It’s my father. Now why didn’t I think of him sooner?
I answer my phone with wobbly hands, drop it when my father speaks, struggle with trembling hands to pick it up again, and eventually manage to get it to my ear.
“DAD!” I yell before he can say a word, “The baby is coming … ” I continue without taking a breath. “What must I do? Dad … help me! Can you hear me? Dad … the baby … Mel is pushing … he’s going to pop … dad … it’s coming …”
“DAMION! Shut the fuck up!” he shouts back and I close my mouth. Everyone is yelling at me today. “Now … where are you?” he asks calmly.
Mel screams again. Some bloody fluid flows from her vagina. Shit. I’m gonna be sick. I lean over the side of the truck and vomit. Mel gives me a stern worried stare. I only manage a sheepish grin.
“The haunted house …” I whimper, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Great, I’m close … put the phone on speaker … you’re going to need your hands.” I do as he says and put the phone on the truck bed floor.
“Clean your hands with something …” He sounds so calm. I scramble in the baby bag.
“Daddy … daddy … your son is a moron,” Mel whines, “and I hate him!!!”
“Hi pumpkin, I know … he was born stupid … but I’m on my way … just keep calm … you can do this, my strong girl.”
“Gmf,” I snort, getting my hands on some wet-wipes. I pull a cluster out and rub it from my fingertips to my elbows – I don’t know how deep I’m gonna need to dive.
“Done … I’m clean …” I’m going to faint … I swear I’m going to faint …
“Waaaaahh!” Her scream snaps me out of my trepidation.
“You’re doing great, pumpkin,” my father says calmly over the phone. Yeah, it’s easy for him … he’s not here. Neither is he number one on her to-kill list.
“Damion … do you see the head?”
“No.” Mel caterwauls and takes hold of my shirt. The unfortunate piece of clothing won’t make it through this delivery in one piece – never mind the wedding.
“Breathe, angel … I love you baby … ” I try to console her. It seems to be working. At least she’s not yelled at me in the last few seconds.
“Are you ready son?” Dad asks. I look at the phone as if I will be able to see him. Am I? Ready? To be a dad? No, I don’t think so. Mel hollers.
“Do I have a choice?” Please say yes.
“No.” But I know this little dude is coming … ready or not.
“Okay, push … no wait … eh … shit … right … push … I’m ready … push … can you push?” Another icy glare gets shot at my face.
“I AM pushing … ” she screeches. “I don’t like this … why didn’t you wear a frickin condom!”
Dad giggles over the phone … “That’s a very good question.” I roll my eyes. Why is this my fault?
“Wait I see something … his head … it’s his head …. ” I hope.
“Mel … PUSH!” Dad yells over the phone. Mel screams, her sweaty face contorted with pain. She exerts herself … bearing down … her body stiff and tense …
“Don’t pull him, son … just help him along … and make sure to support his head and neck,” Dad instructs me what to do. I follow everything as closely as possible … watching his head popping out, followed by his shoulders. I hold his head with one hand … the other supporting his tiny back … and then his feet nip out …
“I’m here son,” my father says merely seconds before his car pulls up alongside my truck. He jumps out and takes over. I move, glad to hand over my position.
Mel is still clinging to my shirt.
“Get something to cut the cord,” Dad says, holding my son. I run to fetch the pocket knife I keep in my cab. I take the bloody slimy cord and cut through it.
Fuck. Tears roll down my cheeks.
That’s some serious feelings I’m feeling right here. I’m crying and laughing. I’m proud and scared and happy all at the same time. I feel like a fucking teenage girl.
Dad looks after my son, sticking his finger in his mouth … slapping him lightly on the back. My body goes numb; exhausted but lightly shaking from an adrenaline high … it’s the exact same wonderful feeling I get when I cross the finish line first.
Just a thousand times better.
A loud cry fills my ears. I swear it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. Dad wraps him in a blanket from the bag.
“You did well son.” He hands me the baby. My baby.
I press the small body softly against my chest with one arm, lightly tracing his black hair with my finger. His small hand grabs hold of a torn piece of my shirt and holds on tight.
I smile. He’s already acting like his mother … the little shit.
“This is remarkable … he’s so handsome … so small …” I whisper as I look into Mel’s teary eyes. She looks tired but happy. And at least she’s smiling now and not yelling.
“Aaahhh!” she screams again. Please tell me it’s not another one.
“Okay, the afterbirth is coming.” It’s the weirdest thing to have my father right in my fiance’s vagina. Some sick perverted shit. But right now I don’t even mind.
Dad helps Mel to deliver the placenta, while I sit quietly holding the little newborn.
“I’ll send someone for your truck … let’s get you guys to the hospital,” Dad says, “Maybe I can still make the wedding.” Shit, I totally forgot about that. Sorry, Enrique.
I carefully walk with the little guy snug in my arms, as if I’m carrying a dainty breakable porcelain doll. Dad helps Mel down, wraps her in the bloody blanket, and gets her onto the back seat.
“I’m a frickin grandfather,” he smiles proudly. And I’m a frickin dad.
I look over at the construction site. How ironic that my baby was born at the same place my sister died. The place where I found Mel. So much history. Pain. Now, joy. Maybe it’s a sign, like these new buildings … it’s a new start for us. And after all that happened … we can do with some happiness.