Leap of Faith Read Online Free Page B

from her epidural. “We aren’t keeping this baby. It’ll all be over soon.”
    I nod. “I know. Just thought I’d ask.” She doesn’t mention Angel and Dave.
    The doctor and a nurse come in to check her and say it’s time to push. “Are you staying?” the doctor asks me.
    I shrug. “I guess.”
    The doctor smiles. “It’ll be a good learning experience for you.”
    Yeah. Contraception 101. Not that I’ll ever let a guy devirginize me. Especially not now that they’ve got Mom’s legs hoisted up and she’s baring all. Not a chance. I’ll never be in that situation.
    “Come stand by me,” the doctor says, motioning me over.
    “I don’t want to look.” I can feel the repulsed expression on my face.
    “It’s a baby. There’s nothing gross about it.”
    I have no interest in seeing my mom “down there,” but I inch a little closer so the doctor will leave me alone.
    “Okay,” she says to my mom, “on three you’re going to—”
    “I know how to do this!” Mom snaps. “I’ve had two already!”
    “One. Two. Three. Push!”
    Mom crunches practically in half and groans as she pushes. Her face turns red, then purple as the doctor counts to ten.
    “Good,” the doctor says. “The next contraction should be coming . . . right . . . now! Push!”
    Mom bears down again. Her face turns red, then purple while the doctor counts to ten. This routine continues for forty minutes. A second nurse comes in pushing a baby scale.
    “Her head’s right here,” the doctor says. “Come see,” she says to me.
    Oh, God. I don’t want to look. But she won’t stop crooking her finger at me. The look on her face is so intent and excited, I take a few steps closer and peer over the doctor’s shoulder.
    “See her hair?” The doctor rubs the top of the baby’s head with her finger, ruffling the wet, dark, feather-fine hair.
    My mouth is open, gaping at the baby’s head. She’s right there, ready to come out and be a person in the world. It’s actually kind of awesome.
    The doctor tells Mom to push again. Three more times, and the baby’s whole head and shoulders emerge. On the fourth push, the doctor pulls the baby free.
    The nurses start rushing around, swabbing the baby’s mouth, wiping the white goo from her face.
    The baby starts screaming at the top of her lungs and flailing around.
    “Want to cut the cord?” the doctor asks me, shoving a pair of surgical scissors into my hand.
    “Uh . . . okay.”
    She shows me where to cut, and I squeeze the scissors around the cord. It’s hard, like cutting through rubber.
    Once I cut the baby free from my mom, they clean her, weigh her, wrap her in a pink, white, and blue blanket, and tug a matching knit hat onto her head.
    The nurse hands her to me and announces, “Six pounds, four ounces, and twenty inches.” She glances over to my uninterested mother, then back at me. “Does she have a name?”
    I look down at the baby in my arms. Dark blue eyes. Brown fuzzy hair. Red, puffy cheeks. “Addy,” I whisper.
    Once you name it, it’s yours.
    Someone said that once.
    I don’t remember who, but it’s true. I named her. She’s mine.
    • • •
    The next day at two o’clock, they release Mom and Addy, since Mom doesn’t have insurance. I went home last night while Mom was sleeping and packed a duffel bag full of everything I own, which isn’t much. This morning, I took a shower and told Hope that I love her. She was in a shitty mood and just said, “Whatever, Faith. You’re so strange sometimes.”
    An orderly comes into Mom’s hospital room with a wheelchair, which pisses Mom off because she can walk to the car on her own. She wants to know how much she’ll be charged for the dumbass who pushes the wheelchair.
    The plan is for Dave and Angel to come over as soon as we get home with the baby and take her.
    Too bad for them.
    She’ll never get there.
    I carry Addy, all bundled in her blanket, down the hall to the elevator. The man pushing