Page 62 of Josephine and Clay

“This might feel a little strange,” she says.

“That’s alright.”

The moment passes uncomfortably. I anchor myself instead. The pressure of Penny’s hand, the soft hum of the machine, the faint rhythm of my own breathing.

The screen flickers to life.

I watch as the image forms, at first indistinct, a shifting collection of light and shadow that resists immediate interpretation. My mind reaches automatically for structure, for something to categorize and understand, but clarity comes slowly, unfolding in layers rather than all at once.

The technician adjusts the angle, her focus narrowing slightly. I follow the movement on the screen, tracking the changes, waiting for a recognizable shape to emerge.

“There we go,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

I lean my attention into the image, searching for definition, for confirmation of what I've already been told.

The technician stills. “Just a moment.”

“Is everything alright?” Penny asks quietly.

“Yes,” the technician says quickly. “Everything looks good.”

She tilts the screen slightly toward me. “Do you see this here?”

I follow her gesture, narrowing my focus. At first, it’s still abstract. Movement, contrast, shapes that don’t immediately resolve into meaning. I study it more closely, forcing myself to look properly, to interpret what I’m seeing instead of skimming past it.

And then everything shifts.

There isn’t one.

There are two.

The realization lands somewhere deep and immediate, pulling the air from my lungs in a quiet, involuntary catch.

“These are⁠—”

“Yes,” she says gently. “There are two.”

The room feels different after that, as if the space itself has expanded to accommodate something I wasn’t prepared to hold.

“Two?” Penny breathes beside me, her grip tightening around my hand.

I don’t answer.

Not because I don’t understand, but because I had only just begun, reluctantly, to adjust to the idea of one. One was already enough to shift everything I had planned, enough to require careful thought and measured response.

Two doesn’t simply add to that.

It changes it entirely.

I close my eyes briefly, drawing in a slow breath, trying to steady the sudden expansion of thought that follows. Possibilities branch outward too quickly, overlapping before I’ve had the chance to examine them, and instinctively I reach for the familiar.

Order, sequence, one step at a time.

When I open my eyes again, I look back at the screen, forcing myself to see it clearly now. There are two distinct shapes, each marked by a faint, rhythmic flicker that's unmistakably real.

“Okay,” I say, the word quieter now.

Penny turns toward me, disbelief written openly across her face. “Okay?”