It’s clear I’ve done or said something wrong. I clear my throat. “I don’t have an obstetrician on retainer. He’s highly recommended. I discovered that with some digging in the car and have asked Viktor to verify he’s all that he seems, and the security will be airtight.”
She tosses her hair, looking perturbed. “Without asking me? I should be relieved you don’t have a harem of baby mamas, I suppose.”
I’m starting to see where I went wrong. “I found a physician who understands that his patients’ privacy is worth more than his billing rate, but if you really want someone else, we’ll keep looking.” I take the referral sheet from her hand and set it on the counter, handing her my phone instead, where I still have his information pulled up on my browser.
She takes it, looks it over thoroughly, and nods once, sharply. “I’m willing to meet him, but you can’t just choose my obstetrician.”
I fail to see the reason for her objections. I’ve found the best person for the job, and that should be enough, but I’m smart enough not to say that. “I see where I went wrong now. You don’t even have to meet with him.”
She crosses her arms and glares up at me. “I already said I would, but you aren’t going to make all the decisions.” She uncrosses them and picks up her coffee. “I’m bringing my own list of questions though.”
I’m almost giddy with relief that my fuck-up didn’t lead to a tirade. “I’d expect nothing less.”
After Viktor thoroughly vets him,Aurora makes her own appointment because I don’t have a death wish. Two days later, we head to the appointment. As I have for the last two days, I give every appearance of being in control and having this all together, but the reminder she’s pregnant with my baby surfaces randomly, interrupting my thoughts, and forcing me to cycle through the myriad emotions that generates each time. I’ve accepted it as a theoretical concept, but I’m not sure I actually believe it yet.
Dr. Miller’s practice occupies the second floor of a medical building in Coral Gables, with a private elevator and a waiting room that seats four. The receptionist takes Aurora’s information without asking for insurance. Aurora gives me a look, and I pretend not to see it.
Miller is in his fifties, with gray at the temples and a calm, unhurried manner that puts Aurora at ease faster than any reassurance I could offer. He walks her through the intake process, asks detailed questions about her medical history, and explains the ultrasound procedure while she sits on the exam table in a paper gown.
I sit in the chair beside the table. She reaches for my hand without looking at me, and I take it.
Miller applies the gel and positions the transducer. The screen fills with gray static and shifting shapes that I can’t interpret, and I wait while Miller adjusts the angle, studying the image with care. “There we go.” He points to the screen. “That’s your baby.”
Aurora squeezes my hand. I look at the screen and see a small, curved shape with a fluttering pulse at its center, and I forget to breathe until she squeezes again. The theoretical concept I’ve been managing for two days just became a heartbeat on a monitor, and the distance between knowing Aurora is pregnant and seeing the proof collapses in under a second.
Miller adjusts the transducer again. He moves it slowly, and the image shifts. He pauses, leans closer to the screen, and then sits back. “There’s a second one.”
Aurora turns her head toward me. I’m already looking at her. Neither of us speaks. The monitor keeps swooshing, but the rhythm sounds different now, layered with two heartbeats occupying the same space without competing.
“Twins.” Miller says calmly before pausing to give us a minute to catch up. “Both are measuring appropriately for nine weeks from conception, which Dr. Farrell dated as eleven weeks from your last period. The heartbeats are strong and distinct.” He points to two separate fluttering points on the screen. “Here and here. Do you see them?”
I see two separate heartbeats inside the woman whose hand I’m holding, and I tighten my grip until Aurora squeezes back to tell me to ease up. I loosen my hold without letting go. Nothing in my life prepared me for this moment.
“Twins.” She says it like she’s testing the word against reality. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely sure. Two gestational sacs, two embryos, and two heartbeats. Dichorionic diamniotic twins, which means they each have their own placenta and amniotic sac. That’s the most favorable configuration for twin development.”
Aurora looks at the screen for a long moment. She goes still, taking in something enormous, and she won’t respond until she’s decided how she wants to react. I wait. The room is quiet except for the rhythmic swooshing of the heartbeats through the monitor’s speaker, doubled and overlapping like a conversation I can’t follow yet.
“At nine weeks from conception, we can offer a blood test called NIPT,” Miller says, turning to his desk and pulling up a form. “Non-invasive prenatal testing. It screens for chromosomal conditions like Down syndrome and can also determine the sex of each baby. The results take about a week. I’d recommend the chromosomal screening regardless, but the sex determination is entirely optional.”
Aurora looks at me. “Do you want to know?”
The question catches me unprepared. I’ve spent my entire life wanting every available piece of information before making decisions. Uncertainty is a weakness. Data is power. I should want to know. I should want to know everything about these two lives that just appeared on a screen and upended my priorities.
“Do you?” I ask instead of answering, because her choice matters more than my instinct, and I’m only beginning to understand why that’s true.
She turns back to Miller. “Not yet. I want one joyful thing saved for a moment that doesn’t feel overshadowed by danger. Yes to the genetic testing though.”
Miller nods, doesn’t ask about the danger comment, and enters something on his laptop. “It’s added to the pregnancy panel lab order now.”
I look at Aurora, and the deliberateness of her choice tells me more about who she is than any conversation we’ve had. She’s keeping something unknown in a life where too many unknowns are already trying to kill us. I wouldn’t have made that choice, but I’m oddly glad she did.
Miller prints two images from the ultrasound and hands one to each of us. “I’d like to see you again in three weeks for the anatomy check. We’ll have a better picture of development by then, and the NIPT results should be back by that appointment.”
Aurora takes the printout and looks at the two small, blurry, improbable shapes that have instantly altered everything. I look at mine and fold it carefully into my jacket pocket, pressing it flat against my chest where I can feel the edge of it with every breath.
We stop by the in-office lab so she can get blood drawn and meet Viktor in the waiting room, where he’s been keeping watch. Two other men are on the back of the clinic, and Fedor waits to drive us home. We walk out with me on one side of her and Viktor on the other, giving maximum coverage. My hand rests briefly on her stomach, and we share a look.
