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“Did you feel it?” I ask.
“Sure did.” John smiles. He finishes wiping my belly and then, letting his palm hover above it, asks, “May I?”
I nod.
His skin is warm compared to the cool gel, and his touch sends all kinds of tingles through my body. The baby must appreciate it because it kicks again.
“Looks like we’re going to have a ninja on our hands,” John jokes.
I stare at him for the longest time. “Male or female ninja?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
I nod, then with a little smirk, I add, “I can’t promise I won’t subject you to further hormone-induced verbal abuse for telling me, but please do tell.”
John drops a single kiss on my stretched belly before pulling down my blouse and holding my hand while he whispers in my ear the baby’s gender.
44
JOHN
The day after the ultrasound, I text Marissa to see if she wants to hang out tonight.
To Marissa:
Is it okay if we stop by for a reading tonight?
From Marissa:
Yeah, sure
To Marissa:
What’s the mood for dinner?
From Marissa:
I’m craving pickles
To Marissa:
Oh, okay, we can definitely get some at the store
Any brand you’d like? Vlasic? Mt. Olive?
From Marissa:
The idea of jar pickles makes me nauseous
I’m craving McDonald’s pickles
To Marissa:
McDonald’s pickles you shall have
I know better than to ask if anything other than McDonald’s pickles would be acceptable; Marissa’s pregnancy cravings are super targeted. I’ll count tonight as Nora’s allotted weekly fast-food night and make everyone happy.
“Nora Bora,” I call my daughter, who’s holed up in her room.
