All the bras I packed are giant and utilitarian. Nothing cute and sexy. Not that I think my husband believes me cute and sexy anymore.

Fat and grumpy? Oh yeah. I am most definitely that.

Owen had immediately questioned why I was packing so much weird stuff and I finally confessed I thought I was in labor. You would’ve thought I’d told him I was dying, from the look on his face. Luckily enough, he snapped to attention and came through, making sure I had everything I needed, loaded up the car with my stuff, and wouldn’t let me carry a thing. He helped me out to the car and escorted me in as I went through an awful contraction.

I didn’t tell him that part, though. Just clenched my teeth and dealt with it silently. I would’ve made a really excellent pioneer woman, I’m sure.

I’m in bed at the hospital, in my own private room. Considering I’m the wife of the star quarterback of the 49ers, I receive only the best treatment at this place, which I’m taking advantage of. My brother is outside pacing the halls. I just talked to Jen on the phone, who’s excited and nervous for me.

My husband is nowhere to be found.

Of course, this little baby girl of ours decides to show up on the day her daddy is out of town. He’s been a constant by my side since the season ended. We traveled together to a few places for business until I couldn’t travel anymore per doctor’s orders. Then we stayed home and I went into full-on nesting mode, cleaning everything in sight and setting up the baby’s room.

Drew helped, since he thinks I’ve turned into this weak woman who can’t lift a thing. I just let him pamper me. He put together the crib, which was a study in patience on his part. He sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by various parts for hours, cursing up a blue streak, frustrated beyond belief. I tried to help him, but he finally told me to leave because I was only making it worse.

He finally did get that crib put together. We hired someone to come in and paint the room. The players’ wives held a baby shower for me and they gave me so much amazing stuff for the baby, I started to cry. Right there in the middle of my shower.

I have turned into an emotional wreck, I swear.

The doctor just came in to examine me and said I was dilated four centimeters. I need to be up to ten. The hardest part of labor is coming, she warned. Considering those words just struck fear in my heart because oh my God, labor has been pretty difficult up to this point, I know I’m going to need Drew to get his ass here soon.

I need him to hold my hand and tell me everything’s going to be all right. I need him to stare into my eyes and let me focus on him and nothing else. I need him to kiss me and let me curse and be my rock …

The door bursts open and in walks Owen, looking frazzled, his hair a wreck as if he’s been wrenching it between his fingers. “Have you heard from Drew?”

“No.” I scowl at him. “Didn’t I tell you to stay the hell out of here?”

He rears back at my words. “God, you’re bitchy when you’re in labor.”

“You push a seven-pound baby out of your vagina and tell me if that makes you bitchy or not, okay?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, which is sort of impossible since my belly gets in the way.

“Damn it, Fabes, you just said the V word.” He shakes his head, looking completely traumatized.

I ignore his protest. I don’t have time for his whining. My tolerance level for Owen is at about zero. I should feel bad because he did take good care of me and the kid is only nineteen, but still. My hormones and mood are both completely crazed. “Why are you back in here again?”

“I saw something on the news. They’re not letting planes land at the airport.” He pauses.

“Drew’s flying into SFO, right?”

I nod, unable to form words.

“I guess there’s some sort of cargo plane on the runway that caught on fire. No big deal, they put it out, but it’s pretty much shut down the airport while they clean it up real fast.”

“You’re kidding. Right?” Holy hell, he’d better be kidding. Though this isn’t the time for jokes, that’s for sure.

“I wish I were,” Owen says grimly.

I can’t even believe it. Drew was set to land at 4:10. He called with all his flight info right as he boarded the plane. Glancing at the clock on the table beside the bed, I see it is …

A little after four. Yeah. The timing on this is like a bad comedy.

“Hand me my phone, would you?” I left it on the table on the far side of the clock and since I’ve been having contractions, I haven’t been able to reach it. I need to just keep it by my side always. Drew will call me any minute, I hope.

Oh man, do I hope.

Owen gives me my phone and I check for texts from Drew. Nothing. I send him a quick one, asking if he’s all right and has he landed yet, but no reply. I check for a voice mail. Nothing. I call him.

No answer.

“Turn on the TV,” I say, waving my hand toward the television mounted in the corner of the room. “Put on the news or whatever it was where you saw the report.”

“Are you sure you want to watch it? It might just make you angry,” Owen says with a wince.

“Turn it on,” I practically growl and he grabs the remote, clicking on the TV without a word.

Owen finds the news report quickly, a reporter standing out in front of the airport, droning on about flights being diverted to other airports, Oakland or San Jose. Some of the planes are still circling in the air above SFO, hoping to land soon. It’s a giant mess, with the cargo plane still lying like a burned-out carcass in the middle of the runway, the giant yellow fire engines everywhere with their sirens flashing.