Page 49 of Books and Hookups

“Sciatica. Varicose veins. At nine months, I couldn’t take a full breath,” Savannah said. Then she gasped. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You’ll forget all about it when the baby’s born.”

“Baby brain.” Dr. Cheema nodded. “Lie back, and I’ll take some measurements.”

I lay down on the table.

“Have you been reading The Book?” Savannah asked. “It’s all in there. If you’re curious.”

I’d stacked two biographies and a thriller on top of it on my bedside table. “Not yet.”

“Read it. It’ll help.”

“Your friend is right,” Dr. Cheema said, laying a very unscientific-looking tape measure across my baby bump. “More information is always better.”

My head was ready to burst with all the interviews I’d done for my book. I couldn’t squeeze in an entire baby book. Not until I was done with mine. So I changed the subject. “Thanks for theexternalultrasound this time.”

She pocketed her measuring tape. “Your baby’s big enough that we can scan it from the outside.” She flicked on the screen, and we all peered at it. “Your baby looks healthy. Development is on track, heartbeat is in the normal range. Blood flow looks good, and the placenta and amniotic fluid are normal.”

On the screen was a black-and-white profile of a baby. Its head was huge and its little body was curled up. I thought I could make out a bent leg and possibly— “Are those its fingers?”

“Good eye. Baby’s hand is up in front of its face, and those are its fingertips. Here, there’s sound too.” Dr. Cheema clicked a button, and a rhythmic whooshing sound started. It reminded me of when I was a little girl, and I’d lie on the couch with my mom, listening to her heartbeat.

Hearing the baby’s heart beating and seeing those five tiny bright points on the screen made something slot into place. There was an actual baby inside me. It had fingers and, I assumed, toes. It had a face. And a heartbeat that proved it was alive.

I couldn’t distinguish any features. It looked like a generic baby. But it might have my father’s nose. Or my mother’s. My brown eyes. Danny’s firm jaw.

“Do you want to know the baby’s sex?” Dr. Cheema asked.

“You can tell?” I asked.

“Baby cooperated, so I’m fairly certain.”

I exchanged a glance with Savannah. She’d been so supportive through this. She’d been a wonderful friend, but she wasn’t the baby’s parent. It didn’t seem right to share the knowledge with her first. Especially after Danny had done me such a huge favor by introducing me to Sister Frances. Her interview had been gold.

“Could you write it on a piece of paper for me? I’d like to, um, share it with the father first.”

“Aw.” Savannah clapped softly. “I love that. We can seal it in an envelope with some of the screenshots, and you can have a little moment together.”

“It’s not amoment,”I grumbled. “It’s a reveal of what type of genitalia the baby has. It says nothing about what sort of person they’ll grow into.”

“Still…” She gave me a sidelong glance. “I think it’s adorable that you want to find out together. But you’ll tell me after? I want to get you an annoyingly gendered gift.”

“Of course you do,” I said. “And yes, I will.” I reached out a hand, and she clasped it. “Thank you for coming to my appointments with me.”

“…but now you want to ask Danny if he wants to come with you.” She nodded. “I’m glad. But if he can’t make it, call me, okay?”

“Yeah. God, my eyes are burning. I think it must be the low light in here.”

Dr. Cheema and Savannah exchanged a glance. “Pregnancy symptom,” they said at the same time.

“Your hormone levels are fluctuating,” my doctor said, handing me a tissue. “You’ll probably experience more emotional shifts than usual.”

I blotted my eyes. “Goddammit.”

18

I Buy into a Social Construct

The Taming of the Blue

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