Grant squeezed my hand, and I returned a squeeze.
I didn’t know why, but suddenly I felt paralyzing anxiety that there wouldn’t be a heartbeat. I knew it was still pretty early into the pregnancy, but I realized I cared deeply about this. From someone who didn’t want children, I’d morphed into a person who couldn’t imagine losing my popcorn-size baby.
And then Dr. Horwitzdidfind the heartbeat, and in that small jittery dot I found reason, and purpose, and joy, and love. So much love.
So. Much. Love.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Strong and fast,” Dr. Horwitz cooed. “Just how we want it.”
I turned to look at Grant. His eyes were twinkling. I was sure, by the sting of it, that mine were too.
“We’re having a baby,” I whispered.
“And you’re doing all the hard work.” He leaned to swipe a lock of hair from my forehead. “I’m just sitting here in stupid awe with you.”
Dr. Horwitz used the ultrasound to measure the fetus, then took screenshots of it. Unfortunately, this also meant she was moving that thing around inside me with the tenderness of an MMA fighter.
“Are you giving our baby a photo shoot?” I said, eying her. “I did notice it was fine looking, even for a fetus.”
Dr. Horwitz laughed. “Yes, I’m taking pictures. I’ll print them out so you can have them.”
I perked up. “We’re going to have pictures of our peanut?”
“Plenty of them. You appear to be six and a half weeks along, give or take. So I’m going to put November seventh as your due date.”
“Did you hear that?” I turned to Grant. “We have a due d—”
But his head was tilted down, his eyes stuck on his phone screen. He was reading a text message. I couldn’t see what it said, but I could see where it was from.
Jessica.
“Hmm?” He looked up, smiling at me.
I slid my fingers out of his. My smile fell.
“The due date is November seventh,” I said evenly, reminding myself I was in no position to interfere with his love life.
Chapter Nine
Grant
“So how’s that going to work out?” Chase put his beer to his lips, taking a slow sip.
We were in a bar a block from my apartment. I’d been nursing the same untouched bottle of beer for an hour now. He was halfway into his second bottle, while I was scowling at my phone screen. More specifically, at a picture a DoorDasher had sent me of ramen delivery on Layla’s apartment doorstep.
I’d been sending her favorite food to her daily to make sure she was eating. She’d become the pickiest eater to ever grace the earth. She barely thanked me or answered any of my text messages. Which was frankly understandable, because I was acting like a mother hen.
“What do you mean?” I swung my gaze to his face reluctantly.
“Now that you’re moving to Minnesota. How are you going to be present for the baby?”
The truth was, I didn’twantto move anymore. My priorities had changed as soon as Layla broke the news to me. I’d gone back and forth about the decision. Ultimately, though, I had to do what Layla wanted.
“Layla is already feeling guilty about the pregnancy, like she stole my sperm or something. And she’s been stingy inanswering my calls and messages. She told me giving up this opportunity is out of the question and would only make her feel worse about having this baby. I think if I stuck around, it’d send her into an existential crisis. She’d think I was trying to play house.”
Which couldn’t have been further from the truth. I didn’t want toplay. I wanted the real thing.
