Page 30 of Better as It

For her.

Always for her.

Inside, it smells like disinfectant and flowers. The waiting room is all muted pastels and outdated magazines. There’s a couple across from us, they are young, nervous, with theirfingers laced together. The woman’s belly is huge, round, hard and permanent.

Dia stares at her for a long moment.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, but her voice is brittle. “Feels real now.”

“Because it is.”

She doesn’t answer, but her hand reaches for mine. She threads her fingers through mine like she’s not even aware she’s doing it. I squeeze.

We don’t say anything else until the nurse calls her name.

She stands. Starts to move. Then looks back at me. “You coming?”

“Always.”

The room is small. Sterile. Covered in informational posters with smiling cartoon fetuses and vitamin checklists. The nurse hands me a gown and tells Dia to get undressed before leaving the room. She does and once I tie the gown, Dia sits on the table. I take the chair. Her legs swing slightly where they hang off the edge. Her hands twist in her lap.

“You nervous?” I ask quietly.

She doesn’t look at me. “I didn’t sleep.”

The doctor enters—woman in her mid-fifties, glasses perched low, clipboard in hand.

She introduces herself as Dr. Alvarado and moves with a quiet confidence I like immediately. She doesn’t look surprised to see me there, doesn’t ask me questions. Just talks to Dia. Asks about symptoms. Schedules bloodwork. Talks about timelines.

After doing the usual listening to her heart, lungs, giving Dia the general stuff, she slides out the stirrups from some magic holes in this table. Then she pulls out the ultrasound machine. The wand comes up and I know my eyes grow huge.

“This might be early,” she says. “We’ll take a look and see what we’ve got.”

Dia lays back. I move closer, standing at her side, her hand in mine now.

I watch her face more than the screen.

The moment it hits her.

The way her eyes widen just a little.

Dr. Alvarado points to a blurry flicker. “There. That’s the heartbeat.”

The sound—fast, steady, unmistakable—fills the room. Dia covers her mouth with her free hand. I feel her grip tighten on mine.

I don’t say anything. Because there’s nothing to say that wouldn’t fall short of this. There is nothing more beautiful than this moment. She’s got life inside her.

And I don’t care that it’s not mine. It’s her.

Back in the truck, we don’t drive right away. We sit there. The ultrasound confirmed her due date is closer than it would be from when we had sex. It is Clutch’s kid. I knew it beforehand, but it doesn’t mean there isn’t a small piece inside of me that wishes it could have been some kind of miracle. Regardless of biology, I’ll be there for Dia and her baby for whatever they need from me.

Dia’s quiet, staring out the window. The ultrasound photo is clutched in her hand, edges already worn from the way she keeps flipping it over, holding it tight, then staring again.

After a long stretch of silence, she whispers, “I’m scared.”

I nod. “So am I.”

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