June 12, 1983

Trice calls from New Hampshire. She says a Suzanne called her and left a message to call back.

“Nope, not us,” I say. “Suzanne’s out having a baby.”

Just then comes the sound of someone clumping up stairs. The door bursts open and Suzanne says, “I’m dilated three centimeters!” Rushing past, she waves off the phone. “I need to pee NOW!”

“Three centimeters? Is that good or bad?” Trice whispers in my ear. “Has her water dilated yet?”

“Three centimeters within the past thirty-six hours,” Suzanne’s voice echoes off the bathroom tile. “And that wasn’t my water that broke, it was the mucus membrane.”

She flushes the toilet, exits the bathroom, and I hand-off the phone.

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