“You’re doing fine,” Emme says to my mother.

“You’re a good girl,” my mother says to Emme.

“Go sit with the others. I’ll wait for the respiratory team,” Emme says.

My mother starts to say something else but squeezes Emme’s shoulder and goes out the door. Emme walks to my bedside and takes my hand in her own.

SLOW DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. MALIBU SHORES INN

11:35 A.M.

Brett and I sat on the balcony eating the last of brunch. Or I should say Brett ate brunch. I was too nervous. I pushed around my eggs Benedict and poured another cup of coffee. I had kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation all morning while Brett seemed more engrossed in carving out grapefruit sections and reading his script than in anything I was saying. Finally, I shut my mouth and focused on the waves.

My forehead was damp with sweat. I gulped down some ice water and closed my eyes. I was about to be engaged! Why was I feeling this way? Shouldn’t I be feeling excitement and happy anticipation instead of terror and tumult? A pain knifed in my stomach. Christ! This was no time for a flare-up. There were Tums in the car with my cigarettes. On the room service cart was a chilled, pre-opened bottle of champagne. I knew I should wait until after the proposal before I drank it, but this was an emergency.

“I’m a little thirsty, do you mind?”

“Huh?” Brett was mouthing his Pablo lines, lecturing an invisible nun. He bowed his head and made the sign of a cross.

I poured myself a glass and drank it straight down, swallowed a bite of croissant to soak up the alcohol, and poured another. I returned the bottle to the ice bucket and suppressed a burp. That was better. I mean, what was the big deal? Okay, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I wanted to spend my life with Brett but was anyone a hundred percent sure about anything? I was pretty sure I wanted to marry Brett and I knew for certain that I wanted him to want to marry me. I was definitely telling Brett about the Reiner film once we were engaged. If he wanted to break it off fine, but I’d be on stronger footing with a ring on my finger. Besides, he was so immersed in this Spanish priest role that maybe he wouldn’t care.

The pain in my stomach hit again, stronger this time and longer. I would have to tough it out. I considered polishing off the bottle but that would be rude, perhaps alcoholic, and certainly not beneficial to the dewy-eyed moment I was waiting to experience.