I nod, wearing a polite, thin-lipped smile.
“Your first is so special. Oh, but you must be really scared,” she pouts insincerely.
No shit.
“Poor thing,” she coos, frowning.
Did I answer her that time? I check with Bo, who’s suddenly fascinated by the nonexistent lint on his jeans, picking at his knee. His subtle side-eye matched with his tilted smirk tells me he’s also hearing how ridiculous fertile-Myrtle is being. Though, based on her tone, she might prefer Mother Mary as her nickname.
“This is probably our last scan.” She places a hand with a diamond ring so large on her stomach that I worry about the load-bearing weight of her placenta. “We’re thirty-nine weeks.” She places her other hand on her husband’s shoulder. He’s beaming at her with pride, his eyes glued to her. He looks distinctly like Ned Flanders, with a bushy moustache and a golly-gosh way about him.
“We’ll be having this baby any day now,” Ned chimes to Myrtle, loud enough for the room to hear.
“Wow, and you’re not even showing.” I point to his stomach, wearing a shit-eating grin that could be mistaken as friendly.
“Oh boy, she’s funny.” Myrtle points to me, looking at Bo. “Hopefully that’s genetic.”
“Funny wife, happy life—that’s what I always say,” Ned adds from beside her.
Bo gives me the smallest, briefest glance that asks about a hundred things. I agree, silently, to all of them.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know. We only just met in the lobby. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and she allowed me to follow her up,” Bo delivers, deadpan.
“I’m Guinevere, by the way.” I present my hand to shake. “Sorry, forgot to introduce myself before.”
“Lance,” he replies, looking at the couple across from us. “You are?”
“Melissa…” she answers, oddly shy all of a sudden.
“Ted.” Close enough.
“Good to meet you both.” Bo bows his head across the aisle. “And you,” he says, winking at me, out of our new friends’ view, as to not blow our cover.
“So… you’re not the father?” Ted （née: Ned） asks.
“Whose father?” Bo replies, dumbfounded.
“Her baby.” Ted looks at me, his lips parted and pointing away from one another. Poor man could not be more confused.
“Oh! Gwen’s baby?” Bo points to me with his thumb.
I fight a laugh so hard my nose twitches.
“Yes,” Ted clarifies, growing more bewildered by the second. Bless him. Melissa only looks annoyed, glaring at her cuticles.
“No, he isn’t,” I confirm, my voice wavering. “But,” I turn to Bo, “if you are available, the job can be yours.”
“Oh, wow.” Bo places a hand across his heart, holding eye contact with me. It takes everything in me not to crack a smile. “I would be honoured…”
Melissa clears her throat, capturing our attention. “You know, if you didn’t want to talk, you could have just said so. You don’t have to be rude.”
Ted, seemingly oblivious, is still enraptured by our little performance. “So you don’t know who the dad is?”
“It’s a bit of a Mamma Mia situation, I’m afraid,” I answer.
“Here we go again,” Bo mutters under his breath as Melissa pulls Ted toward her and begins whispering into his ear. Once finished telling her husband to stop interacting with us, Melissa reaches next to her and opens a People Magazine from the early 2000s with an aggressive flourish.
Bo and I avoid eye contact, but I feel his shoulders shaking next to mine as he suppresses his laughter to no more than a few broken breaths. I’ve only ever been that stupid in public with Sarah, knowing that she’d always have my back. I suppose it can be taken as a good sign that being stupid alongside Bo came so easily.
Though I do feel a little bad for Ted. Sweet, simple Ted.
“McNulty?” The tech calls from around the corner, appearing only once I look toward the incoming voice.
“Yep!” I push to stand and notice my legs suddenly feel a lot weaker than when I walked up the stairs. Honestly, I’m grateful to Melissa, Ted, and Bo for the welcomed distraction up until this point. I was beyond nervous at work all day and barely slept last night.
It’s not that I think something terrible has happened to the baby. It’s been pretty smooth sailing symptoms-wise, though I’m still nauseous every day. Doctor Salim promises that having to keep a sick bag in my purse and crackers next to the bed is a good sign the baby is growing strong.
The fear, I think, is coming from how real this all suddenly seems. As if every step closer to the patient’s table at the end of this hallway is a recommitment to choosing this path forward. A reminder that I’ve made this very big decision with very little logic and a whole lot of instinct. Keeping the baby felt hypothetical to some degree. Once we’re in that room, I’m keeping my baby. Our baby.
Bo’s walking faster than my legs will let me go, ahead of me, next to the technician. He turns over his shoulder and gives me a sweet, encouraging wink and smile before turning back around.
I can’t help but wonder if he feels this too. The seriousness of this moment. The immense pressure. The looming feeling, as if gravity has been sucked out of this building and we’re floating down this hallway. Barrelling, really, toward this new reality.
Probably not.
Though when I find myself lying on the table in the middle of the room, hiking my shirt up to expose my still unchanged belly, I look to him for comfort on my left. And Bo provides it, reaching out a hand for me to hold.
“It’s okay,” he tells me. His voice reminds me of the way parents comfort their children before the plane takes off. A tone of people have done this before; there’s no reason to worry, but a tiny hint of concern of their own lying underneath, as if to say, then again, plane crashes do happen.
“Promise,” he says, his brows furrowing as he nods—his expression more concentrated and steady. I must look as scared as I feel for him to have to throw a word like promise around.
The tech is talking, a lot, to my right. And I’m only picking up about half of it. I keep my eyes on Bo. Watching him listen to her intently and nod along keeps me from spiralling even further. He’s present, at least. He’ll leave with whatever information we might need.
The tech’s hand on my right shoulder makes me turn toward her and the machine she’s standing in front of. “I’m going to apply the gel now—it’ll be cold. We’ll make sure to wipe it all off once finished.” She shows me a bottle of gel, and I nod, smiling weakly.
I tighten my hold on Bo’s hand. He squeezes back rhythmically, as if he’s attempting to match my heartbeat. I find myself briefly wishing I had brought Sarah along too. That way, I wouldn’t be clinging to this guy for dear life.
Cold gel lands on my stomach, and I feel pressure as the tech lowers the probe and presses down more forcefully than I was expecting. She’s really digging around down there. After a few achingly long seconds, I start to worry that maybe she can’t find the baby. That maybe there is no more baby.