Pregnant.
The room blurred. Mal shook his head and blinked tears away, almost incapable of believing what he’d been told.
Pregnant.
“As per the contract you signed upon submitting your candidacy for the trial, you’ll be following up with a Synecta obstetrician throughout the course of your pregnancy. At your next appointment—your first ultrasound—you’ll be introduced. Dr. Gupta is a phenomenal physician, and she’ll make sure your pregnancy goes according to plan. You’ll need to make your own arrangements for delivery, but Dr. Gupta will be able to plan that with you at a later appointment.”
The information flowed through Mal’s mind and kept going, lost in the ocean of his thoughts. Inside of him, tiny but formidable, was the small life he’d cherish for all time.
Mal closed his eyes. A deep, nearly cosmic force united his soul with the rest of the universe and expanded his mind in illimitable ways. He was no different than he’d been when he’d woken up this morning, and not changed from the man he’d been just two short weeks ago, but the joy in his heart lightened his spirit and made him feel as though he’d never be the same person again.
At two weeks, Mal was still at risk of suffering a loss. He understood it. Deep down, in the same place his troubled thoughts resided, he accepted that there could be a time in the coming months when Vincent rescinded the good news he’d just shared. But right now, the small victory of knowing that the pregnancy had taken was enough.
If he and his little fighter could get through two weeks, then they could get through two months. Six. Nine. And with Vincent there to guide him through the process—to ease the burden of being alone through a pregnancy complicated by age—then Mal was sure he could see it through.
Nothing would stop him. Nothing would stand in his way.
Not age. Not circumstance. Not himself.
“Is there anything else I need to do now?” Mal asked. He opened his eyes and focused his gaze on Vincent. “I’ve never been to this stage before. If there’s anything I should know…”
“Continue to eat healthy and perform light exercises and stretches. Avoid heavy lifting, avoid sources of stress… largely, everything you were advised to do these last two weeks, keep doing.” Vincent hesitated. Although his expression remained amiably professional, Mal detected an undercurrent of mischief in Vincent’s voice. “At this point, as you’ve reported no heavy spotting or cramping, you have permission to be intimate again.”
Absentmindedly, Mal ran his hands up his thighs, brushing his fingertips against the steel beneath his jeans. A tinyclickechoed through the room, filling it in near impossible ways. It was the sound of the padlock hitting one of the rings of the cage. Most days, when Mal went out in public, he wrapped the padlock in an elastic band to keep it from making noise. This morning, in his excitement, he’d forgotten.
The piercing intensity of Dr. Biernacki’s eyes bore through his back, drilling soundlessly into his spine and coiling his nerves until he shivered. Mal looked in his direction, but by the time he had, Dr. Biernacki had already looked away. His eyes were glued on his knees, lips twisted with subtle melancholy that rattled Mal in unexpected ways. The risk Dr. Biernacki had posed to the future of his family had turned him into a villain, but in that moment, Mal saw a young man who was lost and lonely—a Gage, or an Everett, or even a Caleb, who needed help, but was convinced the burden of solving his problems was on him, and him alone.
“If you decide to become intimate and notice that you start cramping or bleeding, contact the team immediately and refrain from engaging in further sexual activity,” Vincent elaborated. “I’d recommend starting slowly—you should tell your partner or partners to treat you carefully. At this point, the less risk you take, the better.”
The sly suggestion redirected Mal’s attention. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from saying anything he’d regret. Although he was no longer in danger of being expelled from the program without a viable pregnancy to show for it, Vincent’s job was still on the line. They treaded a fine line and toyed with the edge of what was acceptable. Mal wasn’t glad that Dr. Biernacki seemed so distraught, but the emotional distraction proved an extra layer of security that Mal was pleased to have. “Thank you, doctor. Is there anything else I need to know, or am I free to go?”
“You’re free to go.” Vincent turned back around to face the counter, but in the second before his eyes left Mal’s, there was a glint in them that looked every bit as overjoyed as Mal’s spirits. “Our next scheduled appointment is for the ultrasound on June twenty-third. If you check with Mr. Lythe at the front desk, you can confirm the time.”
“Thank you.” Mal lowered himself from the examination table. The usual aches and pains of age were absent, his body lifted as much as his mind. “I’ll check in with Mr. Lythe to confirm. Um. Thank you, doctors.” Mal spoke not only to Vincent, but to the other doctors in the room. He turned his attention to Dr. Biernacki, who looked perhaps more depleted now than he had minutes before, and to Dr. Peterman and Dr. Heaney, who observed idly, but offered him kind, congratulatory smiles. “All of you have made this possible, and I’m excited to see how the rest of this pregnancy goes while under your expert care.”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Dr. Peterman said. “Enjoy the rest of your day. We’ll see you again come June twenty-third.”
“See you,” Mal said.
He left the room no different a man from who he’d been when he’d entered it, save for the knowledge of the small life now inside of him—the one that would change his life.
* * *
A bouquetof blood-red roses waited outside the door to Mal’s apartment, twelve dark blooms accented by tasteful inclusions of baby’s breath. Mal came to a stop when he saw it, the keys he’d once held in his fist dropping from his palm to dangle between his fingers. They swung, jingling, suspended from the key to his front door that he held between his fingers in anticipation of coming home.
A card was leaned against the bouquet, its envelope a pale, speckled gray. There was no name, but Mal knew who it was for, and who it was from. The glow that had lit him up from the inside in the clinic rekindled in full force.
Roses.
Who had ever bothered to send him roses before?
He tried to pinch back a smile, but it was no use—his lips spread of their own accord, stretching until his cheeks ached and a sunny grin took over.
What a man he’d found in Vincent.
Mal scooped up the bouquet from the floor and held it against his chest tenderly, afraid of crushing the blooms. The flowers were fragrant, freshly harvested, and yet to reach their full glory. Under his watchful eye, they’d open their petals and bask, if only for a short span of time, in their full beauty before he preserved them.
What a thoughtful gift. How had Vincent organized it from work?
