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I’ve had a few more days of morning sickness, so now he wakes up before me and brings me crackers and some juice while I’m still in bed. If I eat right away, it seems to curb the nausea, so without fail, there he is, chiseled jaw and cup of juice, breaking my heart slowly.
How dare he take such good care of me?
Can’t he see how easily this could turn into something extremely serious?
Sure, break my heart before, no big deal. Now? There’s so much more on the line. We aren’t just playing games anymore. We’re going to have a baby together. That fact still hasn’t fully sunk in for me. The surprise hasn’t worn off. A part of me still thinks it might not really be happening. It’s why every morning, like clockwork, I make Lindsey hand over another test so I can confirm the result. Two pink stripes every time. Nothing has changed, which is why I’m in an exam room in the hospital, lying on my back while Lindsey squirts blue goop on an abdominal ultrasound probe. She wants to confirm that there’s a fetal heartbeat. It’s the next step in ensuring the pregnancy is viable.
For days, she’s been rambling on about the possibilities of ectopic and tubular pregnancies, early miscarriages, and fetal implantation issues. She’s unknowingly been feeding into my anxiety, so now it’s through the roof. I’m here, with my heart in my throat, hoping beyond hope that the tiny life inside me is doing okay. It’s silly, but I’ve gotten strangely attached to the little guy over the last week. He or she or it or they has been my constant companion. We operate together. Go on runs together. We fold Connor’s laundry together. Late at night, when Connor is asleep beside me, I don’t feel alone. I press my hand to my stomach and try hard to feel something, knowing it’s still way too early.
“It’ll just be another second,” Lindsey tells me, breaking me out of my worried reverie.
I glance at the clock, wondering why she’s stalling. We’re doing this after work. Surely she wants to get home as badly as I do.
“Why are we—”
Then there’s a knock on the door and a moment later, it opens, and in walks the man who seduced me in the shower last night. My cheeks flame remembering the moment.
Then, just as quickly, I blanch. “What?” I look to Lindsey. Then back to him. “What are you doing here?!”
He rolls his eyes, unperturbed by my apparent freak-out.
“This is a HIPPA violation, Lindsey!”
“Oh okay, go on and report me. But honestly, the father of your child asked me when your appointment was because you wouldn’t tell him. Leave me out of this.”
Sure, fine. I probably should have included Connor in this appointment from the beginning, but I’m trying hard to not get too used to his support. It feels imperative that I go at this alone as much as possible, just like my mom would want. After all, we aren’t engaged. We aren’t married. We aren’t even in a fully committed relationship with labels.
Connor’s in his scrubs, but he’s ditched his white coat. His hair is still perfect after a long day of work. His jaw has never been more honed. His eyes are an amused blue. He enjoys calling my bluffs.
Last night, I let him know about the heart scan.
He asked when we were going.
I told him I wasn’t sure when my appointment was.
One thing led to another, we took the argument to the shower, and much to his annoyance, I didn’t cave. I thought that was the end of it, but apparently, he decided to bring out the big guns by getting Lindsey involved.
It’s good to know where her allegiance lies.
“Right, well, now that everyone is here, can we get this show on the road?” I ask.
It’s not all that fun to lie supine on an exam table with my scrub top scrunched up under my bra. I point to my bare stomach and Lindsey rolls her stool toward me. Connor strolls over too, not bothering to wait for an invitation. He rounds the exam table and reaches down to take my hand in his. I try to play like I don’t need him there, offering support, but the second the ultrasound probe touches my lower abdomen, I squeeze his hand reflexively.
My eyes chance a glance up at him and we stare at one another for a moment.
How are we here, suddenly? How is this our life?
It takes Lindsey a second to position the probe just right so that the blurry mess on the screen develops into a distinct image of my uterus. I look over and blink, quickly deciphering the black and white splotches. Recognition steals my breath. It’s impossible, really—impossible that I could be lying here looking at a little fetus, safe inside me.
