“Definitely both ways,” I add, coming over to stand beside Grace, resting my hand on her hip and making sure Oliver sees my possessive gesture. Understands what I’m nonverbally saying. It’s a guy thing that only he would get. It means I’ve got this. It means he doesn’t have to worry because I’ll always take care of her.
He stares into my eyes as I give him that promise.
So he knows, for me, there is no going back now. Only forward.
EPILOGUE
Six weeks later
My crossed knee bounces uncontrollably as I stare around the waiting room, glaring at the pea-green walls that remind me of the color of baby poop and the fish in the tank with the Nemo and Dori lookalikes, judging me for being this nervous.
“Dr. Hammond?” Dr. Rodriguez, the maternal-fetal medicine specialist, calls my name and I rise. “Are you ready to see your baby?” he asks as I approach him.
I glance up at the clock on the wall and sigh. “I guess.”
He guides me down the hall, instructing me to hop up on the table, lift my shirt up to just under my bra and scooch down my leggings. “You know the drill,” he says. “I doubt I have to tell you anything.” He goes about tucking in drapes for modesty and to prevent me from getting gel all over my clothes.
Just then the door to the ultrasound room flies open and a harried Carter comes running in, wheezing. “I’m late. I’m sorry. It took me forever to get over here. Then I had to sprint from the parking garage all the way across the damn hospital and the stupid elevator took forever. Did I miss it?”
“No. They were running late too.”
He sags in relief, stumbling the five steps over to the gurney I’m now sprawled out on and falling into the chair up by my head. He kisses my forehead, his arm wrapping around my head and holding the hand I have resting on my chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s not easy getting over here from our hospital when there’s traffic.”
I know it, but I’m not going through this with him again. I can’t have this baby at our hospital. I know every doctor. Every nurse. Not only will my vagina be on display for my work colleagues, and I’ll have to labor in front of them, but I won’t get a moment’s rest because they’ll be all over us and wanting to see the baby after it’s born.
No thanks.
Right now, I’m just relieved he made it. I know he is too. Carter has been nothing if not overly attentive to me and this pregnancy. If I end up staying late at the hospital, he either waits with me or I come home to find that he’s made us dinner—something obscenely healthy of course. Then he proceeds to rip my clothes off, fuck me to the point of exhaustion, and then ensure I’m getting as much sleep as I can.
On nights I have to be in the hospital, he demands I take twenty-minute naps the way union workers get fifteen-minute breaks. Twice a day, plus lunch.
I know I told him I loved him, and I meant it, but with each passing day, it’s like I had no clue what love was the day before. This man beside me obliterates it each and every day, not just telling me, but showing me over and over again.
I kiss the corner of his lips. “I know it’s a pain but thank you for not fighting me on it.”
Dr. Rodriguez squirts warmed lubricant onto my belly and with a flick of his wrist, sets the ultrasound probe down on my tiny bump. “Here we go. Are we learning the sex of the baby?”
Carter snickers. “I have no idea how we won’t see it if you’re on that part of the anatomy.”
“Probably true, but if you’d rather not know, you can look away during that part of the exam. I’ll warn you in advance.”
I look up at Carter whose face is hovering over mine. “Surprise?” I ask.
He grins down at me. “Hasn’t everything so far been just that with us? I think we should keep the streak alive.”
We both turn back to Dr. Rodriguez. “Warn us,” we say in unison, smiling stupidly because that’s how we seem to be lately. Stupidly in love. My first trimester has gone along shockingly well. Other than a few episodes of dizziness and nausea, I haven’t been too bad off. I’ve been able to maintain my regular work schedule, delivering babies and doing surgeries.
Plus, well, there is the small fact that no one knows yet.
They know we’re together. There’s been no hiding it and no longer a reason to. But we’ve been holding off on telling anyone other than Oliver, Rina, and Landon, who Carter told that night I ran out that I’m pregnant until, well, this ultrasound.
The image on the screen comes into focus and there’s my uterus, the walls thick with blood and tissue—a protective barrier for the baby that’s chilling right in the middle.
Carter squeezes my hand as Dr. Rodriguez takes measurements of my uterus and blah, who cares. Finally the image zooms in and there it is, our tiny little thing that looks very much like an alien with a large belly and head.
Two arms. Two legs. Oh my god. “That’s our baby.”
Carter’s eyes are glued to the screen, same as mine, but the side of his head drops to my forehead as we watch in awe as our little surprise moves around inside me. I only wish I could feel it.
“It’s playing peekaboo,” Dr. Rodriguez says. “Moving a lot. Doesn’t want to behave for… oh wait. Here we go.” Then he zeros in on the heart and four valves moving just as the whoosh of its heartbeat echoes through the room.
We’ve heard it plenty of times—a sound that never gets old. My OB has done it in office, but Carter and I have done it many times just the two of us at home. Occupational bonus, we call it.
But this is the first we’re seeing it. In all its glory.
“I should show Kaplan this.”
I laugh under my breath. “No. He’ll find fault and want to operate.”
“It looks perfect,” Dr. Rodriguez informs us. “Heart rate is one forty-five and everything is good so far. As you know, we don’t do a full analysis until your twenty-week fetal survey, but for now, I’m happy.”
“And what about nuchal translucency? How is that measuring?”
Dr. Rodriguez chuckles. “This is why I hate treating healthcare professionals.”
“Us too,” I agree. “But I’m with Carter on this one.”
He zooms away from the heart and goes about locating the baby’s head and spine. He clicks some buttons on the keyboard, taking his measurement. “Looks to be about 1.8mm. Within normal range for this gestational age.”
I blow out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Holy toast, this is stressful. I don’t think I’ll make it through the twenty-week fetal survey.”
“You can relax. Everything appears the way it should so far,” Dr. Rodriguez assures us. “But now’s the time when you need to close your eyes because I’m going to check out the rest of your baby.”
Ugh. I don’t want to. I want to keep looking. I had no plans on having a baby for several years, and I’m still worried about what it will mean for the end of my residency or potential future fellowships should I want one, but I can’t help but be excited, too.
I close my eyes, leaning back and not even two seconds later, Carter tenses.