out at the same time. That afternoon, he knocks on Natalie’s open office door.
“You have a second?”
“Sure.” She motions him in without looking away from what she’s reading. “What’s up?”
He closes the door behind him, taking a seat. “When you and Sam found out she was pregnant with Theo-”
Natalie’s head snaps up. “Is Elle…?”
“Yeah.”
“Congratulations!” She grins. “When is she due?”
“Thanks – around the end of April. We’re probably going to start telling more people soon, but I have questions none of the books seem to be able to answer. And the Internet just tells me I’m doing everything wrong, so…”
“Dude, stop right there. First things first, stay off the Internet,” Natalie says briskly. “It’s my greatest hope that at least half the people on any given pregnancy forum are actually bots, because a lot of their suggestions are stupid, dangerous, or both.”
“Gotcha.” He sighs. “I had more or less reached that conclusion, but it’s helpful to confirm.”
“And I know telling you this is like telling a dolphin to go live in a tree – but don’t read ahead in the pregnancy books. Stick to whatever point she’s at, because you’re gonna lose your mind if you go cover-to-cover. I’ll text you the names of the ones we didn’t totally hate.”
He nods. “Thanks. I guess I’m mostly wondering what I’m supposed to be doing right now.”
“How’s her appetite?”
“Uh…. morning sickness is kind of a misnomer, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, Sam was the same way from, like, six weeks until crowning.” Natalie grimaces. “Best thing I can tell you there is to leave hair ties everywhere. Nightstand, end tables, bathroom counter. That way if she’s suddenly nauseous and her hair is down-“
“That I can do.” He exhales. “What else?”
“Well… you need to be her husband first and the future father of her child second.”
“Meaning?”
“A lot of times when someone’s pregnant, what they want or need takes a backseat. Obviously stop her if she tries to drink lighter fluid or something, but also... don’t police her. Just because she’s growing a baby doesn’t mean she suddenly needs to be treated like one.”
“Makes sense.”
“The most important thing that I found, though, and I found out the hard way…” Natalie pauses. “From now on, you’re the bad guy.”
“Excuse me?”
“If people feel entitled to information you two don’t want to give, you need to be the one who tells them to mind their own business. Some asshole tries to touch her belly without permission, you’re getting in between them. Anyone wants to offer unsolicited advice, tell her horror stories about labor, show up unannounced right after she delivers? You shut them down.”
Emmett sighs. “Is that not policing her? I don’t want her to feel like I think she’s incapable-”
“I know. It’s a fine line to walk. But we’re both married to women who love their autonomy and I’ve been here before, so trust me on this. She will not realize she doesn’t have room on her plate for that kind of crap until she’s already too overwhelmed to deal with it. You’re a team, and this is the position you need to play right now. It’s not like you’re not tying her shoes for her – at least not yet. And everything else... well, you take it day by day.”
That… actually helps a lot. Thank you.”
“Not a problem. You’re gonna be great at this.”
“About that,” he admits. “I’m mildly terrified that I will in fact be awful at this.”
“Emmett, if you’re worried you’re gonna fuck something up, it generally means you try even harder not to. So you’re actually already ahead of the game.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Thanks. I think.” He stands to go.
“Just remember, all the sage wisdom you could ever want is right across the hall.” Natalie grins. “Congrats again, Dad.”
He gets back to his office and stares at the carpet for a solid five minutes.
(He’s going to be someone’s dad.)
***
Paulette’s thrilled for them as well, if the joyful shriek he hears through the phone from clear across the room is any indication. “Oh my god, this is so great. I’m so happy for you two! We saved all the baby stuff, it’s yours if you want it. And we don’t ever want it back, we are done.”
As if on cue, the morning sickness stops as soon as Elle rounds the corner into the second trimester, and her energy perks up as well. She’s been devoting all she’s got to maintaining her usual standard at work, so Emmett’s really happy to see she’s no longer totally drained at the end of each day. They find a house they like, just outside the city limits; Elle falls in love with the sun porch at first sight. The rest of the place has been updated recently, so they won’t have to do very much, and there’s plenty of space for a family without being ostentatious. With the closing scheduled for early January, they can relax a little over the holidays.
They go to a movie just before Christmas, and just after the previews, she elbows him lightly. “Emmett.”
“Hmm?”
“My pants hurt.”
He looks over to find her slouched and pulling at the waistband of her jeans. “Weren’t you planning to get maternity clothes this week?” he whispers.
“I’ve been wearing a lot of dresses, I didn’t think I needed to yet,” she hisses back. “How long is this movie?”
“Two hours.”
She whimpers.
“Just undo the button. It’s dark in here, no one will see you.”
“I am not doing that,” she retorts under her breath. “This is not that kind of movie theater.”
“And you know a lot about those kinds of movie theaters, do you?” he can’t resist asking.
“Emmett Forrest, I will throw these Sour Patch Kids at you.”
“No, you won’t. You wouldn’t waste perfectly good candy like that.”
“It’s worth the sacrifice,” she practically growls.
Someone in the row behind them pointedly clears their throat, and both of them look at each other, sinking down further into their seats and stifling laughter.
(The next day she goes shopping.
She’s never waxed ecstatic about spandex before, but then again, this experience is bringing a whole lot of firsts.)
When they start sharing the news with people on a wider scale, their friends are unsurprisingly delighted for them. They have dinner with his mom, who hugs them both and refuses to admit she’s crying despite clear evidence to the contrary.
“I think my doctor sends patients to your hospital to deliver,” Elle realizes throughout the conversation. “Is that weird?”
“Nah. Other nurses have had their family members deliver with us,” Dana assures her. “Hell, two of my coworkers gave birth there. A delivery is a delivery.”
“Yeah, but you’re not gonna be her nurse, right?” Emmett asks. “I feel like that might be weird.”
Dana shakes her head. “It has to be a real emergency to assign us to a family member – they’ll probably put me on one of the other units we cover if I’m working that day. But if you want, I can handpick your nurses.”
“Do we want certain nurses over others?” Elle wonders aloud.
“Would you want every lawyer you’ve ever met representing you?”
Emmett and Elle look at each other. “Yeah, fair point,” he concedes.
Being across the country, they tell Elle’s parents over FaceTime. Her dad congratulates them briefly before excusing himself; as always, he seems somewhat in disbelief when his accomplished adult daughter has any kind of milestone or achievement, but that’s clearly who he is. Her mom seems happy for them, at least until she issues some warning about how eating for two isn’t meant to be taken literally.
“Well, up until about two weeks ago, there was, like, a 50/50 chance that whatever I ate came right back up, so if anything, I’ve got some catching up to do,” Elle retorts, not even bothering to hide her eye roll.
Caroline wrinkles her nose. “Too much information.”
“I’m sure it happened to you too. You must have had some magical unicorn pregnancy with me if you never had morning sickness,” Elle counters.
Caroline shrugs. “I don’t remember much about that, but I did leave the hospital in my Calvin Kleins. It’s a shame some women use pregnancy as an excuse to let themselves go.”
Elle hesitates for just a second, and the ephemeral expression reminds Emmett of one he last saw years ago; the same night he first overheard this particular brand of bullshit from his now-mother-in-law.
“You know, we actually need to get going,” he says. “That meeting about the house. Remember, Elle?”
It takes her a second, but once she picks up on what he's doing, she seamlessly plays along. “Oh, wow, I didn’t even realize the time! Gotta go, Mom. Talk later!”
As soon as they disconnect, Elle buries her face in her hands. “It somehow did not occur to me that she was gonna, you know, be herself about this.”
He puts an arm around her shoulders. “You all right?”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “That was just annoying. I’m actually going to go take a nap, being pregnant makes it even more exhausting to deal with her when she gets like this.”
Once he hears the bedroom door close, Emmett ruminates for a second – and then remembers Elle telling him about her parents’ friends being cut off by their kid and the social repercussions they faced. After mulling it over for another few minutes, he picks up his own phone, scrolling to a contact he rarely if ever dials. He’s well aware he might be overstepping, but Natalie’s advice is fresh in his mind – and this has been pissing him off for years already.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Caroline,” he says pleasantly.
“Emmett? Uh… did you two want to speak more?”
“Elle’s actually not here,” he corrects. “Just me. I was hoping to clarify a point from earlier, if you have a moment.”
“Yes…”
He knows she’ll hear the smile in his voice; hopefully she also hears the irritation behind it. “Maybe our connection was bad before, because I suspect I misheard you. What you must have trying to say there is that Elle looks beautiful. Radiant. Glowing, even. That’s what you were going for, right?”
Caroline falters. “Well, I-“
“No one would ever want her to get the wrong impression,” he continues, employing the easygoing tone he frequently uses in court right before he goes in for the kill. “Especially since she’ll always be beautiful and radiant and glowing – pregnancy notwithstanding. I’m sure you agree.”
“Ah, certainly-“
“Great!” He rarely if ever sounds this enthusiastic about anything. “I can’t imagine anyone would ever express a different sentiment, but if they did… well, I don’t see how they’d be welcome in our home.”
“Goodness, I-“
“I know! What a terrible thing that would be.” He chuckles with as much feigned self-deprecation as he can muster. “Fortunately, I can’t even think of a hypothetical world in which someone would be that disrespectful to my wife. Right? I’m so glad we’re all on the same page about this, Caroline, thanks very much.”
(Does he think Elle would back him if he actually tried to carry this out? It’s unlikely.
But he’s fairly certain his bluff will never be called.)
Caroline is clearly horrified at the prospect of having to explain to her country club entourage why she’s never met her prospective grandchild, and she stammers something vaguely complimentary. Emmett cheerfully says goodbye a minute later.
“So there,” he says to his phone just after hanging up.
“Want to tell me what the other end of that conversation sounded like?”
Emmett startles, seeing Elle in the open doorway from the hall. “Weren’t you taking a nap?”
“I asked mine first.” She gazes at him with a raised eyebrow.
He sighs. “It wasn’t my intention to encroach, for whatever it’s worth.”
“I didn’t think it was.” She takes a seat beside him. “You’ve just… never done that before.”
“Done what?”
“You know. ‘Disrespectful to my wife.’” She tries to drop her voice an octave or two with little success.
“You sound like Yoda with strep throat.” He chuckles briefly before sobering. “But you looked a little… Well, what she said before just seemed to bother you a lot more than it usually does. And selfishly, I couldn’t really take hearing it anymore.”
“I mean…” She suddenly leans against him, head on his shoulder. “That was kinda hot.”
“Oh, really?” He grins, tilting his head to look at her.
“Yeah.” She tucks her head a little further into the crook of his neck. “You being all, like, tough and protective and stuff. And you’re right, it did bother me. A lot. Maybe because so much is changing and it’s hard not to see myself differently.” She absently rests a hand on the newly visible convex curve to her abdomen.
“That makes sense.” He places his hand atop hers.
“How did she sound?”
“A little afraid, actually.” He shrugs.
“Yeah, that tracks,” Elle muses. “I think she’s always been a little afraid of you.”
“Me? Seriously?”
“Well, yeah. She’s never wanted to cross the good husband she always dreamed of me having. So who knows, maybe you’ve finally broken her.”
“Huh. That’s… excellent to know.” He leans down and kisses her forehead. “Caroline, behold my powers of intimidation at last,” he says dryly.
“So much for not bringing your work self home with you.” She giggles briefly, but then grows pensive. “I just… I don’t like feeling like I can’t handle things on my own.”
“I know. And you can handle this, or anything else just fine. But there’s a reason there are two of us. Right? It’s okay to delegate what you can. Save your energy for, you know, doing everything you normally do while also growing a human.”
“I get it,” she murmurs. “It’s just uncharted territory.”
“Maybe we leave it at this.” He closes his eyes for a beat. “If someone says or does something, and it makes you uncomfortable or upset enough to take away from what you’d rather be doing, I’ll be happy to tell them exactly where they can go. What do you think?”
She considers it. “I think that’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard.”
***
They spend the week leading up to her anatomy scan going back and forth about finding out the sex.
“It can be helpful to plan ahead,” Emmett muses.
“I absolutely agree,” Elle responds, “but I also hear Enid telling us gender is a social construct and it doesn’t matter.”
“Valid. That said, I do think knowledge makes things more concrete.”
“Yeah...” She seems a little uncertain all of a sudden. “More real.”
He looks at her, brow furrowed. “This doesn’t seem real yet?”
“No, it’s all definitely happening. Stretchy pants, doctors’ appointments, embargo on stilettos. It’s just…” She frowns. “That particular information is a different level of real.”
“Is that bad?”
“I don’t know yet. Is that bad?”
He shakes his head. “I kind of doubt there’s any wrong way to feel.”
Elle’s mulling this over when she startles, placing a hand on her belly. “Oh.”
“Is that…?”
“Not sure,” she says. “It’s like butterflies, a little? But different. And now it stopped.” She shrugs. “At this point I’m more used to feeling weird things than not.”
He defers to her on whether to find out; she’s firmly in the camp of letting it remain a mystery until mid-sonogram, when the tech asks and Elle looks at Emmett. “You know what? I think I do want to know.”
“You sure?” he asks.
She nods. “It’s real no matter what, might as well dive in with both feet, right?”
(The appointment is around lunchtime; they both head back to their respective offices afterward.
He catches sight of the word ‘daughter’ in a case brief and finds it impossible to think of anything else for the rest of the day.)
“You know this means we should probably start thinking about a name,” Elle mentions as they’re getting ready for bed. “Her name. Wow, I have to get used to that.”
He thinks for a long moment. “Yeah, I have no idea.”
(At least one thing has been settled for a while now; Elle likes the idea of Woods as a middle name, but she’s adamant the kid will be a Forrest.
He’s not sure why, but he feels something akin to gratitude every time he thinks about it.)
“You don’t have any names you like?” she asks now.
“I know what I generally don’t like, does that help?”
“Sure.” She pushes her glasses up, settling cross-legged on the bed. “Narrows it down, right?”
“I guess.”
“So?” She gestures at him to continue.
He sits down next to her. “Nothing that starts with E. That much alliteration is kind of too cutesy for me to handle.”
She wrinkles her nose, but ultimately nods. “Then no place names, either.”
“My dreams of little Fenway Forrest are over.” He sighs dramatically as she giggles. “But… agreed, that could get ridiculous. I also think that if one of us suggests a name, and the other thinks of someone they associate negatively with it, there is instant veto power.”
“No questions asked on that one.” She grows thoughtful. “Do we just want a name we happen to like? Or do we want it to have, like, some significance beyond that?"
“What do you mean?”
“Like, how Paulette and Kyle have Ellie. So thinking about someone who was instrumental in us becoming, well, us.”
They both consider this for a moment before it hits them. “Warner,” they mutter in unison, with mirror-image expressions of distaste.
“Veto,” Emmett immediately says. “I don’t care how much the Tokyo fashion scene loves him.”
“I second that motion.” Elle nods vigorously. “Um… I wouldn’t have left that party if Vivienne hadn’t set up the prank.”
“Doesn’t feel right, if that makes sense,” he eventually responds. “Plus, she’d let it go to her head.”
“You’re probably right.” She scoots back, pulling the bedspread over her. “We’ll think of something. We’ve got time.”
Twenty minutes later, he’s beginning to drift off when she gasps. “Emmett!”
“What? What’s wrong?” He’s sitting up in a flash.
Her eyes are bright. “You’re too smart not to have been successful no matter what… but getting to Harvard was probably a lot easier because you went to high school where you did. And that wouldn’t have happened without-“
“Quiz Bowl,” he murmurs. “Yeah, let’s not kid ourselves, it’s doubtful you and I would have met otherwise.”
“So, because of...”
“Ms. Chandler.”
“Who keeps telling you to call her-”
“Hannah,” they say at the same time, then turn to one another in the dark.
“It’s beautiful. Classic."
“Easy to spell,” Emmett adds.
“And... well, she’ll always remind us of how we got here,” Elle murmurs.
Emmett smiles, leaning over and kissing her lightly. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” She suddenly gasps again. “Give me your hand.”
“What?”
She grabs his wrist, sliding his hand beneath the hem of her tank top and holding it flat against her skin. “Just… wait.”
He thinks he’s imagining it when something seems to ripple beneath his palm a moment later. But when it happens again shortly thereafter, it’s undeniable. He feels his eyes widen. “Oh my god.”
She smirks. “I guess she approves.”
(They decide this can be a surprise for everyone else after she’s born.)
February fades into March, they get settled in their house, and Elle’s threshold for bursting into tears reaches an all-time low - much to his concern and her frustration.
“I don’t even know why I’m doing this,” she sobs one Saturday afternoon, angrily gesturing toward the TV with one hand while reaching for a plate on the coffee table with the other. “This movie isn’t even sad.”
“It happens,” he says, taking a seat next to her and placing a hand on her back. “Come here.”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.” She sniffles and picks up the sandwich on the plate she’s just moved to her lap. Her shoulders continue to heave as she takes a bite.
Emmett quirks an eyebrow. “Did you want to maybe take a minute before you-“
“I’m hungry.” She impatiently swipes at her cheek. “And this is really good.”
(For the next ten minutes, he silently watches Elle cry her way through a grilled cheese per her request.
Somehow he’s sure far weirder things are yet to come.)
***
Her late-April due date comes and goes, which Dr. Miller says is common. Everything looks fine on ultrasound, so they’re told to go home and wait.
Elle looks slightly appalled. “But I’ve been having contractions.“
“I know, but they’re just Braxton-Hicks, not the real thing yet.”
“They feel pretty real,” she grumbles.
“If you don’t go into labor by next week, we can talk about admitting you to the hospital for an induction.” Dr. Miller gives her a sympathetic glance. “So not too much longer either way. There are some things you can try at home, though. Have you been staying active?”
“Yeah. Prenatal yoga and a lot of walking,” Elle confirms.
“Okay, good.”
“That helps?” Emmett asks.
“It can. There are also some anecdotal reports about things like spicy food. And some studies have shown that sex can help jump-start labor.”
Elle laughs weakly. “Great, that’s how we got into this mess in the first place.”
“It’s all just… coming full circle,” Emmett says before he can stop himself. “So to speak. Wow, sorry, that actually made it worse.”
(Dr. Miller, who’s probably seen and heard it all, doesn’t even try to conceal that she’s cracking up.
Elle, on the other hand, is shooting him the most intense death glare he’s ever received.)
Although her colleagues are handling court, Elle insists she wants to keep working right up until she delivers – whenever that ends up being. “I’ll be bored out of my skull if I just sit here, and I can set everyone up for success the more I get done before I’m out for months.”
“You know, maybe there’s a silver lining in this,” Emmett points out when she gets home on the fourth day post-term. “We thought we’d be spending our anniversary busy with a baby, but assuming nothing changes, we can actually go out to dinner tomorrow if you want.”
She brightens. “That would be really nice. Especially since we were both buried in work last year.”
The next day, she texts him around mid-afternoon. Headed home, I’m wiped out and these stupid Braxton-Hicks are kind of killing me. Gonna take a nap before we go out later.
You sure you’re feeling okay to go?
Definitely! Just need to recharge a little.
When he gets home at 6, their bedroom door is open. She’s as dressed to kill as her maternity wardrobe allows – which, because she’s her, is plenty – facing away from him as she applies eyeshadow. “Well, hello there.”
“Hi!” She meets his eyes in the mirror, but just as a smile crosses her face, she suddenly winces, dropping the makeup brush and gripping the dresser.
“Whoa, hey,” he says, rushing in. “You all right?”
She nods. “They’ve been extra annoying today. It’s like my body is taunting me.”
“Elle, we don’t have to go anywhere. We can order something in, just take it easy-”
“No,” she insists. “I’m not missing the opportunity to celebrate yet another anniversary because of contractions that aren’t even real.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but then thinks better of it, checking the time on his phone. “Okay. Well, our reservation isn’t for an hour and we’re not going far – we don’t have to leave just yet.”
“Right. I need to finish getting ready anyway.” She picks up the tiny brush to continue her cosmetics regimen, and Emmett wanders across the hall to the room they’ve set up as an office. He’s scrolling through the news when he hears a pained yelp from down the hall; his phone tells him it’s been nine minutes. Abandoning his moment of decompression, he bounds back into the bedroom, where Elle is again clutching the dresser and breathing heavily with her head bowed. “Okay, you’ve been having these for weeks and they haven’t made you do this,” he says as he approaches her.
“No, it’s no different,” she rejoins. “I’m totally fine, Emmett. I promise.”
“Okay.” He settles in the armchair in the corner as she picks up her eyeliner - a little slower to resume this time.
(He does not believe her for a second.)
Sure enough, nine minutes later exactly, she gasps and stiffens. “Okay, this is really becoming an inconvenience,” she gets out through gritted teeth. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps glancing in between her and the stopwatch she can’t see he has pulled up until she relaxes. “Forty seconds,” he says under his breath.
“Hmm?” She’s smiling at him expectantly as if nothing just happened.
He knows she’s not going to believe him unless he gives her irrefutable evidence, so he just shrugs. “Nothing.”
She’s in the closet deciding on shoes when the next one hits – eight and a half minutes later this time – and he bolts up, holding his phone out of her view as he puts a hand on her back.
Forty-two seconds later, she stands motionless against him, arms around his waist and eyes closed. “Come on, let’s go sit down for a second,” he urges her, gently guiding her back out to the bedroom and easing her toward the armchair.
“These aren’t Braxton-Hicks, are they,” she finally whispers.
He shakes his head, relieved she’s come to that conclusion on her own. “I don’t think so.”
“We’re not going out for our anniversary. Are we?”
“I think we’re going to be going out pretty soon,” he allows, “but I don’t think it’ll be for dinner.”
She grimaces, looking down. “The one day I wanted this not to happen.”
“I know.” He crouches in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “This was part of the original plan, though, right?”
She looks up enough to meet his eyes. “Please tell me exactly how an unplanned pregnancy was part of the original plan, Emmett. I’ll wait.”
He chuckles. “Touché. Why don’t we get changed? It might be a long night and comfort is key.”
“Good idea,” she agrees, then suddenly reaches for his forearms with a sharp inhale, holding onto him tightly. “My… comfort better involve the… good drugs,” she pants.
He slides his arms back and takes her hands. “It will. Slow deep breaths, okay? Like we practiced in the class.”
Eventually she relaxes. “I need to change before the next one. And I’m also starving, but I don’t know if I’m supposed to eat.”
“I think you’re good until we actually go to the hospital, and that’s not until they’re closer.”
“Can you ask your mom?” She’s already up and halfway out of her dress. “Just to confirm I’m not, like, gonna drop dead if I have some pizza right now.”
“Sure.” He puts the call on speaker and Dana picks up after two rings.
“Emmett! What’s going on? You finally having this baby or what?”
“Excuse me, who is having this baby, Dana?!” Elle has moved on to hunting for sweatpants, but she stops in her tracks, indignant.
“Sorry, Elle, you know what I meant. Is it go time?”
Emmett laughs. “Getting there. We just want to make sure she’s not breaking any rules if she has dinner.”
“How far apart are the contractions?” his mom asks, all business.
“Uh, around eight and a half, nine minutes?”
“Elle, honey, go ahead and eat,” Dana says. “You probably have a ways to go, and you’re not getting anything besides ice chips the second you hit the hospital. Five minutes apart, one minute long for at least an hour – that’s when you head in, okay?”
“Thanks, Mom,” Emmett says. “I’m going to go do my job here and make sure pizza materializes as soon as possible.”
“Good. Keep me posted, you two, all right? I’m on shift in the morning, so I’ll be around if you need me.”
Emmett hangs up and orders: half cheese, half weird pregnancy special. It shows up in just over three contractions.
“Here’s to a lovely anniversary meal?” He grins at her, trying to avoid looking too hard at the pineapple, mushroom, and banana pepper monstrosity that she’s dipping in balsamic vinaigrette - thereby making it even worse.
(The first time she asked for this three months ago, he thought she was joking.
To which her response was “Sweet, salty, tangy, and umami! It is perfectly balanced and if you’re gonna mock me for it, maybe you’re not who I thought you were!”
He assured her at the time her pizza choices were valid, and still figures it’s one of the few situations where it’s acceptable to lie through his teeth.)
She looks like her energy might be flagging the tiniest bit, but smiles back. “Here’s to two years and getting this thing out of me. Oh-” She closes her eyes, pizza falling to her plate.
He reaches across the table and takes her hand. “Squeeze as hard as you want.”
“Be careful… what you say,” she manages. “Might… not have a… hand by the end of this.”
Around midnight, the contractions stall out at six and a half minutes apart; Elle tells him to try and get some sleep, and it’s all he can do not to laugh at her. “You actually think I’m going to just go to sleep right now, and leave you to your own devices in a situation you have claimed multiple times is all my fault?”
“Only when you eat the last of something I wanted, and you need to rest,” she argues. “We’re clearly not going anywhere anytime soon. And we need to switch off with staying awake for baby stuff, that’s what Paulette said.”
“Yeah, post-delivery. For now, though – if you’re up, I’m up.”
It’s an unbelievably long night. The contractions are too strong for her to sleep (or even talk) through, but they don’t speed up at all. By 3am, she’s at the point that she’s managing to doze in between. He’s no stranger to all-nighters – though it’s a little more challenging at 31 than he remembers it being in law school – but he’s doing laps around their room to keep awake until at last six and a half makes its way down to five and stays there through dawn. He texts his mom; her shift starts soon, so she’ll be up. He figures everyone else can find out later. At least the timing works out so that they miss traffic; the drive there is somehow painfully slow, yet all too fast for him to grasp.
(He also decides that valet parking at hospitals is the most genius idea anyone has ever come up with.)
On the way up in the elevator, another contraction hits and her breaths get shallower. “Easy,” he implores, channeling the overly zen Lamaze teacher from their class and deliberately inhaling and exhaling as slowly as he can so she can echo him. “We’re here, they’ll get you something for pain as soon as they can.”
She shakes her head, unable to speak until the contraction dissipates. “I can’t do this.”
“Hey.” He grips her shoulders. “Yes, you can. You absolutely can and you will.”
“No, no, you don’t understand. It’s so much, I’m so tired, there’s gonna be all these people and machines dinging and I just don’t-“ She shakes her head again.
“Elle.” He maintains the same pace of breath in the hope that she’ll adjust to it as well. “All those people, all that stuff, it’s just noise. All right? Just look at me. It’s you and me right now. That’s all.”
“But-”
“I promise this is the only thing you have to do today. And I know it hurts, but… that’s what epidurals are for, right?”
“But you don’t like needles.”
“Well… good thing I’m not getting one, then.”
She smiles faintly. “Just you and me?”
“Absolutely.”
By this point they’re off the elevator and have steadily made their way to the front desk. They’ve been keeping in touch with Dr. Miller, whose answering service said they’d call ahead; a nurse waves to them, youthful grin belying short gray hair. “Elle and Emmett, right? I’m Grace, I’ll be your nurse today. We heard you were coming in.”
“Oh, good,” she whispers. “From Dr. Miller?”
“Yep. But also from Dana.” Grace nods. “She specifically tasked me with getting her grandchild here as smoothly as possible.”
“That must mean we’re in good hands.” Emmett smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, nice to-“ Elle’s face contorts with pain, and Grace rushes around the edge of the nurses’ station, talking to her in a low voice and managing to move her forward into a room. Before the next contraction, Elle’s confirmed to be in active labor – since it wasn’t obvious enough – in a hospital gown, and someone from anesthesia is on the way.
“Is your mom here yet?” Elle asks him. “I don’t think I want her to, like, actually watch me push this kid out, but maybe she can come by for a little bit?”
“I’ll find out.” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re okay for a minute?”
Elle looks to Grace, who nods with the confidence of someone who’s done this more times than Emmett can possibly imagine. “We got this. Go.”
As Emmett exits the room, taking his phone from his pocket, he nearly collides with someone.
“Well, fancy meeting you here, stranger.” Dana smiles at him.
“Good timing. Elle was asking for you.”
“How you holding up?”
Emmett huffs out a laugh, pulling his hands down over his face. “I have no idea. Neither of us have really slept, and she’s in a lot of pain. It’s… kind of hard to watch.”
“Yeah.” His mom squeezes his arm. “I know, but you’re both gonna be okay.”
“You’re way too confident in that for my liking.”
“Emmett.” He looks at her and it’s immediately clear she isn’t messing around. “I know you’ll be okay because you’re here. And showing up is almost everything. Within your control, is there any reason you wouldn’t show up for her – for both of them?”
He shakes his head. “Of course not.”
“Then the rest won’t be as hard as you think.” A pair of doctors with what appear to be small duffel bags walk past them into Elle’s room, and Dana nods. “Oh, good, they called for the epidural. I still have some time before my shift starts and they all understand if I’m a little late today. Why don’t I stay with her for this part and you can go downstairs and get some coffee?”
“No, I don’t want to leave her alone and make her think-”
“They would probably kick you out anyway, honey,” Dana advises. “They already have two patients in that room, the last thing anyone needs is a third.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re probably gonna hit the floor if you watch them put a giant needle in your wife’s spine.”
“Oh, god,” he mutters automatically. “Yeah, I’ll just let her know.”
“A little advice, too. Drink your coffee outside the room. And get some gum or something before you come back in. She’ll be able to smell you from the doorway otherwise, and it’ll either make her sick or angry that she can’t have any.”
“Thanks.” He nods. “Will do.”
He gets back 20 minutes later, breath ice-cold with spearmint, and Elle looks worlds more comfortable.
“Hey.” She smiles at him with half-lidded eyes. “Your mom said she’s on some surgery floor today. It’s a good thing we’re already married, you know?”
“Oh?” He sits down on the edge of the bed, taking her hand. “Why’s that?”
“Because right now I like the epidural people more than you.”
“That’s… probably fair.”
She giggles. “It feels a little like I don’t have legs. I’m gonna take a nap.”
“Okay.” He leans over and kisses her forehead. “I’ll be right here.”
“I know,” she murmurs as she closes her eyes. Her breathing goes deep and even not too long after, and he decides to stretch out on the couch along the far wall. Just for a second.
He wakes up a few hours later – the cafeteria coffee apparently unable to hold a candle to his exhaustion – with a crick in his neck from the uncomfortable hospital furniture, but otherwise refreshed. She’s still asleep, but begins to stir about ten minutes later. “That’s… ow.”
He hops up and leans over the side rail of the bed, taking her hand. “Pain?”
“Pressure,” she says. “It’s weird. And- oh.” Her eyes suddenly widen. “Wet.”
“Huh?”
“Can you get Grace? I think my water maybe broke?”
He presses the call button and Grace is there within a minute. “Oh, yeah. Things are going to start moving faster now.”
She’s not kidding. The next several hours are a blur; Grace is in the room almost constantly, with doctors popping in and out to check on Elle’s progress. The contractions intensify, and Elle tries to kick him out of the room twice. First because he tells her she can’t have a smoothie; then on general principle “because you did this to me.” He never even makes it close to the door before she weepily calls him back.
(Grace assures him it would be more surprising if she weren’t doing this.)
Midafternoon, she suddenly groans, squeezing his hand tighter, and it – well, it sounds different.
Emmett looks up. “What is it?”
“It changed,” she says. “It feels like… I don’t know. More.”
“Let’s see what’s happening,” Grace says, already sending a message to the doctor on call.
Elle shakes her head. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Is knocking me out an option?”
A few minutes later, the doctor comes in. “You’re in luck. Time to meet your baby.”
“Time to push?” Elle asks, and already Emmett sees a new verve in her as she eases up onto her elbows.
The doctor nods. “Let’s go.”
The last time Emmett saw this fierce a look on Elle’s face, it was in a courtroom. “Hell yes, ‘let’s go.’ Finally.”
Fourteen minutes of otherworldly determination later, there she is – crying with an assertiveness that somehow makes it clear she already knows exactly who she is and what she wants. Emmett barely notices someone handing him a rather intense pair of scissors and motioning to where he should cut the cord; has no concept of the controlled pandemonium that fills the room. His attention is split between Elle and whatever is happening on the warming table until Elle tells him to go count fingers and toes and report back.
Eventually they wrap up the baby, carrying her back over and handing her to Elle. His eyes are completely drawn to the love of his life with their child – they have a child – resting on her chest.
“Hi there, you,” he murmurs, glancing at Elle. “You still think-“
“Absolutely,” Elle whispers, gently caressing the newborn’s back. “She’s definitely a Hannah. And look, they already gave her a little hat. With a cute little bow.”
He grins, leaning down to meet her eyes. “Elle.”
“Hmm?” Elle looks up at him.
“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen you do. And it was a pretty extraordinary list to begin with.”
She smiles, scooting to the side. “Thanks. Just don’t make me do it again tomorrow.”
“A reasonable request.” He sits on the edge of the bed facing her and lightly reaches out to stroke Hannah’s cheek. “She’s so small. No one tells you how small they’re going to be.”
“I think they do. It’s just hard to visualize until they’re actually here."
As the room settles down, Grace smiles at them. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a baby this alert. She knows exactly what’s going on.”
Emmett laughs. “Not unlike her mother.”
“And her father,” Elle says. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Want to try feeding her?” Grace asks.
“Sure,” Elle responds a little uncertainly. “I just have to-”
“Hold her like this, and then-”
“What?” She draws in a sharp inhale, then laughs a little. “That is maybe the most bizarre thing I’ve ever felt.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Grace says with an assured nod. “It’s a learning curve for both of you.”
“I think this whole thing is a learning curve for all of us.” Elle looks at Emmett and shakes her head a little.
“It is.” He smiles. “But I have a feeling we can handle it.”
***
His mom texts when she’s on her break to ask if she can stop in, and is so enchanted with Hannah that she almost doesn’t make it back to work. “You two ever want free babysitting, all you have to do is ask,” she says almost reverently.
Elle chuckles. “Thanks, Dana. We might hold you to that.”
“I mean it, though,” she tells them. “Laundry, cooking – you don’t think about all that stuff until you’re busy with a baby and you can’t get it done. I’ll never show up unannounced, but promise you’ll call me if you need help.”
“I promise.” He grins.
(Because he means it.)
They head home two days later, and Elle heads off for a much-desired non-hospital shower just after they settle in. Emmett walks out onto the sun porch, Hannah in his arms.
“We’re supposed to talk to you a lot so you develop language skills,” he begins. “I have no idea if you recognize my voice, but, uh… I’m your dad. Which is incredibly weird to say, so maybe give me a little time to adjust to that. I guess that’s nothing compared to you having to adjust to a completely new environment, though.”
He slowly walks back and forth. “Your mom is pretty incredible, but you probably already know that. And, you know… we might not get everything right 100 percent of the time. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee we won’t. But we can both admit it when we mess up. It’s not about being perfect, I don’t think, so much as always trying to do better. I think that’s the goal here. But I have a feeling you’ll let us know if we’re headed in the right direction.”
Hannah yawns, and Emmett smiles. “See the trees in the yard?” He continues to softly describe what he sees until Elle comes back downstairs, joining him on the porch and holding out her arms.
“Pretty sure she’s never going to stop talking once she starts.”
Emmett shrugs, gently handing the baby to her. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“My parents want to come out next week. They’ll stay in a hotel, but they want to meet her.”
He nods. “That works. Tell them I’ll pick them up from the airport.”
“You don’t have to do that, they usually just get a car service-”
“No, it’s fine.” He smiles. “I insist.”
She laughs. “You want to chat with my mother again, don’t you?”
“Just want to be sure the lesson stuck,” he says mildly.
But based on the ride back from the airport, Caroline seems to have gotten the message loud and clear, frequently volunteering how impressed she is with Elle’s ability to work throughout her pregnancy and how wonderful she’s looked on all their FaceTime calls. They're both visibly enamored with Hannah, and the visit goes smoothly as a whole - even if every time Caroline waxes poetic about her daughter, Emmett avoids Elle’s eyes so he can maintain a neutral expression.
Elle’s a lot more adamant about sending out birth announcements than he is, but when they arrive almost a month after the birth, he has to admit they’re really cute. On the back of the one going out to Ms. Chandler, he writes “Decided to start using your first name after all. Thanks for doing the paperwork.”
Elle wonders aloud why he wouldn’t just tell her outright, and he posits that it’s more fun this way. Sure enough, he gets a phone call four days later; Elle’s taking a nap, and he’s reclined on the couch, baby asleep on his chest.
“Emmett, I know I joked all the time about how you all should name your firstborn children after me, but I really was perfectly happy with a ‘thank you.’” She’s very clearly moved. “You didn’t have to… to go and actually do it.”
“It was Elle’s idea. But then she’s always right, so there was no question. You seeing something no one else did was the catalyst for… well, a lot of things that ultimately resulted in this kid here.” He absently strokes Hannah’s downy head. “And I’m pretty sure a side benefit is that I get a level-up on favorite student status now.”
“You know, I think you’ve cemented your position at the top.” She laughs. “It’s a nice retirement present, too, I won’t lie to you.”
“I still can’t believe you’re retiring.”
“Yeah, end of an era and all that. But this is a good way to go out. You know the school probably isn’t getting me much more than a fruit basket, if that.”
He chuckles, and Hannah stirs a little. “I know you’re planning to travel, but if you can, you should come meet her before you hit the road.”
“I will. And when I’m gone, you’d better keep in touch, all right? Let me know how my namesake is doing.”
***
Here's the thing: until he met Elle, he figured his past had no significant place in his present. That he could leave the former behind almost entirely while fully embodying the latter.
It took Elle and Hannah – his Hannah – to show him that he can be his whole self, all the time. That he can show up for himself as much as he shows up for them.
(Because they’re his future.)