Late: Short Fiction

"Not until I am two weeks late," she had insisted over and over for the last month. But now that she was a few days late, it seemed she was changing her mind. Her movements slowed, her weight increased steadily, and her feet swelled. Her breath became ore labored, making it difficult at times to understand her. "We are almost there," she whispered each morning upon waking. Each night as she lay in bed, she would say, "It can't be much longer now."

The afternoon before the two week anniversary, she seemed crest fallen. "Babies come when they want to," she cried when she called form work. Cozied in a booth at dinner, she smiled for the first time that day. "Babies come when they want to," she declared.

"That's what you said this afternoon," I responded. "But our baby is coming as determined by the medical field."

"No," she said, fidgeting in her seat and still smiling. "Our baby is coming now. Do you think yuo could get the car and say several rolls of paper towel?"

*** One Minute Writer ***