The day Laura went into labor started out with so much hope. My phone rang at 6:30 a.m., and I knew before I answered what it meant.
“It’s happening, Em,” Laura said, her voice a little shaky but filled with that nervous excitement I’d been waiting months to hear. “I think today’s the day. The contractions are getting closer.”
“I’m on my way,” I told her, already throwing on clothes. “Don’t you dare have that baby without me.”
She laughed. “I’ll try my best to hold her in.”
Mom and I rushed to the hospital, our hands full of bags and blankets and all the things we’d been preparing for weeks.
When we got to Laura’s room, she was already in a hospital gown. She smiled when she saw me.
“Don’t look so worried,” she teased, reaching for my hand. “I’ll be fine. Women have been doing this forever.”
“I know,” I said, squeezing her fingers. “But none of those women were my sister.”
We waited for hours. The clock on the wall moved more slowly with every contraction. Laura would grip my hand so hard I thought my bones might break, but I never pulled away.
Between contractions, we’d talk about silly things. What the baby would look like. Whether she’d have Laura’s stubborn streak. What kind of mom Laura would be.
