Dread creeps up my spine like ice water as a million and one worst-case scenarios take my brain hostage. I feel a chill in the room that wasn’t there before, a cool breeze washing over my skin, raising each hair, goose bumps forming across my skin. Every nerve ending sends a signal that it is absolutely time to panic. But then Bo’s gasp pulls me back from the ledge.
I look at him as he, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, stares at the screen behind me that I’m too afraid to face. He exhales shakily, joy overtaking his features. He leans forward, whispering something I don’t quite make out that I’m not even sure he intended to say. Then he stills when the probe moves again, angling against my stomach.
I watch as Bo’s small wonderment bursts into a full-fledged, beaming smile that he attempts to subdue by biting his lip and shaking his head.
“Winnifred?” the tech says from behind me. “Did you want to see as well?”
I turn slowly, bracing for impact with squinted eyes and puckered lips.
But there, on the black and white screen, is a small, perfect, bean-like thing.
My baby.
Not the baby. But my baby.
And it’s not nearly as terrifying as I thought it would be—knowing it’s mine. It’s actually really fucking unreal. An honour. An amazing, incredible, spectacular, sublime thing.
I watch as the baby moves in tiny, fluttering rotations. Relief warms my skin and senses like standing under a sunbeam on an otherwise cloudy day, my heart swelling with joy to the point where I feel it might give out.
The tech smiles softly as she presses the probe against me further, trying to get a better view on the screen. “They’re certainly active,” she says. “You’re going to have your hands full with this one.”
“Hmm,” I murmur my agreement. Hands are kinda the issue here, lady.
The baby moves on the screen again. A little twitch-like jump that reminds me of a flea. And I forget the world.
Do it again, I shout internally, imagining my veins and the blood pumping through them as radio transmitters, hoping foolishly that the baby can hear me somehow.
Bo laughs, deep and low, as the kid does another flip away from the probe’s view. “Seems like they want some privacy,” he says.
“Oh my gosh, Mom and Dad-uh. Leave me alone,” I say like a moody teenager.
“You guys are so annoying,” Bo adds in his own similar whine.
We’re already so obnoxious. I love it. Probably more than I should.
The tech types as she continues clicking around the image, making notes and taking measurements. Her concentrated face could be just that: concentration. But it could equally be concern. Maybe there’s something not quite right only someone with a trained eye could notice.
“They’re okay?” The two words fall out before I think to ask them.
“All seems well to me,” she answers, turning to face me instead of the screen. “Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”
“Yes, please,” Bo and I answer in unison.
With a few buttons pressed and knobs twisted, a quiet sound begins. Turned louder, the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, reverberating against the walls in a perfect rhythm. The most life-altering, exquisite sound.
It’s all I can hear. Above my panted breaths. Above Bo’s seemingly subconscious happy murmurs of amazement. Above everything. The city outside, the voice of anxiety in my head, the subtle creaking of my ribs tightening under the weight of all this change.
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Like a steady train.
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Not a mistake.
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. A happy accident.
“Wow,” I breathe out, tears blotting along my lower lashes.
“Heart rate is one-sixty-seven,” the tech says, typing.
“Is that good?” Bo asks softly, as if to not disturb the moment.
“Yes, that’s right where we want it.”
He huffs a sigh of relief. Then his warm lips are pressed on the back of my hand. I turn away from the screen toward him, hit with a rush of surprise at that form of contact. Which may be absurd, considering all we’ve done.
“Thank you for letting me be here,” he says. Or maybe he mouths it, I’m not sure. All I can hear is that steady beating heart.
“Can you record this?” I ask hoarsely, emotion tightening my throat.
Bo lets go of my hand to pull out his phone, then, after a moment, holds it up slightly, the voice recorder on his phone blinking red.
A few moments later, the nurse turns the volume down slowly and shuts off her machines. “We’ll print off some photos for you. You can expect to hear from your doctor within the next few days—” The tech stops herself. “Well, actually, given that it’s only two days before Christmas, you most likely won’t. But,” she leans close to whisper, “I can tell you there’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Just between us.” She winks.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” she says, handing me a warm towel. “For the gunk.” She points to my stomach as she walks around the bed and leaves.
“That was amazing,” Bo says as I wipe off my stomach. “They’re a lot less human-looking than I was expecting, though.”
“Like a little jelly bean,” I say, smiling fondly.
“And it was moving a lot,” he says in disbelief. “Like, it’s free to just move about in there. It’s wild.”
“They seem to be making themself at home, yes.” I sit up, lowering my shirt. “Wow…” I say again, because wow.
“Yeah…” Bo says on a long breath, a crooked smile in full, bold agreement.
“A baby,” I say, flashing my eyes at him.
“A baby,” he repeats, shaking his head.
“Insane.”
Bo sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Pretty fucking cool,” he says, then looks up at me. We share a small, giddy smile before I hop off the table and we make our way out toward the receptionist’s desk.
After the tech hands us an envelope with two identical ultrasound photos, we walk downstairs to the lobby in companionable silence. Arriving at the main floor, I notice the snow is coming down harder, illuminated only by the streetlamps outside.
“Yikes,” I say, looking out toward the no-doubt blistering cold, winding my scarf around my neck.
“Can I give you a ride?” Bo asks, buttoning up his coat. But then he stops and watches me intently for a moment. “Actually, I’m going to insist. I’m giving you a ride.”
I roll my eyes with affection. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” Then I remember Sarah’s suggestion. “Actually… do you have plans tonight?”
He finishes doing up his coat, shoving both hands into his pockets. “No.” He raises a brow, lifting the corner of his mouth alongside it. “What were you thinking?”
“Want to come to Caleb and Sarah’s with me? We’re doing a game night.”
He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, sure. I’d love that. My car is around the corner.” Bo opens the front door, and we step out into the storm. He leads me by a floating hand above my waist toward his car as the wind whistles around us. The passenger door is opened for me and closed behind me. Then I’m regaining my senses and attempting to warm my hands with my breath as he opens his door briefly before throwing himself inside.