THE WAIT
Chapter 42: The Wait
At eight and a half months, Christine's pregnancy had entered the home stretch. Every step felt intentional now, every seat a small negotiation. Her bump was impossible to miss, and people noticed.
The nursery, once a quiet guest room with bare walls and empty corners, didn't look like that anymore. Colorful. Overflowing. Barely containable.
It wasn't just what they'd bought together — the oak convertible crib, the six zip-up onesies, the anti-colic bottles. Everyone else had shown up too.
Their parents had gone completely overboard. Boxes of hand-knitted blankets and vintage wooden toys kept arriving in batches. Jeffrey's mother had sent enough pastel crib sheets to open a boutique. Christine's mother, not to be outdone, had shipped an absurdly oversized stuffed bear that now occupied half the nursing armchair. Their friends hadn't held back either — modern bath seats, high-tech monitors, a bib that read *Future Pyro Specialist*, stacks of storybooks.
Christine sat carefully on the edge of the glider chair, folding a tiny yellow onesie fresh from the wash. She looked around the room, and for a second the awe of it caught in her throat. "Jeff?" she called toward the hallway.
A moment later Jeffrey appeared in the doorway, a pair of scissors in one hand and a roll of painter's tape in the other — he'd been fixing the closet shelves. He wiped his hands on his jeans, and whatever he'd been about to say fell away the second he saw her. "Yeah, Chris? Everything alright? Is he kicking?"
"He's kicking. That's not why I called you." Christine held up the tiny outfit, then swept a hand toward the packed shelves and stacked boxes covering the floor. "Look at this place. I think our son already has a bigger wardrobe than both of us combined."
Jeffrey leaned against the doorframe and laughed, taking in the chaos. "I know." He stepped inside, careful not to knock over a basket of plush rattles. "My mom called this morning asking if we need a second dresser. I told her unless we're adding a room onto the house, Christian's sharing our closet."
He set the tools on the side table and knelt beside her chair, his hand finding its usual place on her bump. Right on cue, something pushed back against his palm — small, firm, definite. Jeffrey grinned. "Hey there, little guy." He leaned his forehead against her bump for a second, then looked up. "He's active today."
"He knows his room is ready," Christine said, running her fingers through his hair. "Or maybe he just knows how close we are."
Jeffrey sat back on his heels, brought her hand to his lips, and let his gaze move around the room — the crib against the wall, a little blue bear onesie hanging on the closet door, the shelves stacked with gifts from people who already loved a son they hadn't met. "Eight and a half months." His voice caught slightly. "Any week now, Chris. He's going to be sleeping right there."
Christine looked at the crib, then back at him. "We're really doing this, aren't we?" she said quietly.
"We really are." He stood, wrapped his arms around her from behind, and rested his chin on her head. "And we're ready for him."
The doorbell rang, and a second later they heard the front door open downstairs. "Hello? Anyone home?" Jane's voice carried up from the foyer, a little breathless.
Jeffrey laughed, squeezed her shoulder, and stepped back. "Sounds like the auntie-in-chief has arrived."
Heavy footsteps came up the stairs, and Jane rounded the corner into the nursery a few seconds later, half-hidden behind three oversized shopping bags. "Oh good, you're both in here." She dropped the bags on the floor with a crinkle of tissue paper.
Christine burst out laughing. "Jane! We literally just said there's no more room left in this nursery!"
"I know, I know — you guys said no more gifts." Jane waved a hand, already dropping to her knees beside the bags like a kid on Christmas morning. "But I was at the mall, and I saw these, and — honestly? Self-control was never my strong suit."
She pulled out the first item: a tiny knit t-shirt, then a pair of drawstring shorts that looked impossibly small. "Look at these, Chris!" She held up the shorts, barely larger than her palm. "Can't you just picture him in these? And look at this shirt!" She held up a beige graphic tee that read *Little Explorer*.
Jeffrey picked up a plush star that chimed when he squeezed it, and a set of teething rings. He shook his head, smiling. "Jane, these are incredible." He turned the star over in his hands. "But I think we're converting the guest closet into an overflow ward for Christian's clothes."
"Nonsense." Jane looked around at the packed shelves and the stuffed bear taking up half the armchair. "He deserves options. A prince can't be caught wearing the same outfit twice in one week."
She unpacked a few more shirts, stacked them on the changing table, then turned to Christine and rested a hand on her arm. "How are you feeling, mama? You look radiant, but you must be exhausted."
Christine put her hand over Jane's. She looked around the room — Jeffrey holding the little tee, Jane surrounded by toys, gifts stacked on every surface — and had to blink hard for a second. "I'm tired," she admitted. "But seeing all of this — seeing how much he's already loved and he's not even here yet — it makes it worth it. Thank you, Jane. Really."
"Anything for my favorite little guy." Jane squeezed her hand, then winked at Jeffrey. "Now show me where the rest of these clothes go, because I am not leaving until every last tiny shirt is hung up."
A few days later, in the dim hours long before dawn, the house lay still.
Christine woke to a sharp tightness pulling across her lower back and deep into her abdomen. She went still under the duvet, waiting for it to pass, one hand coming up to cup her belly. She breathed through it.
When it eased, leaving a dull ache behind, she turned toward Jeffrey. He was asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes, breathing deep and even. She reached over and shook his shoulder. "Jeff." Her voice was tight. "Jeff, wake up."
He stirred, groaning, and pulled his arm back, blinking against the dark. "Mmm? Chris... what's wrong? You need water?"
"Jeff." She shook him harder as another ripple pulsed through her. "I think it's time."
For a second the words didn't land. Then they did, and his eyes flew open. He sat up fast, sheets falling around his waist, eyes going from her face to her bump and back. "Now?" His voice cracked. "Are you sure? Is it a contraction? How long has it been happening?"
"Yes. I'm sure." A small, nervous smile broke through. "My water broke, Jeff. Christian is coming."
"Right. Okay. Okay!"
Jeffrey was out of bed in a blur, nearly tripping over his own slippers. He ran a hand through his hair, turning in a full circle, eight months of prenatal classes and checklists dissolving into nothing. "Hospital bag." He turned toward the corner where it had been sitting, packed, for weeks. "Bag — right here. Keys, keys are downstairs on the counter. Phone. Where's my phone?"
"Jeff, breathe." Christine laughed despite herself, despite the tightness in her back. "We have time. Grab my robe first."
Her voice cut through the noise in his head. Jeffrey stopped, took one breath, and grabbed her robe from the chair, crossing the room to wrap it around her shoulders. He crouched down to her eye level and took both her hands. His palms were steady. "How are you feeling?" His eyes searched hers. "Are you in a lot of pain?"
"It's manageable," Christine said, squeezing his hands. "Just... real."
Jeffrey brought her hands to his lips. The shock was gone now, and something steadier had taken its place. "Okay." He straightened. "Take your time standing up. I'll grab your shoes, get the bags in the car, call the doctor. We're going to meet our son today."
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Christine looked at him — hair rumpled, shirt wrinkled, already moving — and felt something in her steady. "Let's go meet our little boy," she said.
The pre-dawn streets were empty, streetlights glowing amber as the car sped through the quiet city. He'd insisted she lie across the back seat with pillows behind her back and bump. Now he kept both hands on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds, tracking her face. "How are you holding up back there, Chris?" His voice was steady. His knuckles weren't. "Is the angle okay?"
"I'm okay, Jeff." Her voice was strained. "The pillows help. Just — keep driving."
"Three miles out," Jeffrey announced, adjusting the rearview mirror slightly to catch her eyes. "We'll be at the entrance in less than ten minutes. How far apart are the contractions now?"
"Around five minutes." She winced as a fresh ache spread across her lower back, her fingers catching the edge of the driver's seat.
At the next red light, Jeffrey shifted into park, unbuckled, and turned fully around in his seat. He reached back and took her hand in both of his. "Breathe with me, sweetheart." He held her eyes. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. You're doing incredible."
Christine followed his rhythm, squeezing his hand as the contraction peaked. She could see exactly how hard he was working to look calm. "You don't have to look so terrified, daddy." A tired smile flickered as the pressure let up. "We've been preparing for this for eight months."
Jeffrey laughed, low and a little breathless. He leaned over the seat and kissed her forehead. "I'm not terrified." His voice was rough. "I'm—" He stopped, shook his head, tried again. "I'm in awe of you. And I can't wait to hold our son."
The light turned green. Jeffrey squeezed her hand once more, then turned back around, shifted into gear, and pulled forward. "Hang on, Chris." His eyes found hers in the mirror one more time. "Next stop, the maternity wing."
The car pulled up under the hospital's glass canopy, brightly lit even before dawn. Jeffrey was out of the car before it fully stopped, around to the back door in seconds. Cool morning air swept into the warm interior as he pulled it open. "We're here, Chris." He reached in for her hand. "Stay right there — two seconds."
He sprinted toward the automatic sliding doors where two nurses were standing near a row of wheelchairs. "Excuse me! My wife's in labor — her water broke!" Jeffrey called out, his voice sharp with urgency.
A nurse wheeled a chair toward the car. Jeffrey was already back at Christine's side, helping her swing her legs around, one arm around her waist as she stood. She sucked in a breath — another contraction, right on time. "Take your time, sweetheart. I've got you." He held her until she was settled in the chair.
The nurse tucked a blanket over Christine's lap and wheeled her through the sliding doors, into the elevator, up to the labor wing.
When the elevator doors opened on the delivery floor, a senior nurse approached with a clipboard, taking one look at Christine's progress before turning to Jeffrey. "Sir, you can drop the bags at the desk, but you'll need to wait out here." She nodded toward a set of double doors marked *Staff & Patients Only*. "We can't have partners inside this unit — hospital policy."
"Wait — what? No, I need to be there with her. I'm her husband."
"I know. I'm sorry. But we have to take her in alone." The nurse was already turning the chair toward the doors. "We'll keep you updated, I promise."
Jeffrey's grip tightened on the wheelchair handles. He looked down at Christine and didn't let go.
Christine looked up and saw the worry all over his face. She caught his hand and squeezed it, hard, through the ache in her back. "Jeff." Her voice was steady. "It's okay."
"Chris, I'm supposed to be right beside you." His voice cracked as he crouched to her level. "I promised I wouldn't leave your side."
"You're not leaving me." She pressed her thumb against the back of his hand. "You're right out here. Our boy and I are going to be fine."
"Sir, we need to take her in now," the nurse said.
Jeffrey swallowed hard. He leaned in, put a hand against her cheek, and kissed her forehead, lingering there a second longer than he needed to. "I love you so much." He pulled back, blinking fast. "I'll be right outside these doors. The second they let me in, I'm coming to you both."
"I love you." She squeezed his hand once more before her fingers slipped from his.
The double doors swung open, and the nurses wheeled Christine through. Jeffrey stood where he was, watching the doors seal shut between them, cutting off the sound of her breathing.
Alone in the hallway, the duffel bag on his shoulder and the baby bag in his hand, Jeffrey took a long breath. He found a chair across from the double doors and sat down to wait.
Jeffrey paced the narrow stretch of waiting room, his footsteps echoing off the linoleum. The hallway was quiet except for a distant elevator chime, or the low murmur of staff passing by. Unable to sit still, he pulled out his phone to call their families.
He dialed his own mother first. It took two rings. "Jeff? Son? Is everything okay?" Her voice was thick with sleep.
"Mom." His voice dropped. "It's time. We're at the hospital."
There was a sharp gasp, then the muffled sound of her waking his father. "Oh my goodness! Today? How is Christine?"
"Her water broke early this morning," Jeffrey explained, pacing back and forth in front of the locked double doors. "She's handling the contractions like a champion, Mom. They just brought her into the delivery room, but hospital policy doesn't allow me inside. I'm stuck in the waiting room."
"Oh, sweetheart." Her tone softened, and in the background he could hear his father's voice, loud with excitement. "Don't worry, Jeff. Your father and I are getting dressed right now. We're driving straight to the hospital to wait with you."
"Thanks, Mom. Drive safely."
As soon as he hung up, Jeffrey scrolled through his contacts to call Christine's mother, Mrs. Javier. She answered on the first ring. "Jeffrey? Is everything all right with Christine?"
"Good morning, Mom. Everything's going well — we got Christine to the maternity wing about half an hour ago. She's in the delivery room now."
"Oh, thank God." There was a rustle as Christine's father took the phone and put it on speaker. "Jeffrey, son — is she in pain? How is my daughter?"
"She's so brave, Dad. So calm." Jeffrey looked toward the double doors. "They wouldn't let me go in with her — hospital policy — but she smiled at me before they wheeled her in. Told me not to worry."
"That sounds just like her." Mrs. Javier's voice was thick. "You did great getting her there safely, Jeffrey."
"We're getting in the car right now, Jeff," her father said. "We'll be there in an hour. You shouldn't be out there alone."
"Thank you, Mom, Dad. I'll see you both soon."
He pocketed the phone. Both sets of parents were on their way now, and that steadied him a little. He sat down in a vinyl chair facing the delivery doors, elbows on his knees, and waited.
Forty minutes crawled by. Jeffrey paced, checked his watch, paced some more, flinching at every muffled sound from beyond the double doors.
Then the elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and Jeffrey's parents stepped out, both a little breathless. His mother's eyes found him fast, her hands clutching her purse to her chest. "Jeff." She hurried down the corridor toward him.
Jeffrey stood and met her halfway. Before he could say anything, she pulled him into a hug, her hand moving in slow circles against his back. "Oh, my boy." She pulled back to cup his cheek. "Look at you. You must be frantic. How are you holding up?"
"I'm managing, Mom." He let out a breath he'd been holding for forty minutes. "It's just... hard, sitting out here alone."
His father stepped up and pulled him into a hug, one solid pat on the back. "You did great getting her here safe, son." His voice was steady. "Any news from the doctor yet?"
Jeffrey shook his head, glancing back at the closed double doors. "Nothing yet. It's been quiet. The nurses said she was doing great when they took her in, but I haven't heard anything since."
"She's a fighter, Jeff." His mother took his arm, walking him back toward the chairs. "Christian's in good hands. And Christine knows you're standing guard right here."
"I told her I wouldn't leave," Jeffrey said as they sat.
"And you haven't." His father rested his hands on his knees, eyes on the double doors. "Now we wait together. Are Christine's parents on their way too?"
"Yeah." Jeffrey checked his phone. "Mom and Dad said they were heading out right after I called. They should be pulling up any minute."
His father stood, stretching, and looked down the long hallway toward the elevators. "Tell you what," he said, tapping Jeffrey's shoulder. "I'll run down and grab us some coffee. We're going to need it when our grandson makes his big entrance."
Jeffrey looked up, offering a faint, grateful smile. "Thanks, Dad. Black with one sugar for me, please."
"Got it." He glanced at his wife, then back at Jeffrey. "I'll grab extra cups for the Javier's too — they'll want something hot the second they walk in from that drive."
"That's a great idea, dear," Jeffrey's mother said, adjusting her sweater. "Get a few sweet pastries too if they have any fresh ones."
"On it. Don't let the baby arrive while I'm gone!" He winked and headed for the elevators.
Jeffrey settled back next to his mother, eyes back on the double doors.
The elevator dinged, and Jeffrey's dad stepped out, balancing a cardboard tray of coffee cups and a paper bag of pastries. He spotted Mr. and Mrs. Javier sitting with Jeffrey and his wife. "Ah, you made it!" He raised the tray. "Just in time — I brought coffee for everyone—"
Before he could take another step, a lock clicked, and the delivery room doors hissed open.
The entire waiting room froze in unison.
Jeffrey's dad stopped mid-stride, arms locked around the tray. Everyone was on their feet — Jeffrey first, his heart slamming — as a doctor in blue scrubs came through the doors, pulling down her mask. She scanned the room, and her eyes landed on Jeffrey. "Jeffrey?" The doctor smiled.
"Yes! Yes, I'm Jeffrey," he gasped out, taking two fast steps forward, his voice trembling. "How are they? Is Christine okay? Is the baby—"
"They're both doing wonderfully." The doctor's voice cut through the fear in the room. "Christine was an absolute champion. And at 6:14 this morning, you became the father of a healthy baby boy."
A gasp rippled through both families. Mrs. Javier let out a soft sob, burying her face in her husband's shoulder. Mr. Javier held her, his own eyes wet. Behind them, Jeffrey's mother pressed both hands over her mouth. His father set the coffee tray down fast, wiping his eyes, grinning.
For Jeffrey, everything else in the room fell away. Whatever had been sitting on his chest for the last hour finally let go. "Christian..." he whispered, his voice thick and cracking. "Can I... can I see them?"
"She's just being settled, but she's asking for her husband." The doctor stepped aside, gesturing past the double doors. "Come on in, Dad. Your son is waiting for you."