“Hella?” I asked, trying to get comfortable in my seat and failing. I felt swollen, like a balloon that ought to be floated over the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Worse, I felt like I was in imminent danger of bursting. “You’re not from the bay, Ma.”

“No, but I watched a lot of South Park when I was pregnant with you. Maybe that’s why you’re like this. Let’s blame South Park.”

She was trying to distract me by cracking jokes. It worked only to a point. Leaf had stayed at school because he had to—Mom didn’t have the ability to dismiss him from class, nor was it time to. Even if it was for-realsies labor, it’d be hours yet unless I was one of those freak-show moms who managed a three-hours-and-done delivery.

Honestly? I would have liked to have been that freak-show mom.

My reality was much, much longer and drawn out. Three hours would have been divine.

Mom pulled into the driveway. She must have called Mormor in advance to warn her that something was amiss, because she was standing sentry by the door when we arrived. The moment Mom opened the car door she swooped in, tutting and circling like a silver mother hawk.

“Are we going to the hospital? I packed her a bag. We should call Devorah so her coach is there.”

“Nope,” Mom said, sounding emphatic so Mormor didn’t bulldoze her. “Dr. Cardiff said five minutes between contractions, and then we go. We’re not there yet. There’ve been a total of...three, Sara?”

“Four,” I said, the memory of the last one in the car enough to make me wince.

“How close together are they?”

“Ten minutes apart. About,” I said.

“Hmm. I see.” Mormor paused. “We’re sure she shouldn’t go to the hospital yet?”

My mother helped me up the stairs of the front porch.

“We’re sure, Mom.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Mormor hustled along behind us. “Do you want anything to eat or drink, Sara?”

“Nope.” I wanted a shower. A cold one. I said as much, and Mom took me upstairs to help me undress. I didn’t feel nearly as weird or as self-conscious as I normally would being naked in front of her, and it made me think back to what she said about not caring about which doctor was helping me, only that a doctor was helping me. It seemed a little more believable, particularly as I called for my mom to come back into the bathroom when another contraction hit, this one hard enough that my eyes watered and I clawed at the side of the bathroom stall.

Mom held me up, climbing into the shower with me and drenching her work clothes in the process. She toweled me off. She helped me get dressed in comfortable pajama pants and a soft top.