Page 77 of If the Ring Fits

Sarah Lopez

Worry not, I’m going to whip those traders harder than a dominatrix in a sex dungeon

I smile, imagining the grief Rowena would dish at me if she read this message, and only type back:

Adrian

Now *you* scare me

I only get a smiley devil emoji in response.

Straightening my tie one last time, I compose myself and head out of my room to meet Rowena.

As Sam pulls up to the clinic entrance, I glance over at Rowena on the backseat beside me. She meets my gaze and gives me a small smile, eyes anxious as they crinkle at the edges with unspoken tension. I lean over, cupping her cheeks. “It’s going to be fine,” I whisper. “I’m right here with you.”

She nods. “I know. Thank you for coming with me today, Adrian. It means a lot.”

“Of course. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The words come out more earnest than I intended, revealing a deeper truth, but before I can dwell on it, Sam opens the car door for us.

The modern glass façade gleams in the morning sun, radiating a sense of sleek professionalism and efficiency. “Fancy.” I try to lighten the mood. “Think they’ll have cucumber water and those little sandwiches with the crusts cut off in the waiting room?”

Rowena laughs and bumps me with her shoulder. “No, sorry to crush your fancy snacks dreams. They only have vending machines.”

Clinlada’s doors swish open and, with a mock gallant bow, I gesture for Rowena to pass first.

The cool blast of air conditioning envelops us as we stepinside, carrying the faint, astringent scent of antiseptic. I wrinkle my nose. I’ve never liked that medicinal hospital smell.

Rowena approaches the reception desk where a smiling woman greets her warmly and checks her in. I stand off to the side, hands shoved in my pockets, trying not to fidget. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I’m the one getting an ultrasound.

“The doctor will be right with you, dear,” the receptionist says. “You can have a seat in the waiting area.”

The receptionist points us to a row of blue padded chairs. I help Rowena sit with a hand under her elbow. There’s no other word for it: I’m fussing. “Comfortable?”

She grins up at me. “Yep.”

I settle into the chair next to her, our hands finding each other and interlacing almost on reflex, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” I say after a moment. “Have any name ideas yet?”

Rowena smiles, a wistful, secretive grin. “A few. But I want to wait to decide until I meet them, you know? See what suits them.”

I nod. “Makes sense. You wouldn’t want to saddle the kid with a name like Elmo or Agnes still in the womb.”

She laughs. “What if Elmo or Agnes were my top picks?”

I gape. “You wouldn’t?”

Before she can respond, a nurse appears in the doorway with a clipboard. “Rowena Taylor?”

I stand, still holding Rowena’s hand as I help her up. “Ready?” I ask, searching her face.

She nods, her fingers tightening around mine. “Ready. I can’t wait for you to meet the baby.”

Thebaby, but notourbaby. Hers. The words ring in my head as we follow the nurse down the hall.

With every step closer to that ultrasound room, I wish things were different. That this weremybaby. And I’ve never wanted kids.

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