Page 96 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
I interrupt and speak in Dutch to Dr. De Vries. Helene rightfully makes a face at me for leaving her out of the conversation.
“Sorry,” I say in English. “I just…I don’t want to know that about the baby.”
“You want it to be a surprise,” Dr. De Vries says, smiling and nodding in approval.
I neither confirm nor deny. Better to let the doctor think what she wants.
Helene, however, knows what’s going on in my head, and she frowns.
Dr. De Vries doesn’t notice, because she’s too busy swirling the ultrasound wand around to get at different angles of the fetus. “It’s difficult to tell the baby’s sex anyway,” she says. “I would estimate that you’re about fourteen weeks along, plus or minus a couple weeks. The baby’s genitals will be more clearly visible in about a month.”
She shifts the discussion to the prenatal vitamins she wants Helene to take. Meanwhile, I mentally tabulate when this baby is due—the middle of October.
Every muscle in my body tenses. That’s nearly six months from now.
Six months of hoping the baby will live.
Six months of praying the pregnancy won’t kill Helene.
Six months of warring with myself, wanting to protect the woman I’ve loved for eternity, while also wanting us to finally have a child. I can’t imagine anything more extraordinary than creating a new life with the woman who is my everything.
When I tune back into their conversation, Helene and Dr. DeVries are talking about the timeline for checkups.
“We’ll be in Amsterdam for two more weeks,” Helene says. “Then we’re off to Cannes for the film festival after this.”
“How lovely!” Dr. De Vries says. “Well, I will write down the name of a medical school colleague of mine who runs a gynecology clinic in the south of France. I recommend you see him next month while you’re there.”
My alarm bells go off. In Dutch, I ask, “Why? Is there something wrong with the baby?” I hold my breath as I wait for her answer.
In English, Dr. De Vries says, “Nothing to worry about, simply part of routine prenatal care.”
I glance at Helene in apology. I don’t mean to keep switching into Dutch. Perhaps it’s a psychological instinct to spare her if there’s any bad news. Or maybe my nerves have shaken up my brain so it can’t stick to a single language anymore.
“It’s going to be okay, Sebastien,” Helene says. “No, actually, it’s going to be amazing.” She reaches over from the exam table and takes my hand. God bless this woman for her patience with me. For her, I’ll attempt to act like a normal human being.
“Thank you, Dr. De Vries,” I say, still only half believing that both Helene and the baby are healthy. “We’ll be sure to see your friend when we’re in Cannes.”
HELENE
After Amsterdam, the French Rivierahas always been the place in Europe that holds my fascination most. It’s the seaside playground of the rich, the site of the Hollywood star–studded Cannes Film Festival, an exciting and glamorous world that most of us have only read about or seen on TV.
We pull up to the Villa Garbo in Cannes, a small, charming white building with pretty details on its facade, and wrought-iron balconies outside each large window. It looks more like a graceful mansion than a hotel.
A man in a crisp uniform appears and opens my door. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.Welcome to Villa Garbo.” Behind him, a bellhop appears and takes our bags before I’m out of the car.
Sebastien rushes over to take my arm, overprotective about me stumbling. I pat his hand and tease him. “Being pregnant doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to lose my ability to balance.”
He flushes and withdraws his arm. “Sorry.”
I kiss his cheek. “It’s sweet. But you don’t need to worry aboutevery tiny thing.” (I know he will anyway, but at least I can give him permission to relax.)
The man in the uniform—Jean-Phillipe—leads us toward the elevator, without stopping at Reception.
“Don’t we need to check in?” I ask Sebastien.
A hint of mirth touches the corner of his mouth. “I think Jean-Phillipe is afraid you might trip on the two stairs that lead up to the reception desk, seeing as you’re dangerously pregnant. So he’s leading us straight to the room to minimize risk.”
“Ha-ha, very funny, Mr. Comedian.” I shove Sebastien gently, but I’m glad he can laugh at himself. He’s been through a lot with past Juliets trying to have children, so this isn’t easy for him.
