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Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
Such a strange sound. Like the rapid push and pull of water.
I look up at Dr. Webster in question. Her beaming smile is all the answer I need. The whooshing sound…
“Is that?” My gaze shifts to Devlyn and I see the same question in his eyes.
“Your baby’s heartbeat?” Dr. Webster finishes and we both nod. “It is.” She moves the wand and the sound intensifies. “Definitely six to seven weeks along.” Then the sound vanishes as she removes the wand. She wipes the gel from my belly and closes the front of the gown. “I’ll step out and let you change. Then we’ll go over what to expect at your next appointment before you leave.”
After I redress, she comes back in with a large envelope filled with brochures and resources. She shares what to expect at my next appointment in a month. And before she steps away from the checkout area, she gives me a brief hug and congratulates us once more.
With my next appointment scheduled, Devlyn and I exit the office hand in hand. He walks me to my car and pauses near the driver’s side door.
“Hungry?”
My stomach grumbles as I say, “Yes.”
“Why don’t you head to the house and I’ll stop at the store. Any requests?”
I shake my head. “Surprise me.”
Devlyn dips down and presses his lips to mine. “I’ll be quick.”
As I settle in the driver’s seat, Devlyn jogs to his car. I wave to him as he drives off. And then, for a moment, I sit in the parking lot and absorb the reality of today.
Yes, I knew I was pregnant. But after hearing the heartbeat… the reality of itreallysank in.
“I’m going to be a mom,” I whisper to myself. My hands settle on my lower abdomen and cradle the still flat area. I breathe deeply and close my eyes. “Wow.”
Then, my little bliss bubble pops.
Time to buck up and tell Mom.Please… someone save me.
SIX
DEVLYN
“I’m sorry, what?”
A loud clang vibrates the air as Shelly’s fork falls to her plate. Her brows pinch at the middle and eyes narrow as she regards me across the table. My heart beats a vicious rhythm while I internally cringe.
I set my fork down, take a deep breath and lift my line of sight to hers.
Remember Dr. Prince’s suggestion. Talk with Shelly. Share my fears. Tell her my desires for the future.
“I’d like us to move in together,” I say, my voice quieter. Smaller. Meek. My palms damp and fingers twitchy as I swipe them over my denim-clad thighs.
The room fills with eerie silence. Across the table, Shelly sits frozen in place. No shift in posture or facial expression. Her eyes still on mine, but unmoving. Unyielding. I don’t sense anger—which settles my anxiety a degree or two—but, for the life of me, I can’t pick up what exactly sheisfeeling. Her stillness, her voicelessness, the uneasy energy around her… it has me concerned. Off balance. Scared. Lost.
If I were in my studio upstairs, painting her in this very moment, she’d be haloed in burnt orange—a color I don’t typically associate with Shelly. Not due to indignation. No, the color would represent the disorientation pulsing off her. And perhaps a hint of fear.
It’s okay. I’m afraid too.
“Please say something,” I say just above a whisper.
Her chest rises and falls as she inhales a deep breath. She licks her lips, traps them between her teeth a moment, then releases them on a swallow.
“Devlyn, I…” Her eyes lose focus for two breaths before she blinks a few times. “Isn’t it too soon?”
