Page 75 of Mismatched

Anton and I both have our eyes glued to the screen in the dim room. This is very different than the last time we were here. I’ve been hiding in a lot of oversized sweatshirts now that it’s cold, but my stomach has just started to protrude, and the ultrasound tech is guiding the transducer through gooey jelly all over my midsection.

The air echoes with that loud, rhythmic whooshing sound again. The heartbeat.

And on the screen is the very clear outline of... a baby. Even I can make out the large, round head, and four limbs waving and kicking.

I suck in a breath. I can’t remember the last one I took.

Anton is perched on a stool next to me, holding my hand, eyes glowing. His heart is so clearly full, it makes me smile. But as I look at him, I can’t figure out how I feel.

I just—I guess I never thought we’d actually get here.

Thirteen weeks, almost fourteen. I never wished for something to happen; it just seemed like it would. The whole thing was too easy. Pregnant the second month of trying. No complications—unless you count the orgasm thing, which is supposedly normal. I’ve never even vomited. I was sure it couldn’t be this straightforward.

But here we are. Second trimester, and I’m not any less pregnant—quite the contrary.

I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry, it takes a couple tries.

The tech has taken about a zillion measurements, but she seems to be finishing up now, typing a last few numbers into the machine while it hums with printouts. Then the whooshing goes silent, the image disappears, and it’s only us in the room again.

But it feels just as crowded.

Dr. Sharma brightens the lights while the tech wipes my belly clean with a towel.

“I’ll double check your bloodwork, but everything seems right as rain,” the doctor says, studying the screen. “Any new complaints? Or new questions?”

“Um, can you tell if it’s a boy or girl?” Anton asks, staring at the strip of black-and-white pictures the tech hands him.

Dr. Sharma smiles. “Not yet—too soon. That will have to wait until the anatomy scan at twenty weeks. We’ll take a close look to see how everything’s developing at that appointment, and if the baby cooperates, we can usually make a guess at gender if you want to know.”

“I—” Anton looks suddenly to me. “I think we do?”

I nod immediately. “I don’t like surprises.”

He grins, relieved, leaning in to show me the printed sonograms. When he does, his clean, masculine scent breaks through all the sterile doctor’s office smells, invading my over-sensitive nose as his arm brushes the side of my breast. And my hormones are still so totally out of whack, this alone sends a shot of pleasure through my nipples and down into my core. I breathe deep, fighting the urge to pull him to me, bring his lips down to mine right here in the ultrasound room. But I resist, turning my attention back to the doctor with the question I’ve been sitting on.

“So, now that it’s officially the second trimester, um...” I hesitate, waiting as the tech exits the room. “I just wanted to ask—well, a couple weeks ago we called the office because I had some cramping after we—um?—”

I can feel my face reddening steadily until Dr. Sharma clicks quickly through my file. “Ah, yes. You had some cramping after orgasm. Has it continued to be as intense? Does it usually last more than a few minutes?”

If I thought my face was going to ignite before, now it’s on its way nuclear.

“We’ve been playing it safe,” Anton says, saving me with his matter-of-fact tone.

“Oh, I see.” The doctor gives us a warm smile. “Well, you have no risk factors or other concerns that I’d be worried about. So I’d say go ahead and resume normal activities—whatever feels good. But if you experience bleeding, sharp pain that doesn’t subside, or any unusual dizziness, give us a call.” She heads for the door and smiles. “Just stop at the desk and make sure you’re scheduled again in about four weeks. Other than that, have a Happy Thanksgiving!”

Anton humors my sudden desire for burgers and milkshakes, picking up takeout from Park Burger on the way home, but we don’t talk much. He’s still wearing that gleam from the doctor’s office, and I don’t want to ruin it for him by verbalizing the fifty different anxieties circling the inside of my brain. First and foremost, admitting I should probably pack a suitcase since our flight to Ohio leaves at seven a.m.

Fortunately, my brother-in-law of all people saves me from my own spiral, standing on our front steps, waiting for us as we pull in the driveway. Anton barely throws the truck into park when he spots him, he leaps out so fast.

“What the hell, man?” He buries his brother in an extended hug, and they’re almost like two handsome versions of each other, one with light hair, one dark. Anton pulls away awkwardly, clapping Seth on the back. “I thought you weren’t getting here till Saturday?”

Seth gives him a roguish grin, and I can’t help smiling too as I gather all our things and exit the car. “We wrapped up the closing quicker than I thought, so I packed Bruno up and hit the road early yesterday. Thought I’d drop in and say hello before you two skip town.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, hugging him awkwardly, juggling my purse and takeout bag and milkshakes.

“Here, let me get some of that for you,” he says, scooping things out of my arms and following Anton inside.

“We didn’t get enough food—you should’ve told us you were coming!” I scold him. “And where’s Bruno?”

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