I can’t tell if the music is helping or making things worse. Right now Scarlett is on her side, silently crying while “Once in a Lifetime” by the Talking Heads plays.

And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?”

I may, David Byrne. I may.

Mom rubs Scarlett’s back. “It’s all right. Breathe. Breathe.”

I’ve been in this chair for I don’t know how long. I’ve lost all sense of time. I’ve managed to soak through this sweatshirt as well. I lift my arms to find epic pit stains. Under my hat, my hair is wet and matted to my head. I oscillate between hot and cold. I chug water, hoping to flush the wolfsbane out. The dizziness comes and goes. It’s making all this so surreal.

Nurses come in and out.

“Almost there!” they keep saying.

I made the mistake of asking one, “How long do these things usually take?”

I didn’t get an answer.

“Rory,” Scarlett says. “I want Rory.”

I stand up and shuffle over.

“Just Rory,” she says.

“You heard her,” I say, gently elbowing Mom out of the way.

“I’ll get more ice,” Matty says.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Mom announces for some reason. She opens the door, then closes it very slowly, adding, “I’ll only be a minute, Scarlett honey. I’ll be right here.”

“Quick, give birth now while Mom’s on the toilet!”

I offer her my hand.

“Why are you wearing gloves?”

“Because fashion,” I say. “Obviously.”

“I don’t like this,” she says through tears.

“No? Not a fan?”

She cracks a smile, but it quickly vanishes. “I’m scared.”

“If I could, I’d do it for you,” I tell her. “I mean it.”

Her smile returns. “You’re such a liar.”

“I’m not! I really would.”

She lets out a sob.

“I keep thinking about the video,” she says. “Of you in the distillery.”

“Hey, don’t think about that now, all right?”

“I’m not tough,” she says. “I’m not like you. I can’t do this, Rory. I’m too scared.”

She buries her face in the pillow.

I want to tell her that she has nothing to be afraid of, but I can’t. Because this is scary. And if anyone knows scary, it’s me.

I sweep some stray hairs off her face.

Mom comes out of the bathroom.

“I’m back,” she says.

“Mom, the bathroom is right there. It’s in the room,” I tell her. “You didn’t actually go anywhere.”

She ignores me. “I’m here, Scarlett.”

A nurse comes in.

“Let’s see how we’re doing here,” she says.

Scarlett turns over to her back. I look away while the nurse does whatever she has to do.

“Okay,” she says cheerily. “Almost there!”

—

Two hours later, I’m in a shower cap, a face mask, and a plastic scrub-poncho thing. Mom and Matty are not. The nurses gave them only to me, which is telling. My pit stains are apparently that offensive.

“I look like I’m going to Niagara Falls,” I say.