“That’s right.”

  My mind raced. What else in the birth plan did the doctor need to know about at this stage? Jim could set up the Bluetooth speaker and my birthing playlist. “Could we get a birthing stool for labor? And dim the lights in here a little more?”

  “Sure, sure,” he said absentmindedly. “Let the nurse know next time she pops in, and she’ll take care of all that. Call button is on the wall—don’t hesitate to call her in if there’s an emergency or the contractions suddenly start coming really close together.”

  With that, he swept out of the room, his white coat almost billowing behind him.

  I bit down on my tongue. I didn’t like this Docta C nearly as much as Doctor Greene, who exuded quiet, compassionate professionalism and keen attention to every detail.

  But then another contraction hit me—along with this undeniable reality: the babies didn’t care who the OBGYN on duty was.

  When the contraction eased, I said, “Jim, can you make sure you can find the Chapstick in the bag?”

  Jim eagerly complied, handing me a small tube of lip balm.

  My lips weren’t dry yet, but I used the Chapstick anyway, then asked Jim to help me stand up.

  The photo session! I forgot to schedule the family photo session for next week! How could I have missed that?

  I closed my eyes and tried to picture my to-do list. My jaw dropped.

  I forgot to add it to the list!

  “Let’s walk the halls,” I said. “And can you bring my phone? I want to call Mom and ask her to level that poster in the twins’ nursery and schedule the family photo session I’ve been talking about.”

  He grabbed my phone and helped me to my feet. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate an update,” he said dryly. “So she knows that the twins really are coming. And we need to tell Rachelle that you’re being admitted and that she’ll need to stay with Laurie overnight.”

  The number of details frazzled me. I couldn’t keep track of all of this. I wasn’t prepared to be in labor! This was too soon!

  My heart pounded faster, throwing me into a mini-panic attack.

  Jim looped his arm through mine, and I calmed a little at his soothing, steady presence beside me. Whatever we went through in life, however unprepared . . . we always did it together.

  We walked into the hall, and he dialed my mom on speakerphone.

  “Darling!” Mom cried. “What’s happening? Are you in labor?”

  “They’re admitting me,” I said. “But I’m not in active labor yet.”

  “I’ll be down right away,” she replied. “Rachelle!” Her voice got a little quieter, like she’d pulled the phone away from her mouth. “Kate’s in labor! Looks like you’re on call to stay with Laurie tonight.”

  I took a step forward, and a contraction hit me. I grimaced, grinding to a halt.

  Somehow, over the wave of pain and pressure, I heard Jim saying, “Kate wanted to know if you could schedule a family photo session for some time after the twins are born.”

  “Of course,” Mom said. “When do you want it done, Kate?”

  I couldn’t reply—couldn’t think of any specific answer to that question.

  Jim said, “She’s in a contraction right now . . . I don’t have any idea. You had two babies—can you just take your best guess of when she’ll be up to a photoshoot?”

  The contraction built in strength, and I gripped Jim for support.

  “Absolutely,” said Mom. “I’ll do that and head on over.”

  “Thanks so much, Vera!” Jim hung up and held me until the contraction eased.

  “The poster!” I exclaimed breathlessly. “We forgot to tell her about the poster.”

  “Oh!” He slapped his forehead. “That was the thing you were so concerned about. I’ll call her back.”

  But the call went straight to voicemail.

  “I’ll try her again in a few minutes,” he said in a soothing voice. “And if we can’t get through, I’ll get Rachelle to do it later. The nursery will be perfect before we bring the twins home. I promise.”

  Chapter Six

  It felt like we walked the hallway forever—up and down, up and down, up and down. The contractions were four minutes apart, now, but when Docta C came back to check on me, I was only dilated to five centimeters. So, back to the hallway we went.

  “You’re doing great!” a woman exclaimed when we reached the far end.

  I opened my eyes, surprised at the voice. “Thank you.”

  She wore the green scrubs of the hospital’s orderlies and was pushing a cart down the hall.

  “This part is hard, but very soon, you’ll have your baby in your arms”—she pumped the air with her fist—“and all this will fade away from your mind. It’ll be so worth it. The most beautiful thing in the world.”

  I managed a wan smile. “Babies. There’s two of them!”

  She gasped with excitement. “Twins! I love twins. Two precious little babies making their appearance—and labor’s way less complicated than with triplets. Who’s your doctor?”

  “Well, normally it’s Dr. Greene, but today I guess it’s Dr. Phillips.”

  She pursed her lips like she’d tasted something sour. “Well,” she said to Jim. “Make sure that little boy doctor takes good care of your wife.”

  Jim tilted his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugged. “That sounded harsher than I meant it, I guess. He’s a decent man and a decent doctor—I just think he doesn’t always . . . know what’s best for women in labor. Make sure you advocate for your wife’s needs.” Then her mood shifted, and she smiled again. “But don’t you worry, dear. Soon you’ll have your precious twins. Oh! I really think twins are the very best.”

  “Do you have twins?” I asked.

  She shook her head, eyes suddenly a little sad. “No, I don’t have children, but I used to be a doula here.”

  I tilted my head. “They have doulas here?”

  “Used to have doulas,” she said. “That stopped about . . . three months ago.”

  My jaw dropped. “They demoted you from doula to—"

  “Nothing wrong with being an orderly.” She rested her hands on the cart handle. “It’s honest work. But you’re right—it’s an odd job for someone who’s passionate about helping mamas bring babies into the world. I won’t be here forever—I’m applying to other hospitals now. Might start my own business, even.” Then she waved her words away. “But I’m rambling all about me, and this day is about you and your babies. Just remember—you’re doing great, and your body already knows everything it needs to in order to bring those babies safely into the world.”

  She pushed her cart away, and I called after her, “Wait! What was your name?”

  She turned around. “I’m Mama Tina, and I hope you have a wonderful, easy, breezy delivery.”

  We let Mama Tina return to her duties and walked back up the hall.

  “That’s too bad they discontinued the doula program,” I murmured. “Someone with her warmth and passion shouldn’t be forced out of her career like that.”

  “She’ll get another job soon,” he said. “She must have agreed to stay on as an orderly so that she could still be in the maternity ward and have conversations with moms in labor. She lit up when she saw you.”

  Another contraction hit, nearly doubling me over. When I recovered, I gritted my teeth and said, “They’re getting worse. I need that epidural now.”

  Jim brought me over to the hospital bed, and I sank down to sit on it while he pressed the call button to summon Nurse Renee.

  Would that picture in the nursery get straightened out before we got home? Why hadn’t I fixed it myself when I’d noticed it was crooked?

  Oh yeah, because I couldn’t reach it over this mammoth baby bump.

  I’d remind Jim to call mom again once I got the epidural.

  At least I don’t have a case to think about.

  A moment later, Nurse Renee appeared. “Yes, my dear?”

  “Could I get the epidural now? The contractions are getting really bad.”

  She frowned. “Let me see how dilated you are.”

  After another check, she shook her head. “Not yet, I’m afraid. We’ve got to wait a bit on that.”

  Desperation filled me, and I sat bolt upright. “But I need it!”

  She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry—you have to wait. Why don’t you practice the deep breathing you learned in your birthing classes? That’s carried women through natural childbirth for thousands of years.”

  Jim, apparently taking to heart Mama Tina’s warning to advocate for me, interjected, “But it’s not a thousand years ago—we have modern medicine for a reason. If my wife says she needs the epidural, she needs the epidural!”

  “Sir,” said Nurse Renee in a clipped voice, “do you want your wife’s labor to stall out so that she needs a C-section? That’s what happens if she gets an epidural too early.”

  I furrowed my brow at her. “That’s outdated,” I protested. “I read a study about this—early epidurals don’t have anything to do with whether you’ll need a C-section.”

  She gave me a pitying, somewhat condescending look, and all my appreciation for her evaporated.

  “I’ve been working here long enough to have seen some patterns,” she said. “And so has Docta C. He won’t authorize an epidural until you’re further along in labor.”

  “But what’s the point of it if I don’t get it until I’m practically pushing?” I asked, desperation lacing my voice.

  “I really am sorry,” she said, although she didn’t sound sorry.

  When she left, I looked at Jim, bewildered. “Dr. Greene gave me an epidural when I asked for it.”

  “I don’t like this birthing team nearly as much as the last one,” Jim muttered. “This must be what Mama Tina was talking about when she said Docta C doesn’t always know what birthing moms need. I’m going to go find him and—”

  “Don’t leave me!” I clutched his hand. “We’ll reason with him when he comes to check on us.”

  Contraction by contraction, I white-knuckled through early labor. At some point, my mom arrived, and then a new nurse swept in. She had purple-rimmed glasses and an intense expression, giving off the air of someone who should be wearing a flower-power necklace.

  “Hi, I’m Bindi,” the nurse declared. “I’m one of the NICU nurses, and I wanted to introduce myself before the babies are born.”

  “NICU?” I asked, startled. “I’m at thirty-six weeks. They shouldn’t need to go to the NICU!”

  “Hopefully not,” said Nurse Bindi, “but I’ll be here after they’re born, just in case. We’ll put them through some tests and make sure that they’re able to go home with you.” She rested a hand on my arm and said, “They’ll probably pass with flying colors.”

  One more thing to worry about. Emotions welled in my chest and tears burned my eyes.

  Jim watching my face closely, mistook my emotion for pain and asked, “Any chance of getting my wife an epidural?”

  Nurse Bindi paused, sympathy flashing across her features, then said, “That’s not really my area, but I’ll let the doctor know you want to talk about epidural timing, all right?”

  “Good enough,” I said lightly, even though I wanted to snap, Can’t you see I’m suffering here? Give me the darn epidural!

  She paused in the doorway and turned back to look at us. “Don’t worry about the babies, my dear. They probably won’t need to go to NICU, and if they do end up there, I’ll move heaven and earth to keep them safe and healthy and get them ready to go back home with you real soon. Deal?”

  I managed a smile, though her sudden intensity startled me. “Thanks, Nurse Bindi.”

  When she left, Mom put her hand on my sweaty face. “Hang in there, darling.”

  Jim called my mom over, and they conferred in quiet tones in the corner. I strained to hear what they were saying—the few words I could make out suggested they were conspiring to get me an epidural.

  Then a pair of angry voices in the hall caught my attention.

  I could just barely make out a woman’s voice—Nurse Bindi, I thought—saying, “Cory, I swear on my great-uncle’s grave, you’re going to burn in hell for all the wreckage you leave in your wake. You and Samuel both. I’m sick of looking at you!”

  In a tone thick with contempt, Docta C replied, “What, can your crystals tell you who needs an epidural and who doesn’t? I swear on your great-uncle’s grave, next mistake you make here? You’re gone.”

  “Not if you make your next mistake first—and we both know you will.”

  Chapter Seven

  I grimaced, my heart pounding faster. Ordinarily, I’d be half-thrilled by such a juicy conversation, wondering if it might point to a case. What wreckage had Docta C left in his wake? Had someone died? How was Samuel involved? Wasn’t that the name of the receptionist?

  None of it made sense, and I loved solving puzzles.

  But at this moment in time, I was less focused on solving puzzles than on birthing my twins safely—and I didn’t like the implication that my doctor might be less than competent.

  Not one little bit.

  Docta C strode into the room, muttering under his breath, and I forced a neutral expression onto my face, pretending I hadn’t overheard the conversation.

  “I need an epidural!” I called.

  But Nurse Renee had been right—Docta C didn’t approve me for an epidural.

  Not for another. Three. Hours.

  By the time I finally got the pain block, I was ready to toss this upstart baby-faced doctor into the San Francisco Bay myself and give birth with just the nurses and that doula-turned-orderly helping me.

  But once the epidural finally took effect, I let out a long sigh of relief.

  “Smooth sailing from here!” declared Nurse Renee when she came in to check on me yet again. “I think you’re getting close.”

  I glanced up at the digital clock on the wall, and tears sprang to my eyes. Its harsh red letters declared 11:44. We weren’t even to the pushing stage yet, which meant that the twins were definitely going to be delivered on Laurie’s birthday.

  My reaction surprised me—I’d thought I’d accepted it already—but I realized I’d harbored the wild hope that my labor would progress quickly and that the babies would be born before midnight.

  But I hadn’t done well enough.

  That’s irrational. I can’t make labor go faster by sheer force of will. Babies come on their own schedule.

  Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling. Had I failed in my first action as the twins’ mother?

  Another contraction. Mom wiped sweat off my forehead with a damp cloth.

  A few minutes later, Paula walked into the room carrying a pair of pink balloons and two care baskets. Mom jumped up from her chair next to my stool and ran to take the gifts from her.

  “Are you hanging in there?” Paula asked sympathetically.

  I let out a shaky laugh. “Well, now that the epidural’s kicked in, a lot better. I was a mess a half hour ago.”

  Paula flashed me a wicked grin. “I heard, why do you think I waited to come see you?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Yeah, right. You were no better.”

  She pursed her lips. “I swear, if I ever have another baby, I’m just going to do one of those hippie water births at home.”

  I snorted out loud.

  She looked almost offended. “What? The doctors take forever to give you the epidural. By the time you get it, labor’s almost over. And then, after you’ve had the baby, good luck breaking out of hospital jail if they decide they want to monitor you.”

  I smirked. “Do you remember that time I took you to the hospital when you thought you were in labor with Chloe?”

  “Vaguely,” she replied, tossing her hair. “All that stuff is kind of a blur.”

  “The first words out of your mouth were, ‘When can I get that epidural?’ Literally.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. “I don’t think you’re quoting me exactly.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m pretty close. You got downright combative when I asked if you wanted me to play you a meditation CD.”

  She shrugged, her eyes alight with amusement. “Okay, maybe I don’t really want a hippie water birth.”

  “I might be ready for one after this experience,” I muttered. “Dr. Greene was great, but I don’t have a lot of confidence in this substitute teacher.”

  “Oh, why?” she asked, her brows furrowing. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  Mom and Jim shared a long look, but before I could answer, Docta C strode in.

  “All right, let’s get you checked out,” he declared with the bedside manner of a disinterested cat.

  Paula raised her eyebrows at me.

  Docta C finished the exam and let out an excited whoop.

  I stared at him, aghast.

  “Fully dilated!” he called, reaching over and tapping the nurse call button with a dramatic flourish. “You’re in active labor.”

  Paula crossed the room to squeeze my shoulder. “Weird vibe, huh?” she murmured so only I could hear.

  I agreed with her, but I tried to put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to think about weird vibes from my doctor while I was giving birth.

  Oh, why did Dr. Greene go to Rome?

  In a louder voice, Paula said, “I’ll get out of here so there’s not too much chaos, but just know that your mom and Rachelle and I are going to make sure Laurie’s actual first birthday is so much fun. She’ll have a great day.”

  “That’s right!” declared Mom. “It’ll be the best birthday ever.”

  “Thank you!” I squeezed Paula’s hand, and she left.

  Another contraction. I gasped. Sometime during that contraction, Nurse Renee entered the room.

  When the contraction ended, she checked my blood pressure and called out, “Hey, doc? Her blood pressure is borderline high, even accounting for the strain of labor.”