Page 55

Twenty-Two

It’s Thursday evening and I’m sitting in the OB/GYN’s room at Mount Sinai. My hands are twisting in my lap because of nerves, and I suddenly regret declining Oakley’s offer to come with me. After the weird weekend we had, she did a great job of keeping me busy all week, even if I ended up going home early most days. Now she’s not here, and I’m about to freak out.

The door opens, and I do a double take when I realize it’s Tala. Her hair is tied up on top of her head, and her eyes are bloodshot. She doesn’t see me immediately, but when she does, she scowls. In her defense, she has a few reasons to dislike me – the first being that I ended things with her dad because he had kids, and second being that he bought me a fucking classic Ferrari for my birthday. I give her a weak smile and then look away. My eyes catch sight of the parenting magazine on the table next to me. It’s a woman, and her partner, both caressing her growing baby bump. I wonder if I’ll ever have that, or if I’ll be marking off those pregnancy milestones on my own.

Tala sits down in the only seat available, which happens to be right next to me. Talk about awkward. Luckily, she’s called up first, and when she follows the nurse down the hallway, I let out a breath of relief. I check my phone while I wait for my appointment, watch a few videos on Tiktok, and while it passes the time, it doesn’t do much to distract me from why I’m here. Forty-five minutes later, Tala walks back out, wiping her face. She stops at reception, and I overhear the receptionist giving her information about prenatal vitamins and birthing classes. Tala nods and catches me staring. I can’t help it. Tala. Is. Pregnant. And I’m willing to bet Kalon has no idea. Her eyes are wide, and she’s about to open her mouth when the nurse calls my name. Tala pinches her lips together and turns her attention back to the receptionist just as I pass her. I can’t even process that right now because the nurse leads me into a sterile room, asks me to change into a gown, and lists what I need to do before the ultrasound technician will come fetch me.

Pee in a cup.

Take blood.

Weight.

Height.

Last menstrual cycle.

And a whole lot of other stuff I end up doing in a haze. Like filling out the paperwork for my file. The technician, a short African-American woman, brings in the ultrasound machine and asks me to lay down and spread my legs. Ha. That’s what got me into this fucking dilemma. I stopped referring to it as a ‘mess’ the moment it sank in that I was growing a human.

“Okay, I’m going to do a transvaginal ultrasound,” she explains. “That’s the most accurate way for us to get measurements at this stage of your pregnancy, and if we’re lucky, we might hear the baby's heartbeat.” I swallow and watch her slide a condom onto what looks like a fucking vibrator. I’m pretty sure I own the same model. “This is going to feel cold because of the gel, so just relax. Okay?” I nod, and immediately tense up when I feel the tip of the wand between my legs. “Relax, honey,” the tech reminds me, her smile gentle and kind. I breathe out, and rather than look at her hand down there, I focus on the screen. The tech clicks, clicks, clicks, and then I hear a whoosh-whoosh whoosh-whoosh whoosh-whoosh.

“Baby’s measuring at about 0.6 inches, and weighs about 0.12 ounces. Heartbeat is at about 170 beats a minute, which is healthy and strong.” Her words jumble together as I watch the screen, taking in the sound of my baby’s heartbeat. It’s surreal. My eyes water, and the tech passes me a tissue. “Would you like me to print out some pictures?” she asks. I nod, unable to look away. She cleans me up and escorts me back to the doctor’s office.

I wait a few minutes before Dr. Stevens walks in and gives me a wide smile. “Miss Byrne. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I reply. “Just tired.”

He starts taking notes in my file. “And the morning sickness, is that manageable?”

“I guess so. The nurse who took my weight said I’m well within the normal range, so I haven’t lost weight.”

“Good, good. Is this your first pregnancy?”

“Hmm hmm.”

“I’m quite happy with everything so far.” He looks up and hands me a script. “This is for your prenatal vitamins, and I'd like to see you again in,” he looks down, “three weeks.” He looks over some more of my paperwork, and I don’t miss how his posture changes. “Uh,” he clears his throat, and when he looks up again, his smile is forced. “You can make the appointment out front.”

“Thank you.” I leave his room feeling uncomfortable, and the feeling only gets worse when I see Tala’s still here. I make my next appointment with the receptionist, and then start walking out. Tala stops me.

“Please don’t tell my dad,” she blurts, her eyes growing wet. Oh, boy. Nothing good ever comes from keeping secrets, but her desperation is palpable, and I get the impression she could use someone to talk to.

“Come on,” I tell her. She precedes me, and when we’re side-by-side, I tell her, “Let’s go to the coffee shop, and we can talk.” The elevator ride down to the ground floor is obviously silent, and it’s once I order us both some tea that Tala relaxes. Poor girl looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“I’m freaking out,” she says, looking at me with doe eyes. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Channing.” Her voice cracks, and I move to the seat next to her. I rub circles over her back, a little shocked that I find myself in this situation. Kalon’s daughter is pregnant, and I’m pregnant with her sibling.

My brain-to-mouth filter fails me again when I say, “Oh, God, that’s weird.” I don’t mean to say it out aloud.

Tala’s brows furrow. “What’s weird?”

“My baby is your baby’s uncle or auntie.”

“Oh, that is weird,” Tala replies. “Wait, what?”

“I won’t tell your dad if you won’t.” Because that’s a super mature response for a mommy-to-be.

“How can it be my dad’s?”

I give her a look. Obviously I don’t need to explain the birds and the bees.