What can go wrong. What can go wrong? Why did I even say that? I should've known from the beginning that that platter was doomed. Poor Tall probably tried to carry it outside and fell. Why did I even push for the baby shower? Everything I touch in Chicago turns against me. Maybe coming back was a mistake. Maybe the universe is telling me to go back to France and live a quiet life by the ocean. Loads of people dream of that. I dreamt of that. Why don't I dream of it anymore? Why can't I be content with what I have? Why do I always need more?

I rap my fingers on the steering wheel as I drive five miles per hour around the hospital's parking lot, searching for an empty spot. My car and my thoughts go in circles.

The receptionist at the front desk checks me in, prints out a stick-on temporary badge, and directs me to the maternity ward. Angie's bag is pushing me over to one side and I keep hitting it on every doorway and every other person walking by. I don't know what is needed for a hospital birth, but I didn't anticipate this much stuff. Aren't they supposed to provide you with everything?

Me: i'm here. tell mike to come get me.

No reply.

Me: can you come get me? i'm in the waiting room.

No reply.

An older couple is sitting on the chairs grouped if an L-shape by the light beige wall near the nurse's station. I look around and choose a small bright alcove with a short vinyl couch and plant myself there, Angie's bag at my feet. The texts with Angie have been steady, and she was right to come. She was in labor.

Me: i'm in the waiting room with your bag.

Me: i'm in the waiting room with Angie's bag.

One of them should get it.

Me: how's tall doing? any news?

Ben's reply comes moments later.

Ben: We're in triage in the ER, but they suspect Tall is right, and he did break the other hip. They'll be sending him for X-rays soon.

Shit.

Me: if it's broken, what's next?

Ben: Last time he had surgery and then went into a rehab facility until he was mobile enough to return home. I spent a lot of time visiting him there.

Surgery at almost ninety? Not good. Not good.

Me: thanks for being with him.

Ben: He's part of the family. Any news on Angie? She stopped texting me twenty minutes ago and Mike isn't replying either.

Me: same with me. no one's replying. but i'm in the waiting room.

Ben: Are her parents coming?

Me: angie said they are cutting their trip short.

Ben: That's good. Angie was worried her child wouldn't know the grandparents if they keep traveling as much as they have been.

Me: she didn't tell me that, but they are coming. you and angie are real friends now.

Ben: You are correct. She's the one who pushed me to film when I cook.

I grin.

Me: i remember that. i remember her filming you in our tiny, messy kitchen in the apartment by the university, and that video getting a ton of likes.

Ben: And your grandma's recipes is what got me into food science. Have you given more thought to using her recipes for a book?

Me: i have. angie suggested something that might not be a bad idea.

Ben: What's the idea?

Now or never.

Me: that we collaborate.

Ben: I don't think I understand.

Me: hear me out. actually, can i call you? it's a lot of typing.

Ben: They took Tall for X-rays. I can't talk here, but let me walk out into the hallway, where I can. I will call you from there.

Me: i'll do the same.

***

"What do you mean by a collaboration?"

Talking to Ben on the phone for the first time since I've been back brings so many memories and I have to remind myself that he's still with Linda.

"I've cooked every single one of those recipes many times. I've eaten the food Nonna made, and I know what they are about. The tradition of Italian food is worth preserving. Real Italian food is important to me."

"I understood that. But what do you mean by collaboration?"

"We can work on the book together. You provide the food science expertise, and I will be your traditional Italian food quality control person-I can bring that to the table if we collaborate." I find a clear spot, slump against the wall in the hallway, and put Angie's bag between my feet. "We need to both agree for the things to make it into the book."

"Quality control."

"And I'm good at writing too. That's what I've been doing for the last three years: writing my dissertation."

"It does make sense. But will you be cooking with me? Be part of the experiments? Or will you just review my output and correct the wording?"

"I'll be with you every step of the way or not at all. It's Nonna's legacy, and so it's mine too. There's no other way. Either I'm in or out, and I'm ok with either one. It was your idea, so it's up to you to decide. I'm sure there are other recipes you can use as a base."

"You're right, there are other recipes, but I want your grandmother's." His inhales are audible and I imagine him pacing up and down the hallway. "They've been in my head for five years, and I...It's not the same if I use something else."

"Well, that's my offer. You can take it or leave it." Why is it always all or nothing with us?

"Another offer," says Ben.

And I know he's referring to the 'light and fun' relationship offer I gave him when we started dating.

"This one is different. There's no end date attached. I'm staying in Chicago, so I won't abandon-" you, is what I mean, but "-your book project and run away," is what I say out loud.

"Our book project."

"Our book project. Is that a 'yes' then?"

"Yes." His answer comes without a pause. "Let's do it. A cuore aperto."

"With an open heart. You are keeping that a title?"

"A working title for now."

The phone buzzes and I look at the message.

Mike: Where are you? I'm in the waiting room, and I can't find you.

"I need to go back. Mike's looking for me," I say. "I'll text you with any updates."

"OK. I will as well."

Angie's heavy bag is hitting my shins, and I try to hold it away from me and swing it less as I rush back down the grey linoleum floor to the maternity ward waiting room and text Mike.

Me: in the hallway. wait there. coming.

Mike makes the decent-sized waiting room look cramped. He tends to do it with space around him-take it over and push the walls of the room closer to him. He grabs the bag out of my hands and throws it on his back as if it's filled with feathers.

"Are you coming in or heading back to the apartment?"

"Can I go in? I'd love to check in on her."

"Let's ask the nurse, but I think you can. They finished the epidural, so you should be good. The nurse said it's going to be at least three hours before anything happens. I fuc-" Mike glances at the nurse's station and lowers his voice "-I freaking can't believe we get to meet our baby so soon."

The antepartum room looks like a swanky modern hotel but with lots of wires and a hospital bed instead of a luxurious queen or king one in the middle of the room. Angie's attached to an IV. Cables sneak around her and disappear under the blanket. Several monitors by her bed show waves moving in up and down patterns. It's like she's sick instead of in labor. It's at the same time impressive, medical-looking, and scary.

"How're you doing?" I come closer but don't touch her.

"The epidural kicked in, and I can't feel the contractions as much, but for a while there, I thought I'd kill Mike."

"There was a lot of shouting," says Mike.

"All better now." Angie is looking less pale than the last time I saw her when Mike was picking her up off the couch in Ben's house and carrying her into their minivan. "Sounds like Tall managed to break another hip."

"Yes. Ben thinks Tall's going to have surgery. I feel horrible about the whole thing."

"Why? What thing?"

"The baby shower, the dessert, the damned stand. Both you and Tall are in the hospital because of me. It's my fault."

"Hey, what are you talking about? I'm here because of this baby, and well, because of Mike, because he put the baby in me, but I've long since forgiven him. I want the baby now. And Tall's in the hospital because the old fart refuses to use his cane, that the doctor told him to use, and he was the one who decided carrying a heavy stand with desserts in his physical condition was a good idea. You don't need to take responsibility for other people's actions."

"You sound like my therapist." I smile now. Her words released the tension that's been coiling in my gut, but the guilt didn't go away completely. My presence in Chicago was what started the chain of events, and even if I was not the one pushing Tall down or making Angie give birth three weeks early-I was the catalyst.

"And I know exactly how you can repay me," says Angie.

"Sure. Anything."

"My parents. They're getting on the plane. They'll be in Chicago in about nine hours. Can you please pick them up from the airport and situate them on the foldout couch in our living room? The extra sheets are in the hall closet, in a canvas box, and there are some pillows and blankets and towels there too. I'm not sure how the timing is going to work out, but if you can take care of them, Mike will take care of me here." She rub's Mike's flat stomach-the only part of him she can reach. "And we'll let you know when the baby is out, and you can come visit."

***

Eight hours after I left the hospital, there is still no baby. I get out of bed before the sun rises and walk over to the kitchen to make coffee. Being in Mike and Angie's apartment by myself should be a treat after over a week of sharing the tight quarters with my friend, her belly, and her giant of a husband, but I'm lonely and restless.

Mike: They're talking about a C-section. We'll know soon.

A loud pop of the toaster delivering my breakfast startles me, and coffee spills on my t-shirt from the overfull travel mug in my hand. I put the lid on, grab the toast, and leave for the airport.

Chicago's O'Hare International airport welcomes me back. I'm usually the traveler, and waiting for someone at the gate is a new experience. The place is more alive at six in the morning than the local gym Mike dragged me to earlier this week.

The plane hasn't landed yet, and I get another cup of coffee to compensate for what my t-shirt got instead of me. People with cute signs 'Welcome home' and 'We missed you, Peter!' are standing by the gate, too bright and cheerful for the time of day. Hired car drivers are looking sleepy and stern, cards with the names of the passengers in their hands.

I perch on the seat near the gate and move my eyes between the arrivals panel and the phone in my hands. The C-section is underway, and I want to know the outcome. Angie and the baby will be fine. They must be fine. Coffee and worry are the reasons why my heart beats faster with every minute I don't hear from Mike.

The arrival board wins, and the announcement that Angie's parents plane has landed appears first. If there were a refresh button on the text messages, I'd be hitting it non-stop, but the only thing I can do is stare at the impassive phone screen waiting for it to deliver the news. Time crawls.

I get up and join the small crowd by the gate. The flow of passengers from the plane starts. Tearful people hug each other, the drivers take the luggage from the passengers they are there to pick up, and when the group with the "We missed you, Peter!" sign erupts in cheer at the sight of a guy in uniform, I envy Peter wishing I had someone this happy to see me when I flew back to Chicago.

Rose and Fred haven't changed much, and I recognize them the moment they emerge. I wave and smile, and they take a bit longer to figure out it's me. Everyone keeps telling me I've changed. We don't hug.

"Any news? I checked the messages, and looks like they took her in for a C-section," says Fred.

"You know as much as I do." My phone buzzes, and Fred's buzzes as well. We compete in who can unlock their phone first.

Mike: It's a girl. There were complications, and she's at the NICU right now. Angie's in the recovery room. Both of them are doing well now.

Rose is reading the message on Fred's phone. Our three pairs of eyes meet, and hesitant smiles appear on Angie's parents' faces. Not on mine. Although relief washes over me, the guilt whispers in my head that maybe if I didn't come up with the baby shower idea, Angie wouldn't have had to go through the C-section, and the baby would've been fine. The phone buzzes again.

Mike: We named her Kora.

Welcome baby Kora!

Did the chapter keep your interest?

Do you feel like Amelie has changed or are her old emotional patterns coming back?

Let me know if I messed anything about C-section, it's not something I know much about.

If you are wondering about the title of the Chapter:

Persephone in Greek mythology is the daughter of Zeus and Demeter (the Goddess of harvest, life, and death) and she was kidnapped by Hades, the God of the underworld to become his wife and rule the underworld with him.

Her name has multiple translations depending on the source and ranges from the bringer of death, destroyer of death, bringer of light, and destroyer of light.

Persephone's transitions between death/underworld and life/eath reflect how in the myth she ends up dividing her time between her husband (dark) and her mother (light).

It's a great Greek Myth and has been used in lots of modern retellings of the story. I highly recommend reading it if you haven't.

Kore (or a modern version of Kora) is one of the names given to Persephone.

@Bellkipeg - your short story loosely inspired some of the moods in this chapter.

NaNoWriMo: Day 8 - 17,468 words so far.

Week 1: The first week went well overall. I'm glad I plotted and outline this story in October, as I only need to write the events down, and I know what's going to happen. I slowed down a bit on Thursday and Friday when I was trying to figure out Linda's plotline, because I didn't spend enough time on her during October, and it was needed before I could go on.

I'm ecstatic that I posted a chapter a day for a week. My original plan was 4-6 chapters a week, so this is going better than anticipated, and I'm glad to have a head start, in case I get too tired or busy by the end of the month.

If I keep going at this rate, I'll end up will thirty chapters, which will get me 2/3rds of the way to the end of the novel. That would be fantastic, but I'm not holding my breath.

Your votes and comments motivate me to keep going and to continue with my daily writing schedule this month. Thank you for your support on this journey!