I got you, sweet pea.
I decided I should go to the clinic. I swallowed hard and stood up. I grabbed my hoodie and began to walk to the west wing of campus. I began walking because if I thought too much, I wouldn’t go.
* * *
The clinic felt sterile.It smelled too clean. It was reeking of chemicals and something floral – probably the purple Fabuloso trying to cover it up.
The waiting room was quiet. A few girls sat scattered around, flipping through magazines or staring at their phones as if they didn’t want to be noticed. I checked in without saying much. I kept my answers short. I gave the receptionist my name and student ID number.
The nurse smiled at me as if she had seen this before. She was an older Black lady who looked to be my mom’s age. Her friendliness eased the ache in my chest from doing this all alone. Every girl dreams about being pregnant. We think of a doting husband, or at least a best friend, to support you during an ultrasound visit. I had neither. I would never have guessed that YaYa would stop being my best friend. I couldn’t imagine her agreeing with Mom instead of me. While she never verbatim agreed with Sharon’s worrisome ass she never disagreed. It was in what YaYa didn’t do. She didn’t protest against my going to school early. She didn’t help me move in. She didn’t allow me to cry on her shoulders. She just vanished. Her dry ass text messages and occasional calls didn’t change the fact thatI needed my sister. How could I be her Baby Bear, and I was having a baby, and she had no clue?
The kind lady cleared her throat to get my attention.
“Have a seat, sweetheart. They’ll call you back shortly.”
I nodded and sat down, pulling my sleeves over my hands.
My leg bounced slightly without me meaning it to. I pressed my palm against my stomach again. After a few minutes, that same kind lady called my name.
“Chanel?”
I stood up and followed her down the hallway. Each step felt louder than it should have been, as if I was walking toward something I couldn’t undo. The room was small. I sat down slowly, my hands folded in my lap. Dr. Aniston came in a few minutes later, introducing herself with a soft voice that didn’t feel invasive.
“Hi, Chanel. What brings you in today?”
I hesitated. Then I exhaled. “I’m pregnant.”
She nodded, not surprised. “Okay,” she said gently. “Let’s take a look and see what’s going on.”
I lay back on the table, my hoodie pushed up just enough.
My heart was beating too fast. I could hear my heart beating like Nick Cannon’s drum solo in my favorite movie.
The room went quiet except for the sound of the machine powering on.
Dr. Aniston squeezed on a tube filled with blue gel. It was cold. The gel hit my skin, and I flinched.
“Sorry, I know that’s a little cold,” she said.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was too focused on the screen.
I felt myself holding my breath. The wand moved slowly across my stomach. The doctor tilted her head slightly, eyes focused.
“There we go.”
I felt large teardrops run down my face. She turned the screen slightly toward me.
“Do you see that?”
I didn’t answer right away. I just stared at the small shape on the screen.
I always hear women say babies don’t look like anything at first, but baby Xander was fully formed. My hand moved to my stomach instinctively, as if I needed to connect the image to what I was feeling.
“That’s your baby,” she said softly.
My throat tightened.
My eyes burned.
