If I Was Ready

Five Weeks LaterJune 30th; 2007Taylor Swift's Point of View I'm almost 38 weeks pregnant now — full term, finally. A couple weeks ago, I graduated high school, thankfully. I managed to graduate a year early, so at least I don't have to deal with any more of that mess. Travis still has another year to go. There's a nursery all set up in my house, and another one ready in Travis's. We're going to be switching back and forth between the two, trying to figure out how this whole thing works with two teenage parents living apart.

Travis has been working a telemarketing job. He hates it. He spends his days sitting in a cubicle, making calls for $8 an hour mostly getting screamed at by strangers on the phone. But it's something, and he's doing his best to keep things going. I keep telling him he doesn't need the job. I have enough money to support both of us. But Travis — he's stubborn. Says he needs to do the responsible thing. Get a job. Make money. Like that's all it takes to prove he's grown up.

Travis collapses onto the couch like he just ran a marathon. "I'm so damn tired," he moans, rubbing his eyes like the world is personally attacking him. "This telemarketer job sucks the life out of me."

I stare at him, jaw tight. "You're tired? You work three hours a day. I've been carrying a baby for nine months, and somehow you're supposed to be the one who's tired?"

He shrugs like it's the same thing. "Yeah, but people scream at me all day. It's exhausting."

"Excuse me?" I snap. "People scream at you? Try carrying a watermelon in your stomach while your feet swell to the size of small boats. Try having to pee every five minutes while your back aches so bad you can barely stand."

He groans. "I'm just saying I'm trying to pull my weight here."

"By whining about a crappy job you hate?" I fire back. "I'm doing all the heavy lifting, Travis. Literally. You're lucky you don't have morning sickness."

He leans forward, voice low. "So what? You think I should just sit around all day while you do everything?"

"No," I say, teeth clenched. "I want you to stop pretending your 'job' is the same kind of hard. Because it's not. Not even close."

He stands, irritated. "You don't get to tell me how hard my job is. I'm the one out there trying to make money."

"By selling crap on the phone to angry strangers?" I scoff. "Come on."

He stares at me, the fight flashing in his eyes. "Well, what do you want me to do? Just quit and sit on my ass?"

"No," I say, voice sharp. "I want you to actually help not just complain. Be here. Be present. Stop acting like being tired means you're the victim." He clenches his jaw, but I don't back down. "Because I'm the one who's nine months pregnant and full of hormones and still managing everything while you sit there whining about calls."

There's a long beat of silence, the tension thick. Then he sighs, running a hand over his face. "Alright, maybe I'm tired. But I'm tired because I want this to work, Taylor. For us."

I soften just a little. "Me too. But we have to do it together...without the whining."

He runs a hand through his hair, looking both frustrated and exhausted. "I'm not trying to whine. I'm just—" He stops himself. "Look, I hate this job. But I'm doing it because I don't want to be a deadbeat."

I cross my arms, eyes locked on him. "And I'm saying you don't have to prove anything to me right now. You're already carrying enough weight just being in my life. I don't need you to be a hero."

He shakes his head. "It's not about being a hero. It's about responsibility. About showing that I'm not just some kid who's gonna bail when things get hard."

I scoff, stepping closer. "So what? Being tired excuses you from actually helping? You think a paycheck wipes away all the nights I'm up in pain or puking?"

He winces. "No, but—"

I cut him off, voice sharper than I want. "Then don't just work. Be present. Help me pack the nursery. Go to the appointments. Call the damn insurance people. I'm not asking for a lot."

He stares at me like I just said the sky is green. "Okay, fair. I can do that."

Before I can answer, there's a sudden, pop then a warm trickle starts sliding down my legs. I freeze. Then look down, eyes wide.

"I think you just peed yourself," Travis says, his voice a mix of shock and amusement.

"Shit!" I waddle fast toward the kitchen, clutching my belly. I grab a rag, but the fluid keeps coming in waves, soaking the floor beneath me.

"Do you need me to help?" His voice is suddenly sharp, alert.

"My water broke," I say, voice shaking between panic and disbelief.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT? OH OKAY, OH MY GOD." He's on his feet, fumbling for his flip phone like a man whose whole world just tipped over.

I sink down against the counter, heart pounding faster than ever. This is happening. And we're not just practicing for some dumb egg experiment anymore.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I watch as Travis fumbles with his flip phone.

"Calling Coach!" Travis yells, spinning in a full circle like that's somehow going to help him find better cell reception.

"What—why?!"

"I told him I would!"

"Why?!"

"Because he's—like—we're bros! He wanted to make sure everything was okay!"

"You're not calling your football coach while I'm leaking amniotic fluid all over the goddamn floor!"

But he's already got his phone out, thumb hovering over the call button like a man possessed. "It'll be quick!"

"I swear to God, if you dial that number—"

He pauses. We lock eyes.

"Travis," I say, low and dangerous. "Put. The phone. Down."

"But—"

"Put it down before I launch this soaked towel at your face and then go give birth in his office."

He hesitates, thumb twitching. "He's just gonna think I ghosted again..."

"Oh no," I say, gasping mockingly, "Coach might be mad while I'm in labor. Guess who wins that one?"

He blinks, guilt flashing across his face, and slowly lowers the phone. "You win."

"Damn right I do."

There's a beat of silence. Then another warm rush down my legs. I look down.

"Travis?" I say quietly.

He straightens up immediately, panic renewed. "Yeah?"

"I need you to help me get to the car."

His eyes go wide. "Okay. Yes. Yes, ma'am. Captain. Boss."

"And no more phone calls."

"Absolutely. Just us. And the baby. And the terrifying unknown of human childbirth. Yay."

When we load up Travis is driving like he's trying to qualify for NASCAR.

"Travis, if you take one more turn like that, the baby's going to be born in the back seat."

He slams on the brakes at a yellow light like he's just remembered we're not being chased. "Sorry! Sorry. I'm trying to be fast but like... gentle-fast. Heroic-fast. Like, save-the-day-fast."

"You're swerving like the tires are made of Jell-O."

"Well maybe you should be the one driving while leaking fluids and squeezing a towel between your thighs like a tourniquet!"

"God, I knew you were going to make this about the towel," I mutter, gripping the door handle like it's the only thing tethering me to Earth.

"You used the good towel!"

"Because I didn't want to ruin the seats!"

"They're already ruined emotionally."

"Just focus on the road!"

"I am!" he snaps, then immediately veers slightly into the next lane before correcting. "Mostly."

I groan as another contraction hits, sharp and unforgiving, punching me right in the spine. "Okay, this one's bad. This one's bad."

"Okay! Okay. Breathe. You're breathing, right?"

"Yes I'm breathing Travis."

"Jesus," he mutters. "This is happening. It's happening."

"You're just now realizing that?"

"No, but like... actually happening. In real time. With like, fluids and towels and... breathing and yelling. And we haven't even installed the car seat yet!"

"WHAT?"

"I was going to do it tomorrow!"

I bury my face in my hands. "We are not ready for this."

"Speak for yourself! I've watched four videos on swaddling!"

"Oh, well thank God we have an expert in the car."

He points ahead. "Hospital's up there. We're almost there. We're gonna make it."

I peek through my fingers at the glowing red hospital sign in the distance. My heart is racing, my body's a mess, I'm still wearing the pajama shirt with a stain on it I haven't identified yet—but somehow, despite all the chaos, I start to laugh.

Travis glances at me. "You okay?"

"I'm about to give birth and I'm still more emotionally stable than you."

He grins, eyes flicking between me and the road. "I love you too."

Travis practically skids the car into the hospital driveway like we're in the third act of a rom-com. He throws it into park and jumps out, sprinting to my door like he's rescuing me from a burning building.

"I've got you!" he shouts.

"I can walk, Travis."

"You're in labor."

"I'm leaking, not paralyzed."

Still, he insists on helping me out of the car like I'm a glass doll, then grabs our overnight bag—which he packed with two shirts, no pants, and three different kinds of deodorant—and rushes ahead like he's the one about to give birth.

"Excuse me! My girlfriend's water broke!" he announces dramatically at the front desk.

The nurse behind the counter blinks once. "Okay. Is she—?"

"She's in the doorway," I deadpan, waddling in with my towel of shame.

"Oh. Okay! Okay, come on, we'll get you triaged. How far apart are your contractions?"

"I don't know," I mutter. "Time is fake. Reality is a suggestion."

"They're about five minutes," Travis says, pointing at his watch. "I've been tracking."

"You tracked them?" I blink at him. "When?"

"While you were yelling at me in the car. Multitasking."

I stare at him. "That's both impressive and stupid."

"Thank you," he beams, as if it were a compliment.

The nurse hands me a clipboard. "We just need you to fill out some quick forms—"

I stare at her.

She blinks. "Or... we can do it verbally."

"Good choice," I mutter through clenched teeth as another contraction builds.

She ushers us through double doors into triage while Travis clutches the bag like a bomb and tries to walk at my pace, which is somewhere between "duck with a limp" and "angry turtle."

In the small, cold exam room, another nurse helps me change into a gown that barely ties in the back. Travis is already asking if he should start boiling water like we're in a western.

"I'm going to check how far dilated you are," the nurse says gently.

"Cool," I mutter. "Please make it good news. Or lie to me. Either one."

She checks, then pauses. "You're at seven centimeters."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

Travis turns pale. "Wait—what does that mean? Is that close?"

"She's in active labor," the nurse says. "This baby is coming today."

"Oh my god," I whisper.

"Oh my GOD," Travis says louder.

"Seven?!" I blink at the nurse like she's just told me I've been accepted to Harvard by mistake. "How am I seven?! I haven't even felt anything!"

I twist on the hospital bed, trying to mentally retrace every moment of the last twenty-four hours. "I mean—I felt cramps. And I was gassy. Like, really gassy. But that was just... food. Or I thought it was. You're telling me that was labor?"

The nurse nods, gloves snapping off as she chuckles. "That was early labor, hon. Happens more than you think. Some women feel every little thing, and others walk in ready to push and swear it's indigestion."

Travis leans over the side rail, pale and sweating. "So she's like—advanced?"

"I wouldn't say advanced," the nurse says, "but she's efficient." She smiles at me like I've just won a secret award. "Your body's been working, even if you didn't feel it."

"Oh my god, we need to call our parents," I say, clutching Travis's arm as another small wave of pressure rolls through me.

"And Coach," he adds, already reaching for his phone.

I snap my head toward him. "I SWEAR TO GOD, TRAVIS!"

"What?!" he says, ducking like I'm about to throw another egg at him. "He told me to keep him updated!"

"This is not a team update! This is my uterus opening like a trap door!"

"You're right, you're right," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Parents first. Then maybe—"

"Do not finish that sentence."

He zips his lips and throws away the imaginary key.

I fumble for my flip phone on the nightstand, nearly dropping it with how badly my hands are shaking. The screen lights up as I flip it open, my fingers stumbling over the keypad as I dial my mom's number from memory. One ring. Two.

She picks up on the third.

"Hey, I can't talk right now," she says quickly, background noise buzzing behind her like she's already halfway out the door doing something. "Is it important?"

I blink. My stomach tightens—part nerves, part contractions. "I'm in labor. Does that qualify?"

There's a beat of silence, like the line freezes in time. Then—

"Oh my god!" she gasps, and I can already picture her grabbing her purse, keys, coat, everything at once. "Okay, okay—I'll be right there. Don't move. I'm on my way!"

She hangs up before I can say anything else.

I close the phone slowly, staring down at it for a second before muttering, "Not really planning on going anywhere..."

Behind me, Travis is still panicking in circles, trying to decide whether to call coach, the president, or maybe God himself.

"Coach said congratulations," Travis says, like he didn't just commit social betrayal in the middle of my water breaking.

I stare at him, mouth open. "You called him?!"

He has the audacity to look smug. "You never said I couldn't text him."

"Travis!"

"What?! He's proud of us!"

I huff, grabbing a towel and pressing it between my legs like that's going to stop the Niagara Falls situation currently happening. "We are literally about to have a baby, and you're texting your football coach?!"

"He's like family!"

"You've known him for two years!"

"Yeah, but it was a formative two years," he says defensively, clutching his phone like it's sacred.

I throw the towel at him. It lands on his chest with a wet slap.

"Was that—was that the rag?!" he squeaks, holding it away from his body like it might explode.

"Congratulations," I deadpan. "You're a father now. This is your life."

Our parents arrive within the hour, like a stampede of worried, overly enthusiastic energy. Travis's mom barrels in with snacks she insists I won't eat, and my mom's already halfway into tears before she's even hugged me. His dad pats my shoulder like I've just won a game, and mine—well, mine just looks like he's trying very hard not to pass out.

I say hello. I really do try to be polite.

And then I say, "Okay, everyone out."

There's a pause. Four sets of eyes stare at me, confused.

"I love you all," I add, voice tight, "but I am not about to scream and push a human being out of my body with an audience. So unless one of you has a medical degree or a very good reason to see parts of me I don't even want to see right now—you can wait in the lobby."

Travis's mom blinks. "But—"

"Lobby."

Travis takes his cue, stepping in front of them like a bouncer. "You heard the woman. We'll keep you posted."

My mom kisses my forehead, his mom hugs me like she's being forcibly removed from a burning building, and then—finally—they're gone.

I sink back against the pillows and exhale. "Thank God."

"Do I count as part of the audience?" Travis asks.

I narrow my eyes. "You helped make this baby. You stay."

He grins. "So romantic."

Then, a stronger contraction rolls through me, this one sharp and deliberate like it means business. I tense, gripping the side rail of the bed with one hand and Travis's arm with the other.

"Okay," I breathe, through clenched teeth. "That one was—yeah, that one was different."

The nurse appears as if summoned by the sound of my escalating pain. She checks the monitor and gives a nod like she's been expecting this. "Contractions are definitely stronger now. Let's see how you're progressing."

Another exam. More discomfort. And then—

"Alright, sweetheart," she says, pulling off her gloves, "you're fully dilated. Ten centimeters. Time to push."

"Wait, what?" I blink at her. "Now?"

"Yes, now."

I look at Travis like he might have an answer to a question I haven't asked yet. His eyes go wide, his face pale, like he's just realized this isn't a drill.

"Oh my God," I whisper. "Okay. Okay. I can do this. Right?"

"You can totally do this," he says, squeezing my hand so hard I think he might actually crack something. "You've got this. You're like—seriously, you're a badass."

"You're going to owe me so much for this," I growl.

"Anything. Literally anything."

The nurse gets in position. The OB wheels in like she's just arriving to a show she's been waiting for all week. Everything happens so fast. Stir-ups. Lights. Shouts of encouragement. My legs feel like they don't belong to me anymore. And then it begins.

"Push!"

I scream. Not like in the movies—some dramatic, high-pitched thing—but a guttural, frustrated growl, like I'm trying to exorcise a demon with my entire body.

"You're doing amazing!" someone says.

I don't know who. Everyone is just a blur of voices and gloves and surgical masks and chaos. Another contraction. Another push.

I hear Travis's voice close to my ear. "You're so strong, Tay. You're so close. I can see—oh my God, I see the head."

"Don't you dare describe it," I bark.

He immediately shuts up.

I grit my teeth and bear down like my life depends on it—because, well, it kind of does. I've never worked this hard in my life. Not even during finals week when I had four papers due and mono.

Then suddenly, the doctor raises her hand like she's directing traffic. "Okay, stop pushing for a second!"

"What?! Why?" I pant, chest heaving. "You told me to push!"

"You're crowning. We need to stretch and control the delivery to prevent tearing."

Oh. Fantastic. I go still, trying not to scream, but then—Oh my God. I don't know what's happening down there, but it feels like someone just lit a torch, shoved it between my legs, and said, 'Can I roast it like a marshmallow?'

I choke on my own breath. "WHAT IS THAT?! IS THAT NORMAL?!"

"You're doing great," the nurse says calmly, like my crotch isn't on fire.

Travis looks like he wants to throw up and cry all at once. "You're okay! You're okay! They said it's normal!"

"Okay, you're almost there! Push!" the doctor urges, voice far too chipper for someone watching me split open.

I can't even respond. I just groan low and guttural then let out a scream that rattles the ceiling tiles. My whole body feels like it's ripping in half, like every nerve is short-circuiting all at once.

"Good! Just one more!"

One more, my ass. I grit my teeth, dig my heels into the bed, and push like hell.

Everything burns. Everything stretches. Everything hurts. But somewhere under the weight of it all, there's this wild, trembling hope that it's almost over. And then—release. A slippery, surreal whoosh, like something being pulled from the deepest part of me, and suddenly the pressure is gone.

The room fills with sound. A shrill, crackling wail cuts through the air like it's been waiting to be born just as long as she has.

"It's a girl!" someone announces, but I barely register who. My chest rises and falls like I just ran a marathon barefoot through lava. I'm sobbing and laughing and too exhausted to figure out which one I'm doing more of.

Travis is still gripping my hand, eyes wide, face pale, but there are tears on his cheeks too. He looks at me like I just handed him the whole damn universe. They place her on my chest—warm and sticky and screaming and she's real. She's ours.

I look down at the tiny, red-faced creature blinking up at me and whisper, "Hi."

She settles almost instantly. As if she already knows the sound of my voice.

Travis leans over, pressing a kiss to my temple with shaking lips. "You did it," he whispers. "You really did it."

I can't stop staring at her. My heart is too full, my body too empty. And somehow, that makes perfect sense.

We're not ready. We're terrified and reckless and way too young.

~

I'm lying in the recovery room, propped up slightly by a sea of pillows that don't really help with the aching in every inch of my body. The gown is itchy, the lights are too bright, and I feel like I've been turned inside out, but... she's here. And she's healthy. And I'm—somehow—still alive. Which is really saying something.

There's a soft knock at the door, and then my parents peek in. My mom's holding a little bouquet of daisies and carnations, slightly wilted from the heat, and my dad's got a tiny brown teddy bear tucked under his arm like it might fall apart if he squeezes it too tight.

"Hey, sweetie," my mom says as they walk in, her eyes already welling up with tears.

"Hey," I manage, giving her a tired smile. I feel like I've run ten miles uphill in the rain and then been steamrolled. Twice.

Travis is in the chair next to me, hunched over like the baby in his arms is made of glass. He's rocking her gently, back and forth, eyes glued to her face like she's the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. His oversized hoodie is wrinkled and speckled with what I hope is formula and not some unidentifiable newborn fluid. He hasn't let go of her since they cleaned her up and wrapped her in that little pink-and-blue striped blanket.

My mom comes over and brushes my hair back from my forehead, her touch feather-light. "You did good," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

I blink back tears. "Thanks. It only felt like I was being sawed in half."

That earns a choked laugh from my dad, who sets the teddy bear on the edge of the bassinet like it's a ceremonial offering. He looks between me and the baby and Travis and just... shakes his head, eyes glassy. "I can't believe she's here."

"Me either," I whisper.

Travis looks up finally, and there's this awe in his face—something raw and too big for words. "She's got your nose," he says, quietly, like he's still piecing it together himself. "And your mouth."

I look over at her. She's squirming a little in his arms, her tiny fists curled up by her cheeks like she's already ready to fight the world.

"God help the world," I mutter with a crooked smile, "if she's anything like either of us."

"God help us," my mom adds, and for the first time in hours, the room fills with soft laughter.

"Do you wanna hold her?" I ask, turning my head toward my mom.

Her eyes widen, like I just offered her the moon. "Can I?" she says, already inching closer, hands instinctively lifting.

Travis stands carefully, cradling the baby like she's spun from sugar glass. His movements are slow and deliberate, like he's done this a thousand times in his head but doesn't want to screw it up now that it's real. He gently places her into my mom's waiting arms, and the baby lets out a tiny grunt of protest—more of a squeak than a cry before nestling in with the tiniest sigh, like she's decided this new set of arms will do just fine.

My mom's face softens in a way I haven't seen in years. Like all the hard lines and stress have melted off her just from holding this tiny bundle. "Oh, hi sweetie," she whispers, swaying slightly like it's second nature. "Look at you..."

I can see the tears brimming in her eyes, the way her fingers stroke gently over the baby's little pink hat. She's quiet for a second, just staring, like the world has stopped and shrunk down to the size of a newborn.

Travis leans over, eyes still glued to the baby. "She needs a name."

"I know..." I exhale. "We never really talked about them."

"Probably because I have terrible taste," he jokes. "I have a feeling you'll hate all my ideas."

I smirk, but I'm too tired to argue. Instead, I let my eyes drift to the hospital room wall where there's a dry erase board with the date scribbled across the top.

"June," I say softly. "That works, right?"

He follows my gaze. "June," he repeats, testing the sound of it in his mouth like he's trying to see how it fits. "It's soft. Simple. Pretty."

My mom smiles, still rocking our daughter gently. "June suits her."

"June what?" I ask, glancing at Travis.

He rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know. What about Eloise?"

I blink. "You thought of that?"

He shrugs. "I told you I had names. You just never let me get past the dumb ones."

I laugh quietly, the sound raspier than usual. "June Eloise Kelce."

The name feels warm in my mouth. Familiar, even though I've never said it before. I glance over at our baby again, sleeping so peacefully now in my mom's arms.

"Yeah," I whisper. "That's her."

"Hi, June Eloise," Travis murmurs, leaning closer to kiss her forehead. "Welcome to the chaos."

Just then, there's a soft knock at the door. Travis looks up, and his parents step inside, both smiling nervously but clearly excited.

"Hey, you two," his mom says quietly, careful not to disturb the peaceful moment.

I manage a tired smile, and Travis stands to greet them, taking June carefully from my mom.

His dad pulls up a chair beside us. "She's beautiful. You both did great."

"She's amazing, Dad. God, I just... I'm seventeen. I know I shouldn't be doing this at seventeen. I just... she's perfect. Everything good in the world wrapped up in this tiny little thing. How did I go seventeen years without her?" Travis says, his voice thick with awe and exhaustion.

He looks down at the baby cradled carefully in his arms, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The weight of it all—fear, hope, love—settles around us like a quiet promise.

"I love her. I love her so much," Travis whispers, eyes fixed on her tiny hand curled around his finger. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

He gently takes her little hand and presses a soft kiss to her delicate fingers, his voice steady but full of fierce protectiveness. The room feels still, as if holding its breath, wrapped in that quiet vow.

I sit there watching Travis hold her, but it's like I'm watching someone else's life unfold. Everyone around me talks about love, about instant connection, but all I feel is a strange emptiness.

I glance over at Mom, who's quietly folding a blanket nearby. "Mom," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Did you love me right away? Like the second you saw me?"

She looks up, a soft sadness in her eyes. "Of course I did."

—————Author's Note:

Travis is uwu

The next like six chapters are Travis's POV