I sat dumfounded for a second, not remembering what to do.
“Taylor?”
Taylor-- who’s Taylor-?
“Are you with me?”
I snapped out of my temporary delusion automatically and jumped up, bringing my poor kid along with me. “I’ll get your bag!” I shouted running towards the hallway.
“Daddy!” Zoë yelped.
I looked down and found her hanging from my arm, a look of confusion across her small face.
“Kid!” I exclaimed, my eyes growing wider as I remembered she was there. I hoisted her up onto my hip and ran up the stairs, holding my arm across her back so she wouldn’t fall. I threw the door to my bedroom open and scrambled to Clare’s closet. Luckily for me her suitcase was all packed on the floor of her tidy closet. I grabbed it and rushed down the stairs, taking them two by two.
When I re-entered the living room, John was sitting by my wife’s side holding her hand. She was sitting in the arm chair holding her stomach and breathing like we learned in the Lamaze class we took when Clare was pregnant with Zoë. She moaned and leaned forward in the chair, her arm moving down to the bottom of her belly. “Start the clock,” John said to Jim. Jim nodded. He was holding his wristwatch in his hand timing her contractions. She was in her coat already.
“I’ve got it,” I announced, holding up her suitcase. I knelt down at her side placing Zoë on the floor. The announcers on TV were talking about the game but no one was paying much attention to it. They were getting ready for a kick off. I heard the words “quite possibly the best game of this century and the last” but I could care less.
John slid my wife’s hand into mine. She gripped my hand tightly but kept her glance towards the floor, breathing as she was taught. “It’s OK, babe,” I said kissing her forehead. I ran my hand over her hair. “Let’s get you to the hospital.” I helped get her to her feet as soon as the contraction stopped and I grabbed the suitcase with my other hand.
“Is Mommy having the babies?” Zoë asked. She was dragging Mr. Spot’s head on the ground, holding the giraffe by his stubby tail.
“Yes, honey,” I told her. She followed her mother and I to the door.
“Where do I go?” She asked. She started to panic. I realized that I hadn’t had enough time to call her grandparents to come baby-sit.
“We’ll watch her, Taylor,” John said.
I opened the front door. Clare moaned. “I think it’s tightening again.” she warned holding the bottom of her stomach up.
“That wasn’t even three minutes apart!” Jim exclaimed.
“It hasn’t happened yet,” I told him. Clare moaned louder and craned her neck.
“There it is,” Eddie commented.
I led her down the porch stairs. “Don’t you need a coat?” Clare said in-between breaths.
“Don’t worry about me,” I assured her opening the door to the car and helping her inside. “Let me worry about me, and you, and the kids.” I buckled the seatbelt over her swelled stomach. “Kids!” I remembered banging my head against the doorframe as I shot up quickly. “Anya!” I shouted at the wide-opened door of the house.
“We’ve got her Taylor!” John shouted back. “Just go!”
I jumped in the front seat and after a second of panicking that I lost my keys, I located them in my right pants pocket and drove carefully to the hospital. The “best game of the century” was long forgotten from my mind.