Page 66 of Best Friends
“And everything’s... normal?” Malcolm asks, his grip on my hand tightening slightly.
“Normal is a big thing for Malcolm lately,” I say teasingly.
Malcolm grins sheepishly. “Sorry.”
Dr. Harrison smiles warmly. “Don’t worry. It’snormalfor the alpha to be worried.”
Malcolm and I laugh.
“Everything looks excellent though,” Dr. Harrison confirms. “Carrick’s blood work from last week came back perfect, his weight gain is right where it should be, and all the measurements are textbook.” He glances between us. “Ready for the main event?”
I nod eagerly while Malcolm scoots his chair closer to the bed. Dr. Harrison wheels the ultrasound machine over, its screen dark and waiting. The machine itself is impressive—a sleek white tower on wheels with a large monitor mounted on top. The control panel is covered in an array of buttons, knobs, and digital displays, each labeled with medical abbreviations Idon’t understand. A thick cable snakes from the machine to the transducer wand, and there’s a small printer built into the side that’s already humming quietly in standby mode.
“This gel might be a little cold,” Dr. Harrison warns, squeezing a generous amount onto my exposed belly.
The gelisshockingly cold, making me gasp and instinctively tense up. Malcolm’s thumb strokes over my knuckles in comfort while Dr. Harrison positions the transducer against my skin.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he murmurs, moving the wand around until suddenly the screen comes to life with grainy black and white images.
At first, it just looks like abstract shapes and shadows, but then Dr. Harrison adjusts something and suddenly I can make out the unmistakable profile of a baby. A real baby. Our baby.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, my eyes immediately burning with tears.
Malcolm makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut. “Wow.”
“That’s your baby,” Dr. Harrison confirms with a grin.
The image on the screen is so much clearer than our earlier ultrasounds. I can see the curve of the baby’s spine, the distinct shape of the head, tiny fingers curled into fists. When Dr. Harrison moves the wand, we can see the baby’s profile in sharp detail. There’s a button nose, slightly parted lips, the gentle slope of the forehead.
“The heart looks great,” Dr. Harrison narrates, switching to a different view that shows the four chambers pumping rhythmically. The sound of the heartbeat fills the room, strongand fast and absolutely perfect. “Hundred and fifty beats per minute. And look at this—”
He moves the transducer again, and suddenly we’re looking at the baby’s face straight on. Two eye sockets, the shadow of a nose, and what might be a tiny smile.
“Holy shit,” Malcolm whispers, then immediately flushes. “Sorry, Doc.”
Dr. Harrison laughs. “I’ve heard worse. And honestly, that’s about the right reaction. A baby is a miraculous thing.”
I can’t stop staring at the screen. This tiny person has been growing inside me for six months, and seeing them like this makes it all feel real in a way it hasn’t before. “And everything’s developing as it should?”
“Everything looks textbook perfect,” he assures me, moving the wand to show us different angles. “Brain development is right on track, all the organs are where they should be, growth is excellent.” He pauses on a view of the baby’s hands. “Look at those fingers.”
Ten perfect little fingers, opening and closing like the baby is waving at us. Malcolm makes another choked sound, and when I look over at him, there are tears in his eyes.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
“Better than okay,” he manages. “It’s so cool to see the baby. I’m just… amazed.”
Dr. Harrison moves the transducer to a different position. “Would you boys like to know the sex? I can get a pretty clear view from this angle.”
I feel Malcolm tense beside me, and I know he wants to know. He’s mentioned a few times how much easier it would be to plan the nursery and pick out names if we knew whether we were having a boy or girl.
“I...” I look at him, torn. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s up to you,” he says immediately, though I can see the curiosity burning in his eyes.
“You want to know,” I observe.
He shrugs. “Practicality wise, it makes sense. But I want whatever you want.”
