He’d grinned, nervous and soft all at once. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
The sonographer had turned the screen slightly. “You’re having a girl.”
Something in the room had shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough.
Geoff had gone still, then let out a breath like he’d been holding it since conception. “A girl,” he’d repeated, quietly, like he was testing the word for weight.
I’d snorted. “Well. That explains the attitude.”
He’d laughed, eyes bright, hand finding mine without thinking. Fussing forgotten. Or maybe concentrated. Focused.
Now, on the sofa, with Lucy and her pencil and Geoff’s steady voice, the memory presses in sideways.
Pea-Lime gives another small kick, like she’s knocking from the inside.
“I know,” I mutter. “You’ve made your point.”
Geoff glances over again, softer this time. “Everything really okay?”
He’s already on his feet as he asks it, like the question pulled him up by an invisible string. He steps closer and hesitates for half a second, that familiar Geoff pause where he checks himself, then places his hand on my stomach.
And for reasons I do not examine too closely, I don’t hate it.
I don’t tense. I don’t flinch. I don’t even make a joke.
Which is alarming.
His hand is warm, steady, not tentative, not claiming. Just there. Like this is normal. Like we do this all the time. Like my body hasn’t been a hormonal chaos factory lately with a libido that’s woken up from hibernation and decided now is the time to stretch.
Pea-Lime kicks again, sharper this time.
Geoff’s eyes widen. “That was… that was her, right?”
“Yes,” I say, breath hitching despite myself. “Congratulations. You’ve been headbutted from the inside.”
His mouth curves into a grin that he doesn’t even try to hide. “She’s strong.”
“Don’t encourage her,” I mutter. “She already has opinions.”
Lucy has been watching this with growing concern and now pads over, small brows drawn together like she’s assessing a medical emergency.
“Auntie Christa,” she says seriously. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “She’s just kicking.”
Lucy’s eyes light up. “Oh. Babies do that.”
“They do,” I agree.
“Samira's mummy's baby kicked so hard she did a little wee,” Lucy announces helpfully.
Geoff chokes. I snort.
“Thank you for that,” I say. “Very reassuring.”
Lucy nods, satisfied. “She might be practising football. Or karate. Or just being grumpy because she’s squished.”
Geoff laughs softly, his hand still on my stomach. “I think she’s saying hello.”
