“I’m nervous,” I say. Partially because it’s true, and also because I’m not that quick on my feet.
“What can I do?” he asks. “Peek-a-boo?”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Tell me something. A story about you. A distracting one.”
He nods, crossing one leg over the other. “Okay…” he says, bending toward me. “Want to hear about my first kiss?”
“Was it embarrassing?”
“A little.”
“Then yes, definitely.”
He laughs, then licks his lips before he speaks. “I was sixteen and the only one out of my friends who hadn’t had their first kiss yet. I didn’t think to lie about it, but in hindsight I should have, because they teased me relentlessly. Anyway, a few months into grade eleven, there was a school fundraiser where all the juniors and seniors slept at the school overnight.”
I huff. Who would possibly think that’s a good idea?
“I know,” Bo says, “who could have possibly thought that was a good idea?”
Hey, that’s what I said.
“So I’m at the fundraiser, alone in the band room, because all my friends are drunk and wandering around elsewhere, and I didn’t know what else to do. Eventually, I started messing around with the instruments. I was hoping a nice young lady would wander past and be lulled in by my saxophone skills.”
“Naturally,” I interject.
He scoffs, brushing a hand over his face. “And a group of girls did come in. One of them I recognised from the senior band. But we’d never talked before. She sat in the corner with her friends, and they were pretty much ignoring me, but she kept looking over. So I kept playing. About an hour later, her friends left, and she stayed behind. She broke the silence by complimenting my technique. Sweet, right?” he asks, his obvious embarrassment as to whatever comes next causing a nervous laugh to break free.
“Yes…” I say cautiously. “Oh god, what did you say?”
Bo looks up to the sky, wincing. “I said… want to see what else these lips can do?”
I gasp. “No!”
“Yep,” he says, his eyes closed and nodding.
“And that… worked?”
“It did.” He leans back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Before Halloween, that was my quickest close.”
“Oh, you closed me, huh?”
His eyes drift around the room, to my tilted smirk, then to my stomach with a quirked brow. “Sure as hell seems like it.”
“Well, you better rein it in, lover boy. No more unexpected pregnancies for you.”
He snorts from the back of his throat. “How about you? What was your first kiss like?”
“Well, his name was Trent, and it was at a skate park.”
“So he was a skater boy?”
“Yes.”
“Did you say see you later, boy?”
I groan into my palm, smiling. “Avril Lavigne would be so disappointed, but no, I did not.”
“So how’d it happen?”
“I asked him to show me some tricks after school. I was better than him, actually. I pretended I wasn’t, though, which was dumb of me but a classic move of the time. He told me I could thank him for the lesson with a kiss, and I did. We never really hung out again. I can’t remember why. Other than the kiss being nothing to write home about.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Do you think we would have been friends? In high school?” he asks.
“I think so. You probably would have joined Caleb’s nerd legion, and Sarah and I would have met you through him.”
“I would have been in the grade above you all, though.”
“Yeah, but then I could have said I was dating an older guy. It would’ve given me major cool points.”
Bo’s face lights up as he pouts his lips in an effort to not smirk, nodding like a bobblehead. “Oh, really?” he says, elongating each syllable. “So we would have dated, huh?”
Shit, did I say that? “What?”
“You said dating.”
“Nope, don’t think I did.” I close my eyes and look away from him as I feel a blush creep over my skin.
“You definitely did,” Bo singsongs. “You would have dated me in high school.”
“With those saxophone moves? Of course,” I say, flipping the attention back onto him. It doesn’t work. Bo’s smiling brighter than the damned sun, and it’s fucking contagious.
The embarrassment washes away with the sight of his hopeful, giddy expression. It seems as if my little slip-up could lead to an admission from Bo, like a neon arrow pointing to an opened door.
Suddenly, it feels like I’m on the edge of a cliff, about to be handed either a parachute or an anvil. And based on the look on Bo’s face, it feels like he’s got a parachute with my name on it. One of his own, too.
You jump, I jump.
One of us just needs to fucking jump.
“You know… I still have my sax—”
“Winnifred McNulty?” a technician calls from the entrance.
Bo clears his throat, his smile faltering as he hangs his head for a second.
I stand, one had extended into a wave toward the technician, and turn back over my shoulder and smile at Bo. He watches me walk away with a bouncing knee and a steadfast, encouraging smile.
“Follow me,” the technician says sweetly as I approach the doorway.
Thirty minutes later, the tech finishes taking all the required measurements and images and excuses herself to fetch Bo from the waiting room.
I haven’t seen the baby yet or heard the heartbeat, since the screen has remained pointed toward the technician throughout. We’ve been making polite, infrequent conversation, but this ultrasound has been far more clinical than our last. It definitely feels as if the baby is the patient this time around, and I’m more of a walking incubator. It’s an unnerving feeling, honestly.
I’m twiddling my thumbs, looking up at the square-tiled ceiling, when I hear the curtain at the front of the room rustle as it’s pushed aside.
Bo comically towers over the technician as they walk in.
“All right, Dad, you can take that stool there,” she says, pointing next to the right side of my bed as she walks around the left.
Bo nods his thanks, lowering onto the stool.
“All okay?” he asks with a stiff smile.
“I think so,” I whisper. “I’ve just been lying here while she did her thing. She hasn’t said anything.”
Bo nods, rubbing his lips together anxiously.
“Hey,” I say, capturing his attention. “It’s okay,” I reassure him, smiling. “I’m sure everything is fine.”
“That’s supposed to be my line,” he says with a weak, crooked grin.
“All right,” the tech says, rotating the screen toward us. “Here we go.” She picks up her probe, untangles the wire from around her desk, and places it back on my swollen belly, pressing against the cool gel. With a click of a button, the baby is immediately projected onto the screen. A near perfect silhouette, just as you’d expect. Not a bean or alien-shaped thing anymore, but a full, tiny person with a disproportionately large head.