Heathcliffe Honeybun huddled lower in the hard chair and tried to ignore the screeching from down the hall. His brothers surrounded him, every one of them giving off similar waves of discomfort and fear.

His dad paced the room, his face pale under the mop of graying red hair. He would stop pacing with every scream, wring his hands, and then start pacing again as the screaming stopped.

By direct contrast, his mother sat in a chair by the door, her beautiful face the picture of serenity and pleasure.

Heathcliffe decided women were either incredibly strong or magnificent masochists. He was glad he wasn’t a woman. He was pretty sure he’d never survive childbirth.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway and Heathcliffe looked up. Godric was running toward them, a smile on his face. “The baby’s crowned!”

Next to him, Alf shot out of his chair, “What? Like in knighted? Will we need to bow when we see it?”

Wanda Honeybun chuckled. “He means he can see the head. The baby’s almost here.”

Godric looked at Bob Honeybun. “Dad, she’s insisting. You don’t have much time. If you don’t get in there, Edric’s gonna come drag you in.”

The patriarch of the Honeybun clan lost another shade of color and gulped…hard. “Oh god.” He glanced at his wife.

Wanda stood up and went to him, grasping his big, shaking hand. “You can do this, honey. In fact, you know you have no choice.” She gave him ‘the look’, which, as long as Heathcliffe could remember, had caused all the testosterone in the vicinity to flee in terror. No male could fight against ‘the look’. It ate all resistance in its path and turned the will and knee ligaments of any who dared try to mush. In his present condition, Heathcliffe knew his dad didn’t have a chance against it.

“Come on, dad.” Godric urged.

Another scream rent the air, underscoring the urgency in Godric’s voice.

“Dad!” Edric’s terrified scream finally got Bob Honeybun’s feet moving. He dragged Wanda down the hall with him, as if hoping to hide behind her when things got ugly.

Godric looked at his brothers, who were huddling more deeply into their hard, plastic chairs trying to disappear.

“Come on, men. Soldier up. We have a wedding to attend.”

The collective groan was lost behind another blood curdling scream, which shook the walls of the hospital waiting room, threatening to dump pictures from the walls.

The sound of heels clicking on the hall tiles preceded a wash of fresh estrogen into the room. Smelling of flowers and fresh air, Brita, Angie, Pleasance, Fabiana, and Dini ran down the hall looking like they’d just left a Victorian Ball.

They were dressed in multi-hued splendor, with sweeping skirts, plunging necklines, and violently cinched waists. They looked like frosting roses on a wedding cake. Their faces were suffused with color, both from running and probably not a little bit because they couldn’t breathe under the restrictive fashion.

They squealed as they saw the family. “Are we too late?” Pleasance asked with a wide grin.

Dini tripped over the hem of her dress and fell against Percy, laughing.

Brita explained, “We were trying on our bridesmaids dresses clear across town when Wanda called. We didn’t think we’d make it in time.”

Percy’s gaze slipped down her long, lean form. “You look delicious.”

Brita twisted her lips to keep from smiling. “Thanks, Honeybun.”

Alf opened his arms and caught Pleasance as she threw herself at him, kissing him loudly. “You’re not too late,” he told them. “She’s still screaming like someone’s ripping her into tiny little pieces.”

Angie clapped her hands and kissed Alastair on the cheek. “Oh good!”

Heathcliffe shared a look with Clovis. His older brother shook his head. “Women are tough, bro.”

“Iron balls,” Clovis agreed.

“Can we see her?” Fabiana’s subdued, husky voice was such a contrast to her companions’ excited voices that it cut through everything else like an NFL offense through the Indianapolis Colts’ defensive line. Warwicke wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It seems we’re all gonna have to see her. Dad just went in, she’s insisting on being married before the little tyke is born.”

Fabby frowned at him. “Of course she is.” Shaking her head, she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go. I don’t want to miss a minute of this.”