"We can prepare without knowing," I counter. "There are plenty of gender-neutral options."
Dr. Wiley watches this exchange with a carefully neutral expression, though I catch the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
"It's ultimately Camille's decision," Tristan says finally. "She's the one carrying the baby."
Julian sighs dramatically but winks at me. "Fine, we'll do it the old-fashioned way. But I absolutely know it's a girl."
"Boy," Alex says with surprising certainty.
"The suspense will be good for all of you," I say jokingly, settling back as Dr. Wiley prepares the ultrasound machine.
The cold gel on my stomach makes me flinch. Dr. Wiley murmurs an apology as she spreads it with the transducer, her eyes fixed on the screen that all four of us now watch closely.
There's a moment—just a moment—where nothing happens, and my heart crawls into my throat. What if something's wrong? What if?—
And then we hear it: the rapid, otherworldly swooshing of our baby's heartbeat filling the room. The screen flickers, and suddenly there he or she is—a tiny profile, a spine curved like a question mark, little hands that seem to wave at us.
"Oh my god," I whisper. Seeing that small body, those tiny fingers—it’s just crazy.
I feel Alex's hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. On my other side, Julian has moved closer, his expression uncharacteristically awestruck. I glance back at where Tristan stands, his blue eyes fixed on the screen, something tender and raw in his expression.
"Everything looks perfect," Dr. Wiley says, moving the transducer to capture different angles. "Good strong heartbeat, proper growth for sixteen weeks. See this?" She points to the screen. "That's the spine, developing beautifully."
Alex leans forward. "What about the heart? Can you see all four chambers?"
"Yes," she says, moving the wand slightly. "Right here. All forming exactly as they should be."
"And the brain development?" he continues. "Is the cerebellum forming properly?"
Dr. Wiley glances at him, a new respect in her eyes. "You've done your research. Yes, brain development is right on track."
"What about the delivery?" Alex asks, still holding my hand. "What safety measures do you recommend? I've been reading about?—"
"Alex," I interrupt gently, "we've got months before we need to worry about that."
"I just want to be prepared," he says, his voice softer than usual.
"We'll have plenty of time to discuss delivery options in the coming months," Dr. Wiley assures him, printing out several images of the ultrasound. "But right now, everything looks perfect."
The relief that washes over me is mirrored in three different expressions around me. Julian's hand finds my ankle, squeezing gently. Tristan exhales audibly. And Alex—Alex just keeps staring at the screen, at our baby, something like wonder replacing his usual controlled expression.
After we schedule the next appointment, Dr. Wiley guides us toward the service elevator that will take us directly to the underground parking garage.
"To avoid any unwanted attention," she says with a knowing look.
"Has it been bad?" I ask. "The photographers?"
She shrugs. "Not as bad as last week. I think they're starting to lose interest, but there are still a few camped out front most days."
“I really don’t understand how they know who my doctor is. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I suppose there’s always a way. But I assure you, they didn’t find out from anyone on my staff.”
“Of course not,” I reply, and I believe her.
As we descend in the elevator, I feel Julian's arm around my shoulders, Tristan's fingers laced through mine and Alex's warm palm on my back. Different touches, different men, but all connected to me, to the baby, to each other in this strange, wonderful web we're weaving together.
The paparazzi might still be following us, the world might still be watching and judging, but in this moment, I've never felt more protected or more sure that we're on the right path, as unusual as it may be.
