gone in the opposite direction, living life to the fullest. All to conceal the shame and fear of possibly being afflicted with an incurable disease. Maybe some people took that as running away from her problems or being a coward. Wendy didn’t care. Let those people walk a mile in her shoes.
No sense pretending a happily-ever-after was in her future.
Not when those you cared for could be ripped away from you at any time.
Love was a definite no-go for Wendy. No risk. No reward. No problem.
Across from her, Aiyana inhaled deeply and slowly, her hands sliding across the table, fingers splayed in an effort to control her breathing, her lung capacity compromised by the twins shoving up against them.
“You should probably get on that whole naming thing,” Wendy said, raising a brow. “Looks like you don’t have much longer to go.”
The server interrupted them with a platter of hot nachos and two plates.
Wendy grabbed a handful of chips and put them on her plate, knowing if she didn’t act now Aiyana would devour the food and she’d never get any.
Their waiter’s gaze darted from her sister-in-law’s belly to Wendy’s little pile of nachos then back again. “Did you want ice cream with the dessert, ma’am?”
“Two scoops, please,” Aiyana said.
The server departed, and Wendy flicked open her napkin. “That’s a lot of food.”
“What difference does it make? I’m already as big as a house.” Aiyana’s bottom lip trembled, and her eyes sparkled with tears. Wendy felt awful. She’d not meant it that way. “But I’m always hungry and Ned’s working overtime to make up for when he’ll be off after the babies are born and I haven’t found another person to cover for me at the souvenir shop and...” Aiyana flinched and grabbed her belly, bending over and inhaling sharply. “Braxton Hicks contractions.”
After a moment, her sister-in-law relaxed and dug into the platter of nachos. Within minutes, as predicted, all the food was gone. She chugged down her water then banged the glass on the tabletop like a Viking. The server left a pitcher of water on the table.
“Obviously we need names for the birth certificates,” Aiyana said, chewing suspiciously.
Wendy looked at her own plate to find the rest of her nachos gone too. “Hey!”
A guilty look crossed her pretty face. “Sorry.”
Thankfully, the waiter soon came to the rescue, bringing the piping-hot Peanut Butter Brownie Surprise and an extra fork.
Her sister-in-law deftly changed subjects, speaking around a mouthful of chocolate and ice cream. “Carmen says we’ll give it five more days. Then we’ll reassess.”
Carmen Sanchez was her sister-in-law’s certified nurse midwife. With a master’s degree in nursing, she was sort of like an obstetrician and a midwife combined, except she couldn’t perform surgery. If Aiyana did end up needing a C-section they’d have to use the OB on call at Anchorage Mercy at the time of delivery.
From years of working in the ER, Wendy knew that could be a crapshoot. Thankfully, Aiyana’s pregnancy had gone without a hitch thus far, so she could stay with her midwife, but the ever-present threat of preeclampsia and obstetric cholestasis meant the OB/GYN department was ready at all times, just in case.
“Well, you’ve got my number on speed dial,” Wendy said. “And you know I’ll show up anytime, anywhere, whenever these kids decide to be born.”
Aiyana looked up from her dessert, her cheeks persistently rosy this late in pregnancy. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Wendy smiled. “Someone’s got to keep my brother in line while you’re in labor, right?”
“Right.” Laughing, Aiyana eased out of the booth. “Need to use the restroom. Be right back.”
She waddled away, and Wendy’s throat constricted with unexpected tears.
She’d not expected to be so emotional over the impending delivery of the twins. Everything was about to change. Ned and Aiyana would have new responsibilities, new obligations, new lives to embark on. While she would stay stuck inside her self-imposed bubble, safe and protected and happy.
And I am happy, right?
Sure, she’d made sacrifices because of a potential medical diagnosis. But Wendy had been inconsolable for weeks after her mom’s passing. Her universe had imploded and when her world had re-formed, she’d been different—more guarded, more responsible, less carefree and reliant on others.
Two decades had passed, but not much had changed.
Maybe her social life had suffered lately because she was so busy. Didn’t matter. She wasn’t looking for a relationship. Which was good because it was hard to meet men when you worked eighty-plus hours a week.
These days she had fun, dated, got involved with guys who were looking for a good time, not a long-term relationship, and kept what was left of her battered heart out of the equation.
And so what if, sometimes, those niggles of yearning—the ones that whispered how wonderful it might be to have a baby and family of her own—became too persistent? She’d soon have her newborn niece and nephew to satisfy that craving.
Plus, now there was Sam at work to keep her company.
A friend who was a youth counselor at Anchorage Mercy had been going on vacation, and had asked Wendy if she’d be willing to help out with one of the kids she was treating who’d recently lost her mother. It was a no-brainer, given Wendy’s past and the fact she’d trained to volunteer helping at-risk youth at the hospital, which meant she’d already been screened and vetted. Sam was twelve and full of snark, reminding Wendy of herself at that age. Sam’s father also worked at the hospital, but, with her busy schedule, Wendy hadn’t had a chance to meet him yet. Plus, since she’d only be covering for a short time, it hadn’t seemed like a top priority.
Over her few visits with Sam, though, Wendy had come to enjoy them and looked forward to those late-lunch chats.
Sam was like the kid sister Wendy had never had.
The sound of clattering dishes drew her attention to the afternoon sunshine filtering through the pub windows, flashing across tabletops and sparkling through rows of glasses and bottles waiting for customers behind the bar. The air smelled of lemon furniture polish and fried food. Outside, May in Alaska meant the whole state felt warm and green and bursting with life.
Wendy took a deep breath, enjoying the calm before the storm. She had a shift in the ER later. The controlled chaos of working in trauma care suited her, partly because of her type A personality and partly because being raised in an all-male household meant she’d had to be scrappy to survive. She could take care of herself, could drink and curse with the best of them, could rebuild an engine faster than anyone. And all that independence played nicely into her belief that if she just kept moving, kept busy, kept one step ahead of the game, then her genetics wouldn’t catch up with her.
“I’m back,” Aiyana said, perching on the edge of her seat like a cello player.
Wendy
