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“What do you think her problem would be with this situation? I can’t imagine anyone finding fault with such a beautiful thing.”
“You don’t know my mother. Whatwouldn’tshe have a problem with is the appropriate question. She would have a problem with me fathering a child whose mother is dead. She would have a problem with the choice of an American to carry it. She would have a problem with my choice not to raise it and the possibility of the child growing up in the US. It’s not that I give a shit what she thinks—I don’t. But I don’t need the stress, the added noise, of her criticism right now.”
Lavinia softened as my words seemed to resonate. “Fair enough.” She nodded. “We all do what we must for our mental health.”
My phone chimed with a text. It was Abby. A photo. And not just any photo—the first ultrasound image I’d seen since the original one. The baby now had a well-formed head and looked like an actual human. I could even make out a little upturned nose, like Britney’s. My chest constricted as I tried to fight the emotions building inside of me with every ounce of my being. It was a mixture of torment and a love I couldn’t allow myself to feel.
“What is it?” Lavinia asked. “What has you so transfixed?”
“Abby just sent a photo.”
“It’s not topless, is it?”
Rather than answer, I turned the phone screen toward her.
Her mouth slowly opened. “Oh my.” Her eyes began to water. “You can really see everything now. Look at that giant head.” She laughed. “It’s definitely your child, Sigmund.”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled.
“Did she find out the gender?” she asked.
“I don’t think we’re finding out.”
“Why not?”
“I left that up to Phil and Kate. They decided on leaving it as a surprise. So, unless they change their mind, we’ll have to wait.”
“I might keel over and die before then. Bloody hell, I want to know.”
“I’ll whisper it to your grave.”
Lavinia reached over to slap my head playfully.
After she handed the phone back, I got lost in the image, staring for a long while. While seeing the beating heart in the first ultrasound had made things seem real, nothing had hit like this—seeing its actual form. Seeing it as a human.
This wasmy child. My son or daughter.
God.
My eyes began to water.
Fuck.
“You’re looking awfullydetachedright now, Sigmund.”
I wiped my eyes. “Fuck you, Lavinia.”
“Fuck you more, dear.” She laughed.
CHAPTER 35
Sig
Track 35: “What Happens After You” by Weezer
That evening, I eventually went upstairs to FaceTime Abby, which had become our ritual every night before I went to bed. Due to the time difference, we spoke around her dinnertime. Our chats had become my favorite part of every day.
I’d responded with aWowearlier to the ultrasound picture, but I hadn’t said anything else, mainly because I’d have a hard time summarizing in a text what I was feeling.
