Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
She snorts, which is what I’m going for, but it comes out shaky.
“If it’s a girl, we could do something wild, too. ‘Chaos’ is gender neutral. So is ‘Tuesday.’”
She gives me her adorable side eye look. “We aren’t naming our baby Maverick, Chaos, or Tuesday.” Her tone is unbending, but her mouth twitches at the corners, almost a smile if I squint.
“You’re no fun.” I lace my fingers through hers, squeezing tight. And there it is—a smile, faint but real. I can’t help it. I want to keep her smiling. “Maybe we should go with something really simple, like ‘One.’” The word drops between us, ridiculous and perfect.
“One?” She snorts, full-body. “That’s it. You’re absolutely banned from suggesting any more names.”
I just grin, basking in her laughter, and hold her hand like I’m never letting go.
An older woman in scrubs appears at the door and calls, “Nadia Vale?” God, I love knowing this woman belongs to me forever.
Nadia jumps so hard she nearly throws her magazine on the floor. I stand and gently help my wife to her feet, and she keeps a white-knuckled grip on my hand as we follow the nurse, whose name badge reads Patrice, down a corridor lined with photos of glowy, blissful parents cradling gurgling infants.
The nurse leads us into a room at the end of the hall. “You’re here for the first ultrasound, right?”
Nadia nods, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “We are.”
Patrice’s voice softens. “Go ahead and sit. Just a few questions first.”
We shuffle inside, and I help Nadia up onto the paper-sheeted table, which crinkles alarmingly loud as she settles. I pull a chair up to her side, ignoring the urge to pace the tiny square of floor.
The nurse runs through a rapid-fire checklist, and Nadia answers each question while I hold her hand. God, I want to fast-forward this whole thing and give her every ounce of reassurance she needs.
The nurse finally cracks a smile, clicks her pen, and tells us, “You’re all set. The technician will be right in to do the ultrasound.” And then she’s gone.
Nadia lets out a heavy breath. “I have never,” she whispers, “wanted to throw up and pass out at the same time this bad in my life.”
I slide my hand up her arm. “Everything is going to be great.” I rest my forehead against hers. “We’re in this together, okay?”
“We’ve got this.” She smiles as there’s a knock at the door.
A smiling middle-aged woman strolls into the room. “Hi there, I’m Melinda, and I’ll be your ultrasound tech today!” Her voice is sing-song, zero judgment, maximum comfort. “Ready for your close-up of the little one?” She eyes the chart, then Nadia. “Oh, first time? Congrats, you two.”
Nadia nods, lips glued shut, but Melinda is unfazed. She flips on the monitor, slaps a pair of gloves on, and wheels over a little cart. She talks through every step, probably for our benefit, but I only catch half the words. My entire focus is on Nadia.
Melinda spreads a blue paper drape, then grabs the bottle of ultrasound goo. She pauses, looks at us both, and says, “This will be a little chilly.”
She wasn’t kidding. The second that gel hits Nadia’s belly, a full-body shiver runs through my wife’s body.
“We’re going to try to do this externally, but we’ll switch to the internal wand if we can’t get a good view of the little one.” Melinda presses a white plastic wand over Nadia’s belly, and immediately, a black-and-white snowstorm fills the monitor. There’s a pulsing “whoosh-whoosh” from the speakers. My heart is hammering in my ears, but it’s nothing compared to the noise of the tiny, alien heart beating inside my wife.
At first, it’s just a blur. Melinda clicks buttons, moves the probe, and adjusts angles. Nadia cranes her neck to see the screen, then looks at me, eyes wide. I can’t read her expression. Fear? Excitement? Both?
Melinda squints, pokes at the keyboard, then stops. She leans in. Then she grins. “Well, would you look at that?”
She freezes the image and points at the monitor.
I lean forward, squint. I see… a peanut? A jellybean? Maybe a shrimp.
Then I see something.
Then I see another something.
Two little kidney-shaped blobs, both flickering in and out. Two tiny heartbeats, thumping in perfect sync.
Nadia doesn’t say anything, but her grip on my hand tightens painfully. I think I might lose circulation below the wrist, but this is worth it.
Melinda clicks to highlight both blobs and circles them with her pointer.
“You’re having twins!” she announces cheerfully. “Identical, I’d bet. You guys hit the jackpot.”
My brain short-circuits. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I look at the screen, look at Nadia, look at Melinda, then back at the screen.
“Two?” Nadia’s voice is so small I barely hear it.
Melinda laughs, kind and gentle. “Two. There’s no mistaking it.”