There was only one person my phone actually rang out loud for, and it was my very pregnant sister. And my sister did not use her phone for phone calls.

I excused myself, heart thundering. “You okay?” I said the second we connected.

A siren sounded in the background of the call, followed by a low groan from my sister.

“No, I am not okay. I’m on the way to the hospital.” The words quaked. “My water broke and I’m in labor and Dean is stuck in Long Island trying to get back and I—oooooooophhhh,” she breathed.

I was already heading back to the table to gather my things. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Thank you,” she wept, actually wept the words. “I can’t do this alone, Lila. Don’t make me do this alone.”

“You won’t have to do it alone, Ivy,” I soothed, belying the rush of adrenaline that currently sped through me. “I’ll be right there, okay?”

“O-okay.”

“Want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Give me one second.”

I muted my phone, explaining the circumstance to the baker, who, overjoyed, made me wait for a box of celebratory cupcakes to take with me. And I ran out of the shop with full hands and my sister huffing into the phone, hailing a cab as best I could before promising him fifty bucks to get me there fast.

By the time I got to the hospital, Ivy’d had to disconnect in order to register. The nurses at the station directed me to her room, which was already buzzing with activity.

The second she saw me, her face cracked open and her tears flowed easily. “Oh thank God you’re here—ah!” she squeaked, glaring at the nurse attempting to put in her IV.

Ivy’s auburn hair was a pile on top of her head, and she’d donned her hospital gown, which was that unflattering shade of sea-foam green that made everyone look seasick. Her legs were covered with a scratchy-looking blanket that smelled like bleach, and I schooled my face to keep my nose from wrinkling.

I made a mental note to search for the fanciest hospital where celebrities had their babies to ensure down pillows and high thread counts.

I dropped my things in what looked like a wildly uncomfortable mauve chair and offered her my most reassuring smile. “I’m here,” I said, taking her free hand when I reached her.

“Dean won’t be here for an hour and—oooooooh.” Her face bunched up as she leaned forward, knees spreading under the blanket.

I glanced at the nurse as Ivy squeezed my hand hard enough that I felt something pop. The nurse looked concerned. Too concerned.

My coordinator hat was instantly on. Birth coordinator—I wondered if that was a thing. If not, it should be.

“How dilated is she?” I asked in that tone that got answers.