“The land of truth and consequences,” I said, poking at the vegetarian option (grilled marinated peppers and spicy black-bean burgers) which had, so far, had no takers. “Less than an hour before everything hits the fan.”

“Ah, right,” he said, eyeing the veggie burgers disdainfully, “Jason.”

“Not Jason,” I said. “God. He’s the least of my problems. My mother.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Right.”

“I haven’t even thought about Jason,” I told him, using the spatula to stack the burgers so that maybe they’d look more appetizing. “I mean, I was dreading seeing him at the library, because that was not going to be a good scene. But now . . . now, everything’s different. I mean, we’re . . .”

Wes waited, not saying anything, as I searched for the right word. A woman passed by, eyeing the peppers before loading up from the next pan, which was full of steaks.

“Over,” I finished, realizing this myself just as I said it. I could only imagine Jason’s response to me quitting the info desk: he’d never want me back now, and that, I realized, was just fine with me. “It’s over,” I said again, testing how I felt as my mouth formed the word. Okay, actually. “We’re over.”

“Wow,” Wes said slowly. “Are you—”

“Excuse me, are these vegetarian?” I looked up to see a short, squat woman in a bright print dress, holding a plateful of potato chips. She had on thick, wire-rimmed glasses, which clearly were not strong enough for her to make out the sign that said VEGETARIAN ENTRÉE.

“Yes,” I said. “They are.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, then scooped up one of the burgers and put it on her plate. She squinted down at it, then moved on. To Wes I said, “What were you—”

“Lady at the corner table wants a white wine spritzer,” Bert reported as he passed by with a trayful of crumpled napkins and empty cups. “Pronto!”

Wes started around the table, glancing back at me. “Um, nothing,” he said. “I’ll tell you later.”

As he went back to the bar, Delia moved down the table, rearranging the items in the pans. “It is just so weird,” she said, taking in the black-bean burgers, “because I meant to bring more of those, and forgot them. I was so worried we wouldn’t have enough!”

“Nope,” I said, waving off a fly that was buzzing over them. “Plenty.”

“See, again,” she said, sighing. “Too good. Too good! I don’t like this. I need a sense of balance. I never thought I’d admit this, but I need chaos.”

Just as we were leaving, she got her wish.

It happened as we were packing the last of our stuff into the van. Wes and I were pushing in the carts, and Delia was at the top of the driveway, getting her check from the client, who was so entirely happy with her catering experience that she was paying full price and adding a bonus, which was another first. So all was great, wonderful: perfect. And then I heard a shriek.

It wasn’t Delia. Nope. It was the client, reacting to the fact that Delia’s water had just broken. The baby was on its way.

Chapter Sixteen

"Are you okay?”

I nodded. "I’m fine. Fine.”

This was my mantra, the thing I kept saying in my mind. Actually, though, I wasn’t entirely certain. All I knew for sure was that I was at the hospital: everything beyond that, like the last time I’d been here, was a bit of a blur.

After the initial shock of the water breaking, we’d done what we did best: gathered our wits, got a plan, and went into action. It wasn’t until we’d piled into the van and were on our way to the hospital, Delia beside me, my hand gripped in hers, that I’d glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was five forty-five, which meant that in fifteen minutes, I was supposed to be meeting my mother at the Commons. Considering how things were going, this should have been my biggest concern. But instead, my mind kept drifting back to another ride, not so long ago.

Then, I’d been holding a hand, too. My father’s, though, had been limp, my fingers doing all the work to hold our palms to each other. Instead of Bert, who was breathing loudly through his nose while Delia waved him off, annoyed, there’d been a paramedic across from me, his hands moving swiftly to attach an oxygen mask and prepare the defibrillator. And instead of the wind whooshing past from Wes’s open window, and Delia on her cell phone calmly making arrangements with Pete and the babysitter, there had been an eerie, scary silence, punctuated only by the sound of my heart beating in my ears. Then, a life was ending. Here, one was about to begin. I didn’t believe in signs. But it was hard to ignore the fact that someone, somewhere, might have wanted me to go through this again and see there was another outcome.

The memories were everywhere. When we pulled up at the curb, it was in the same spot. Entering emergency, the doors made that same smooth swish noise. Even the smell was the same, that inexplicable mix of disinfectant and florals. For a second, I’d thought for sure I couldn’t do it, and found myself hanging back. But then Wes turned back and looked at me, offering the same question he’d been asking ever since. I’d nodded, then fallen in beside him. He was pushing Delia in a wheelchair and she was taking deep, slow breaths, so I did too. When we got on the elevator and the doors slid shut, I finally relaxed and felt myself rise.

What I felt now was a different kind of scared. For the past two and a half hours, I’d sat on the bench in the hallway a few feet down from Delia’s room, watching as doctors and nurses first ambled in and out, as if there were a million years before anything really happened, then started moving more quickly, and even more so, and then suddenly, everything was a commotion. Machines were beeping, voices calling out pages overhead, the floor beneath my feet reverberating as a doctor jogged down the hallway, his stethoscope thumping against his chest.