Page 145 of Such Sharp Teeth

“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.

Scarlett takes a shallow inhale and cries out through clenched teeth.

“Okay, Dad, I’m going to ask you to hold right here, thank you.” One of the nurses instructs Matty to hold Scarlett’s foot.

For someone as open as myself, I find it surprisingly disturbing how many people are currently gathered around my sister’s vagina.

Mom is asked to hold Scarlett’s other foot.

I am not assigned a task.

“Okay, Scarlett,” the doctor says, “it’s time to push. I’m going to tell you when. I’m going to say ‘Push,’ and then I’m going to count to ten, okay? And you’re going to push for that ten count, okay?”

“I can’t,” Scarlett whimpers. “I can’t.”

“You can do it, Scarlett. Ready? Big breath in. Okay . . . push! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Okay, good, good.”

Nope. Nope nope nope.

I don’t know where to look.

“Okay, you’re doing great. I need you to take a deep breath, and then I’m going to need you to push again, okay?”

I expect the baby to come every time she pushes, but she keeps doing it, and nothing seems to be happening. The moment keeps repeating and repeating. The only things changing are the song that’s playing and how loudly Scarlett moans over it.

“Okay, good, good, Scarlett. So, I’m not going to cut you; I’m going to let you tear naturally. The more the baby’s head stretches it out, the better, okay?”

I’ve never heard a worse sentence in my life.

I look at Mom, but she won’t meet my eye.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Scarlett says. “I can’t. Please.”

She looks so exhausted.

“You can. You can do it.”

The more time passes, the more the tonic sick fades from me, and everything becomes more terrifying. More exciting. More real.

“Almost, almost. One more, Scarlett.”