“Is that its hand?”
“It is.” Pregnancy really was a miracle. The wonder of my profession washed away the hatred I had for Melissa, at least for this second. For now, she was just a young woman with an unexpected pregnancy. We watched as the fetus moved, almost as if it was dancing. Beautiful. Miraculous that a human could form from one egg and one sperm.
“It looks like an alien,” she said, and I couldn’t help a smile.
“Its head takes up about half its length for now, but the body will catch up. The legs are teeny . . . see? But the eyes and nose and ears and even teeth have already started.” Her eyes were glued to the screen. I moved so we could see the profile.
“Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?” she asked.
“Not definitively. A few more weeks, and you can. According to these measurements you’re . . . twelve weeks and five days.” I checked the heart, the brain, the face. All normal. Four limbs, check. “Here’s your placenta, which is in a great place and looks completely normal. Plenty of fluid in the sac.”
“It already looks like a person,” she said, wonder in her voice.
Based on this timeline, Brad had fathered a baby while he was still married to me. Just when you thought the knife couldn’t twist any harder. My ex-husband would be having another child. Dylan would have a half sibling, nineteen years younger than he was. Brad would get another chance at parenthood.
Maybe. If Melissa didn’t get an abortion. I barely knew her, so I couldn’t guess.
I needed a nice long walk with Zeus. I needed my dad. I needed alcohol and homemade bread. I swallowed. Moved the transducer and did another measurement. Everything was normal. Do your job, do your job, do your job.
“Would you like me to print out some pictures?” I asked.
“Oh. Um . . . I don’t know. Sure, I guess.”
I took a few. “Okay, we’re all set here.” I turned off the ultrasound machine, wiped off Melissa’s belly with a warm facecloth, suddenly feeling ninety-four years old. “You can go to the bathroom now, then get dressed and come into my office so we can talk. I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” I said.
That was what I’d say to any patient. Give them a minute or two alone, then bring them out of the exam room where they’d just been given life-changing news.
“Everything okay?” Carol asked as I walked out.
“Just fine.” HIPAA. I wasn’t going to be able to talk to anyone about this. I was glad to be in my little office, because I needed a minute, too. Unlike Brad’s office, mine was tiny and crowded with books and journals. On my desk was a photo of Dylan, taken last year. In the picture, he was standing on our dock, the water sparkling behind him, his grin so dear to my heart.
I laid the photo facedown so Melissa couldn’t see it. It felt like I was protecting my son from her. My eyes were abruptly wet. Dylan might be a big brother after all. Not how I’d pictured it.
Melissa stood in the doorway. She was a lot more imposing in clothes—chic fawn-colored pants that stopped above her ankle, a sleeveless mock turtleneck sweater in exactly the same color. Looked like cashmere. Simple jewelry—gold hoops in her ears, a delicate gold necklace that probably cost more than I made in a month, and that frigging beautiful engagement ring. Her wedding ring was a diamond band. Those sparkles could hypnotize a person. I wondered how much they’d cost, and if I could steal them the next time I broke into their house.
That’s a very unprofessional thought, chided my mother. “Come on in,” I said. “Close the door.”
She did, then glanced around the room and sat in one of the two chairs. I’m sure it was quite shabby in here, quite working class to a person like her. “What would you like to ask me?”
“I . . . I don’t understand how the pill could fail. I was so careful. If I missed it, it was only by half a day.”
Brad would have another child. Not me. That part of my life was over. My body wasn’t getting my brain’s message about being professional. I folded my hands together, fingers interlaced, to hide the shaking. Pushed the personal thoughts away. It was a necessary skill for my job. Watching a tattooed seventeen-year-old boy play games on his phone while his girlfriend pushed out their child and not smacking him. Seeing a fifteen-year-old girl who’d been raped without bursting into tears and holding her like she was my own. Telling a woman that her baby had severe congenital defects and wouldn’t survive the pregnancy without bawling. I stuffed my feelings down all the time in this job. I could do it now.