Page 65 of Best Friends
I suppose it shows how much I’ve changed that I love the idea of Malcolm being fated for me. I love the idea that, all along, the universe had this plan for us to meet. To become best friends. For us to be lifelong mates.
It’s a strange irony that an omega like me, who hated being in the spotlight, would have somehow captured the attention of the fuckinguniverse.
Chapter Thirteen
(Six months into the pregnancy)
The waiting room at Dr. Harrison’s office smells like vanilla air freshener and antiseptic, a combination that used to make me nauseous during my first trimester but now just feels familiar. Malcolm sits beside me, his leg bouncing with nervous energy while he flips through a parenting magazine without actually reading it. I can smell his anxiety mixing with his usual cedar scent, and I reach over to squeeze his hand.
“You’re more nervous than I am,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so the receptionist doesn’t overhear.
“I’m not nervous,” he says automatically, then catches my raised eyebrow and sighs. “Okay, maybe a little. It’s just... a lot can happen between appointments.”
“Everything’s been fine, Malc. The baby’s been kicking like crazy, I’m feeling good, my blood pressure’s been normal.” I rub my hand over the curve of my belly, which has finally rounded out enough that strangers can tell I’m pregnant rather than just wondering if I’ve been eating too many donuts.
“Carrick Quinn?” A nurse in navy scrubs calls from the doorway.
Malcolm jumps up before I can even start to stand, offering me his hand. I take it, even though I don’t really need the help yet, because the gesture makes him feel useful.
We follow the nurse down a hallway lined with photographs of babies and motivational posters about prenatal nutrition. Sheweighs me, and then leads us to an examination room. The room she chooses is larger than our usual one, dominated by the ultrasound machine in the corner. The bed is covered with fresh paper that crinkles when I sit down, and there’s a rolling stool positioned next to it. A small sink sits along one wall, above which hangs a cheerful poster showing fetal development month by month.
“Dr. Harrison will be right with you,” the nurse says, checking something off on her clipboard. “Go ahead and change into the gown, opening in the front. You can leave your pants on for now.”
After she leaves, I start unbuttoning my shirt while Malcolm paces the small space between the bed and the ultrasound machine. The room feels warm, probably kept that way so patients don’t get cold during exams, and I can hear the muffled sounds of other appointments happening in nearby rooms.
“Sit down,” I tell him affectionately. “You’re making me dizzy.”
He settles into the visitor’s chair, which looks like it’s seen better days, its green vinyl upholstery cracked along the armrests. “Sorry. I just want everything to be normal.”
“It will be,” I assure him, though I have to admit I’m feeling a flutter of nerves myself. Six months feels like a milestone, like we’re officially in the home stretch.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and Dr. Harrison enters with his usual warm smile. He’s in his late forties, with graying temples and kind brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His white coat is crisp and professional, but there’s something about his demeanor that immediately puts patients at ease.
“Good afternoon, Carrick, Malcolm,” he says, washing his hands at the sink. “How are we feeling today?”
“Good,” I answer. “Really good, actually. The morning sickness is completely gone, and I’ve got more energy than I’ve had in months.”
“Excellent. That’s exactly what we like to hear at twenty-four weeks.” He dries his hands and turns to face us, pulling up a rolling stool. “Any concerns? Questions? Unusual symptoms?”
Malcolm leans forward in his chair. “He’s been having some lower back pain,” he says before I can answer. “Is that normal?”
I shoot him an exasperated look. “It’s not that bad. Just when I’ve been on my feet for a long time.”
“I just want to be sure everything is normal.” Malcolm grimaces.
Dr. Harrison nods, making a note in my chart. “Completely normal. Your center of gravity is shifting as the baby grows. We can talk about some stretches and support options if it gets worse.” He looks up at me with a reassuring smile. “Ready to see how this little one is doing?”
My heart does a little skip of excitement. “Definitely.”
“Let’s start with the basics,” he says, pulling on gloves and then reaching for his stethoscope. “Lie back for me.”
The paper crinkles loudly as I recline, and Malcolm automatically reaches for my hand. Dr. Harrison’s stethoscope is cold against my chest, then my back, the metal shocking against my skin even though I was expecting it.
“Deep breath in... and out. Again.” He moves the stethoscope to different positions, his touch professional andgentle. “Heart sounds great. Now let’s check your blood pressure.”
The cuff tightens around my arm with a soft whooshing sound, and I watch the digital display climb and then slowly decline. “One-eighteen over seventy-six,” Dr. Harrison announces. “Perfect.”
He presses his fingers to my belly, checking for anything abnormal. He measures my belly next, stretching a tape measure from my pubic bone to the top of my fundus. “Right on track,” he murmurs, making another note. “Baby’s measuring exactly where we want to see at twenty-four weeks.”
