My Father's Best Friend

January 27, 1992

“Simon,”

Lance Gallagher called out, breathlessness apparent in his voice as he jogged through the halls of St. Therese's Hospital, sifting through the many people filling the hallways wearing identical worried faces.

He continued to call out as he followed the signs directing him to the operating room before he finally saw his best friend, pacing by the doors. Right then, just as he sighed in relief, did he realize that he should have just asked at a nurse's station for directions, instead of wasting his time running around the hospital.

Simon Owen, a bespectacled, lanky man of twenty-three years, stopped his pacing and turned his full attention to Lance, who was panting and sweating through his white dress shirt.

He flashed a worried smile at Lance, “She’s been inside for more than an hour.”

Simon's voice was strange and rough to both their ears, and broke at least twice. On everyday situation, Lance would have pointed it out and laughed, but he let the matter slide, not even bothering to reserve it for sheer pettiness.

“I’ve been hearing her scream,” Simon continued, “I want to come in… But I can't… Blood makes me nauseous, and they told me there might be some blood. Oh God! I shouldn’t have impregnated her. This was a really bad choice. I should have just- “

“Stop!” Lance placed heavy hands on his friend's shoulders, forcing him to stop thinking and look at him.

He knew that Simon would drive himself to complete exhaustion and despair if he carried on rambling negative thoughts. He loved his wife Pamela, the mother to his currently- trying –to- be- born child, and with that worry came fear. Fear of losing her.

Lance tried to make him see reason, “Every natural labor is supposed to be that-,” he pointed to the doors of the delivery room, “-loud,” he finished.

“I know that but what if...” Simon couldn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. What if something happened to Pam. Lance knew the unspoken question by looking into his best friend’s rich brown eyes. Simon was a man of little optimism, conjuring up worst case scenarios at the worst of times.

Lance shook his head, “That will not happen. Pam’s strong; she won’t give up on life. She wouldn’t do that to you and your baby.”

The doors of the delivery room opened. The nurse who was assisting with the birth of Pam and Simon's child stood in front of them, “The baby is crowning, are you planning to take a video of the labor?” she asked the two men, noting that their expressions turned from expectant to confusion.

“Huh?” they said in unison. Any other given situation, the sight of two men short for words, and confused like 6-year-old boys would have been amusing…

“Are you planning to video it?” the nurse asked again, voice high and clipped.

“What will we video?” asked Lance.

The nurse frowned, “The labor.”

A crazed expression marred Simons face, “Why in the world would we want that?”

“For home videos,” replied the nurse as if it were the most obvious answer.

“No,” Simon said, head shaking with a disgusted look on his face. He didn’t want to have a video of his wife in pain AND in a messy state. She wouldn’t like that last part.

“All right, then.” She said and scurried back inside, leaving the doors opening and closing, opening and closing, until they stood still. Then silence. The men let out a breath.

“Pamela wouldn’t want that you know. She’s too vain to want to see herself in a video of her labor,” Lance said into the silence, eliciting a nervous chuckle from Simon.

“Yeah, she wouldn’t want that.” Simon seconded.

Simon and Lance found themselves standing in front of a sleeping Pamela, sweat covered her forehead, and dark circles were present under her eyes.

“Congratulations Mr. Owen,” Dr. Clementine said as she handed Simon a bundle of pink cloth. Simon received it and there she was, the product of his and Pamela’s essence, their own bundle of joy.

Lance watched as Simons face gradually lit up and a big grin decorated his face, “Congratulations pal,”

Lance said as he gripped Simons shoulder in a male embrace; he looked over his shoulder at the baby he was holding.

“Wow, she’s beautiful man.” Lance said, taken aback by the child’s resemblance of her parents. She had a little petite nose that was inherited by Simon, along with his almond shaped eyes. The small patch of hair on her tiny head was the same brown that came from Pamela. She looked like an angel.

“Well, that’s the understatement of the year,” Simon chuckled.

“What are you naming her?” asked Lance, already thinking of a name for the little angel knowing full well that it wouldn’t come in the running to be most favored.

“Andrea,” came the soft melodious voice of the woman lying on the hospital bed, Pamela. Both men’s eyes travelled to her sweaty face.

She rolled her eyes at their reaction to her disheveled appearance, “Yeah I know I look like hell, but I brought an angel,” her eyes found Simon’s and in that split moment she felt his love radiating from the luscious brown depths.

“Yes, you did,” he drawled as he walked towards his wife, and with an awkward yet eerily familiar movement, he put the baby between them, “You did great Pam, honey, I love you,” he whispered.

She smiled, “I love you too.”

“But…” Simon said.

“But what?” she asked, a crease forming on her beautiful forehead.

“Don’t you think Andrea is pretty Italian…. And based on what I know, it’s an Italian derivation of Andrew, which means manly. Our daughter is far from manly,” he said as he looked down at the baby quietly sleeping between them.

“Oh, but neither of us have an inkling of Italian in our blood. Plus, I want her to be a bit manly,” remarked Pamela.

“Okay then, Andrea it is.” Simon agreed as he kissed Pam on the lips.

Lance stood there and watched the whole scenario in front of him. He felt his heart twist in pain and break a bit. With that, he chuckled at himself.

How could you be so foolish to still love a girl that is now married and a mother? A mother to your best friend’s child.

He watched Simon and Pam, the woman both men loved greatly, rejoice in what God gifted them. He started for the door, leaving the little family to bask in the glory of their recent little addition.