Page 40

Deb, the tech, calls my name. The room is dim and cool, with one wall taken up by a screen and a gown folded on the table.

"Waist down, gown open in the back. There's a sheet." Deb snaps on gloves. "This one's internal at this stage, hon. It's a little early for the belly."

Carson's halfway out of his chair. "I can wait in the hall."

"Sit down." I point at the chair by the head of the table. "Look at the screen. Only the screen."

He sits and studies the ceiling tiles hard enough to pass a test on them.

I change, get under the paper sheet, and lie back. Deb explains every step before she does it, and I count ceiling tiles too. There are twelve across, and one of them has a water stain shaped like Florida.

Then Deb stops talking. She shifts the wand, tilts her head, and moves it again. The screen throws gray light across her face, and I watch her watch it.

She turns the monitor toward us.

"Okay. So. There's Baby A." There's a dark sac on the screen with a small, quick flicker inside it. Then she moves the wand.

"And there's Baby B."

For a second, the words don't connect to anything. There are two dark circles on the screen. Two flickers. But two babies?

I stare at the first one, then the second, then back to the first.

"Wait." My fingers close around the edge of the paper sheet. "What did you just say?"

"Two?" Carson asks behind me.

"Two," Deb confirms.

My whole body tenses.

"No. I mean..." I swallow and look at the screen again. Both flickers are still there. "Two babies?"

"Two babies."

I've had three and a half weeks to get used to being pregnant, and every version of this I've managed to picture had exactly one baby in it.

Deb reaches over and flips a switch. She tells us that's the heartbeat, but that can't be right. It's thumping so fast I wonder if it's my own. Then she angles the wand, and a second one comes in underneath it, offset and keeping its own rhythm.

There are two distinct, racing thumps inside my belly. The realization finally lands somewhere below my ribs. Carson leans forward with his elbows on his knees and crushes his hat between both hands.

I laugh, except it breaks halfway out and suddenly my eyes are burning. I press the back of my wrist against my mouth.

"There are two babies," I whisper.

Deb prints a strip and hands it to me. I take it carefully, my hand shaking, staring at four grainy black-and-white images as if they'll make more sense if I look long enough.

"Baby A" and "Baby B" are written in block letters above the circles. My twins.

I tear off the bottom square and hold it out to Carson. I don't overthink it. He's the father, and he flew here for this damn appointment. It only seems right.

The booth is orange vinyl worn shiny at the seams, and the whole place smells like gravy and coffee that's been on the burner since dawn. A waitress with a laminated menu tucked under her arm sets down two waters and waits.

"Biscuit," I say. "And a ginger ale."

"That all, hon?"

"That's plenty."