Dr. Amato points out the feet and the hands. The baby moves, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“They’re being a little stubborn. Let me see if I can get a better view.” Dr. Amato shifts the probe a bit on Callie’s abdomen.
Callie and I share a knowing look. Our child was bound to be stubborn.
“There you are.” The doctor points at the screen, and I tilt my head to see what she does. “Nothing between those legs.”
“Nothing?” I panic, and Callie laughs.
“It’s a girl.” Callie turns to look up at me. “A baby girl.”
“Yep. And she’s very healthy, strong heartbeat, but there she goes moving around again. She’s very active.”
“Oh.” Callie stares down at her belly. “I felt that.” She smiles up at me. “It was like a little flutter.”
“That will happen more and more.” Dr. Amato pulls the wand back, cleaning it and Callie’s belly, then washes her hands again. “Everything looks great. Keep up everything you’ve been doing, and I’ll see you in a month.”
She leaves, and the nurse comes in and gives us pictures to take with us. I fold one up and slide it into my wallet.
Callie gets ready, but before we leave the room, I stop her.
“You’re happy?” I ask her.
“Of course. I didn’t care.”
“A girl.”
Callie tilts her head as though she can hear it in my voice. How a daughter scares me. What will I do with a girl?
She laughs and puts her hand on my cheek. “You’re going to be an amazing girl dad.” I blow out a breath, and she raises her other hand, cradling both my cheeks. “I know it’s scary, but we’re in this together.”
I nod. “I hope she has your fighting spirit. And I hope like hell she gets your ability to read a room, but most of all I hope she has your heart because it’s so pure, Callie.”
Tears glisten in her eyes.
“I hope the exact same. I hope she has her daddy’s heart.” She places her lips to mine.
“Let’s go home.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Sounds perfect.”
Chapter
Sixty-Two
Callie
* * *
A month has passed, and I never would’ve thought we’d be where we are. Things with Foster are exactly how I always dreamed they’d be. He even decided to go to therapy again. Apparently, he’d been before for a short amount of time, but as he says, it didn’t stick, so he’s looking for a new therapist in Chicago.
“Now who’s freaking out?” Leighton nudges me in the arm.
This has been a repeating pattern this year—Foster coming in with the bases loaded. We’re two outs from getting out of the inning. “Crazy Train” plays, and our little girl kicks me as if she knows it’s her daddy’s song. I cradle my stomach and stand, watching him walk to the mound. He stops at the edge, and Blue checks him over, but right before he joins Hayes and the other guys, Foster’s gaze lifts to meet mine.
The Jumbotron catches it. They’ve been doing that a lot lately. The camera seems to always land on me when he’s pitching.
He smiles and tilts his head at me. I don’t blow him a kiss, and he doesn’t do anything else because that’s not us.
