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The doctor grabbed a pair of blue plastic gloves and pulled them on before retrieving a bottle of lubricant. She rolled Vivian’s shirt up over her baby bump and flicked on the large ultrasound machine beside her. “Alright, let’s take a look.”
“It’s cold,” Vivian said with a giggle as the doctor squirted the gel onto her skin.
I leaned against the edge of the table carefully, eyes transfixed on the screen across from us. It was hard to make out the shapes at first. Nothing but black and white curving lines with a few splotches in between as the doctor moved the wand around. She eventually settled on the image of two very distinct baby shapes.
“There they are,” she announced happily.
“How are they doing?” I asked, holding my breath.
“Everything appears fine. Both very healthy. A little on the small side, but that’s perfectly normal when it comes to twins.”
Vivian breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear.”
The doctor looked at us both. “Are you interested in learning the genders?”
I nodded, holding onto Vivian’s hand. “Yes.”
“Well, this one here—” The doctor pointed to the baby on the left side of the screen, “—is a girl. And this one’s a boy.”
If my mouth could drop any wider, it would have touched the floor. “You mean—”
“We’re having one of each?” Vivian asked, bewildered.
“Yes, congratulations.”
I kissed Vivian, elated and practically floating from the high. “We’re naming them Luke and Leia.”
Vivian threw her head back and laughed. “Absolutely not.”
“Hansel and Gretel.”
“Jesse, please know that I love you when I say this, but fuck no.”
The doctor chuckled. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”
* * *
“Tate and Kate?” I suggested as I adjusted my cufflinks.
We were back home at the penthouse, getting dressed before our big dinner date. It had been a hot minute since I took Vivian out to a fancy restaurant because her cravings were normally so specific that we usually just ordered in.
Banana peppers and pineapples on pizza. Vanilla ice cream with bacon bits on top. Pickles and hard-boiled eggs.
But tonight was special. It took some convincing, but Vivian finally agreed to let me treat her toLa Cordova, an upscale restaurant in downtown Chicago.
“We’re not naming them Tate and Kate,” Vivian said, exasperated. She exited the bedroom, smoothing her hands over the fabric of her dress. She grimaced. “Are you sure I don’t look fat in this?”
“Angel, you’re pregnant, not fat.”
“If this place is as fancy as you say it is—”
“You’re the most beautiful woman on the whole planet, Vivian. You could show up in a tube top and jean shorts and they’d still let you in.”
She walked over with the tiniest trace of a waddle —which I found absolutely adorable— to place a kiss on my lips. “We better get going then. Isn’t our reservation in twenty minutes? What if they give our table away?”
“They won’t.”
“Let me guess. The restaurant owner is a former client of yours?”
