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“A lot of women don’t like to see,” she explains as she clicks a few buttons on her computer with her free hand. I stare at the ceiling and take steady breaths, but something just doesn’t feel right.
I want to see what she’s seeing. It’s my body, my baby.
“Can I see?” I ask, knowing I’m probably going to regret this.
“Of course,” she nods her head and smiles warmly as she turns the screen.
“So, what am I looking at?” Everything looks so fuzzy and grainy. I have to squint to make sense of it.
“That there is the heartbeat of baby A,” she points to a flickering on the screen, and I feel a little smile stretch onto my mouth. “And that is the heartbeat of baby B,” she points to a matching one a few centimeters apart.
“Two heartbeats!” I sit up on my elbows and take a closer look at the screen. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she’s telling me, and I suddenly feel light-headed.
“Yes, two, and judging from the measurements I’ve taken, I’d say you were about nine weeks along,” she confirms, and I suddenly feel like I’m spinning.
How could this be happening? Two little babies, nine weeks. That would have been around the time of the motel, and Squealer definitely used a condom. At least, I’m sure he did for the first time round. There were so many that night and a lot of alcohol involved.
“Are you okay, Miss Monroe?” the doctor asks.
“I’m just a little shocked, that’s all,” I manage, my mouth drying up as I talk.
“I’ve seen all I need to see,” she tells me as she pulls out the probe. “I’ll give you a few moments, and then we can discuss your options.” She stands up from her stool and makes her way toward the door. I quickly leap off the bed and get dressed. The monitor is black now, but I can remember seeing them, my little babies, both of them with healthy little heartbeats.
When she comes back into the room and takes her desk, I interrupt her before she can speak.
“I took the morning after pill about four weeks ago,” I confess, my hand stroking over my tummy protectively. “Would that have done any damage?”
“No, not at all. The pregnancy would have been established by then so it would have had no effect. And everything appeared normal on the ultrasound,” she assures me.
“I don’t want to go through with it,” the words blurt out of my mouth before I can consider them.
I’m crazy, fucking mental.
I can’t be a single mother to twins, and I can’t even think about what my dad will do when he realizes that I haven’t gone through with this. But I do know that I can’t get rid of these babies, babies who are determined to be here despite all the odds.
“You’d be surprised how many people change their minds, Alex, and if you’re sure, I can refer you to someone who will help you move forward with a health care plan,” she explains.
“I’m sure,” I nod, my hands shaking as I take the card from between her fingers.
I end up leaving the clinic with two babies instead of none and a prescription for prenatal vitamins. Which I shove in my purse before Dad’s car pulls up beside me.
“Did all go to plan?” he checks.
“It’s taken care of,” I lie because right now, I need to get my own head around all this. I can’t take the added stress of his reaction.
“You made the right choice, Alexandra,” he assures me as he pulls off and heads toward home. And despite all the shock, and the desperate need for a plan, I have a warm feeling in my chest that tells me I have.
“You good?” Screwy comes out of the club and asks me. Today is Abby’s funeral. Maddy managed to do her thing and tap into Abby’s medical records as soon as we found out what happened. She put Ella down as her next of kin, so Abby’s folks couldn’t stop us all from paying our respects. And I’ll bet no one felt more intimidated than her father did today standing at his daughter’s graveside.
Marilyn’s put on a spread, and everyone inside is celebrating Abby’s life, talking about her like they knew her. But the truth is, no one really got to know Abby, not the way Alex did. And Alex should be here. She knew Abby better than anyone these days, and a stupid part of me was hanging on to the hope of her showing today.
“I’m good,” I lie to my brother, same as I’ve been lying to everyone else who’s been asking me. Lighting another cigarette, I press the back of my head into the brick wall behind me, and my brother shadows me, resting his back against the same wall and pulling a smoke from inside his cut. He knows I ain’t in a good place, it’s the curse of being a twin. If I suffer, he suffers. That’s why I try so fucking hard to stay upbeat.
There’s enough bad shit fucking with his head to have to take the load off mine too. And now Screwy can’t only feel it, he don’t know what the fuck to do about it.
“You miss her.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“She was a good girl, had her whole life ahead of her,” I divert the heart to heart he’s trying to pry out of me and suck in another shot of nicotine.
