Started as His Wife (ON HIATUS)

Eye Smiles

"WENDY! WENDY! WENDY!" Dad continuously screams as he rushes upstairs. His over-sized coat is unzipped, exposing his heaving chest. The sock on his left foot is halfway down his foot, probably from the struggle of kicking off his work-boots. 

"Dad, I'm fine. The contractions are still far apart."

"Your idiot of a husband hasn't picked up his phone," Dad scowls, pressing the button to call Vincent again. 

"It's fine. He's probably busy at work," I try to calm him, though I felt my chest tighten. 

"He should be more attentive. He should know to keep his phone around if the baby's due date is around the corner."

"Don't worry. He's going to be home in a bit."

"He better," Dad fumed. 

"Did you just get off work?"

"Yeah, I left as soon as you called me."

"Your supervisor was okay with it?"

"Oh... I didn't tell him. I just upped and left..."

"Dad, you—ugh," I groan mid-sentence, grabbing my stomach. 

"HOSPITAL! HOSPITAL! HOS—"

"No, we can't until they contractions are five minutes apart, or if my water breaks."

"How far apart are they now?"

"I think eight."

"It sounds like we're in dangerous territory." 

"I'm not sure where Vincent put the overnight hospital stuff, but they should be in a blue duffel bag. Can you go look for it—"

"Useless. I'll just pack for you myself."

"Or you could just find the—"

He ignores me and marches straight downstairs. After a while, he's back with a garbage bag from the kitchen and the laptops from the home office in one arm. He randomly picks one of our travel backpacks from the corner of the room, shoves the laptops inside it, and then doesn't even glance my way as he continues to the closest. 

"Why did you take the laptops?" I ask. 

"Labor takes a while. I can watch a movie at the hospital while we wait."

"Are you sure my agonizing pain won't be distracting?" I huff. 

"It'll be fine. I'll turn on music for you. I heard its good for babies to listen to music while still in the womb." 

"Fine," I sigh, "but please be careful with them. They're expensive,"

"Sure thing, sweetie," he tells me, just as I hear something thud from inside the closest. 

"Dad, please don't make a mess," I ask, knowing that's the least I can ask of him. 

"It'a already a mess," he replies. "Where are your clothes? I only see Vincent's."

"I wear Vincent's shirts. In one of the baskets should be some large shorts."

"Wearing men's clothes is the one thing you and your sister have in common," he sighs. 

After a bit, he emerges from the closet with the garbage bag slung over his shoulder. Walking about, he surveys the room for anything else to bring along. 

"Oh yeah, socks. Let's see which drawer."

With absolutely no care, he yanks each drawer open from top to bottom, grabbing a handful of items from each.