My baby.
I stared. What had initially looked like a blob when the tech was moving her wand, was now clearly defined and very much resembled a human. That was a head to the right, and two hands attached to little arms that protruded from a small torso. Two legs kicked around quickly, but there—right there—were two feet.
I inhaled a large breath, my body suddenly remembering that it needed to breathe, and my heart, which had fallen silent, began again with renewed vigor. Tears burned at the back of my eyes, and I bit down on my lower lip in attempts to keep them at bay. My fingers moved shakily to my stomach as if I could touch what I was seeing on the screen. When I came in contact with gel, I remembered where I was and quickly withdrew my hand.
What was wrong with me? Why was this making me so emotional? I couldn’t even see a face, and yet, I knew it hadone. Something about seeing the baby, despite it being in as low-quality as this ultrasound was, did something to me. Panic and fear were nowhere to be found, or at least they were kept at bay, as an odd sense of peace took residence in my chest. It was just me and the baby.
My baby.
“I’m going to take some measurements, and we’ll get you some photos.”
Ten minutes later, I was walking out of my doctor’s office and into the parking lot—the sonograms of the baby inside me burning a hole in my hand. Never in my life did I think I’d regret wearing a crewneck sweatshirt and leggings, but here I was, desperately wishing I had pockets to shove the photos and pamphlets into. If it was a couple weeks later, the weather in Pennsylvania would be cold enough that I would’ve had to wear a coat—one with pockets.
As I neared my car, that desire for pockets turned to desperation.
Because leaning against my car was Linnea, her arms crossed and her light brown hair spilling out of a light blue beanie with a ridiculously huge pom pom on top.
“Care to tell me what’s going on?”
Fuck me.
My surprise wasn’t that Linnea was there—we lived five minutes away from each other. No, my surprise was that she had somehow managed to know about this appointment, and follow mehere—to my doctor’s office.
“How’d you know?” I asked.
She shrugged as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “I saw it on the calendar in your office the other day.”
“The calendar that was closed and in a drawer?” I narrowed my eyes on my sister. The little snoop.
Another shrug before she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “You’ve been acting weird. I dug around. Sue me.”
Then she glanced down at my hands, and before I could attempt to bury the photos between the other papers I was holding, not that it would’ve worked because the pictures were the largest sonogram photos I’d ever seen in my life, Linnea spotted them. Her gaze snapped up to mine.
“You’re pregnant? But, what? How—“
I cut her off, more than a little annoyed. “Can we not talk about this outside in the cold?” I pushed past her and unlocked my car. “I want food court teriyaki, so you can follow me to the mall, since you’re apparently very good at it.” I dropped down into the driver’s seat and added over my shoulder, “And don’t even think about calling Mom and Dad.”
Slamming the door before she could respond, I started my car and quickly exited the parking lot.
I loved my little sister, I really did. She was kind, and fun, and was one of the few people who really understood me. We did everything together, and told each other everything, well, almost. But my relationship with her was complicated. Not that she knew that, but that was because I would never tell her. For starters, telling her would make her feel responsible, which was the last thing I wanted, but she’d also tell me that it was all in my head, when I knew for a fact it wasn’t.
Linnea was a labor and delivery nurse at the local hospital, and she was a damned good one at that. She was constantly getting recognized and awarded for her professionalism, dedication, patient care, etc.—none of which was surprising in the least. She was top of her class in college, and valedictorian in high school. Linnea had always been good at everything she set her mind to, which was amazing, but it made being her sister hard.
Nothing had ever come naturally to me. Any success I had, I always had to struggle for first, and even then, they weren’tsuccesses like Linnea’s, or Garrett’s for that matter. Garrett was out in the world protecting people, and saving lives. Linnea was helping bring lives into the world, and I was designing workouts and meal plans for people to get in shape.
I loved my job as a personal trainer. I loved helping people transform into the best versions of themselves for their health, or simply because they wanted to look a certain way, but it was hard not to see my siblings, to hear the pride in my parents’ voices whenever they spoke about them—which they did frequently—and not feel like the family loser. I was proud of what I did, but it often felt like I was the only one who was, like I was the underachieving black sheep.
But then the fatherless “oops” in my uterus kind of solidified that title for me.
At a traffic light, I glanced over to the black and white image of my uterus, and the little humanoid blob in the center.
“What am I going to do?”
***
“What are you going to do?” Linnea asked, licking the melting ice cream around the base of her cone as we made our second loop around the mall. I’d gotten mine in a bowl to avoid that specific problem.
The food court teriyaki satisfied the craving from the doctor’s office, but once I finally finished eating after telling Linnea everything, the sweet craving struck. It didn’t matter that it was cold outside, or that I’d just eaten what was probably two servings of Chinese food, I wanted ice cream. I’d go to war arguing that it was the superior dessert. You liked pie? It was better with ice cream. Brownies? Better with ice cream. Cake? Better if it was made of ice cream. Everything was better with ice cream, and that included telling your sister you were pregnant.
