Page 93 of Top Scorer
She speaks reassuringly. “That’s not unusual for fraternal twins. We’ll keep a close eye with regular scans, but right now, both heartbeats are strong, fluid levels are normal, and movement’s exactly what we want to see. No cause for worry.”
Relief prickles behind my eyes. Tristan kisses my temple.
Annie glances at us. “Do you still want to wait to know the sexes?”
“Yes,” Tristan answers instantly for both of us.
She smiles, swiveling the monitor slightly away. “Then I’ll keep that part a surprise. Next time, they’ll be bigger, and you might even see a foot or hand stretch across the screen.”
As she wipes the gel from my stomach, I press Tristan’s hand to the spot where I just felt a solid thump. His eyes widen when another kick lands right under his palm.
“That’s not a flip,” he murmurs. “That’s a jab.”
I chuckle.
“When should we come back?” I ask Annie.
“End of March should be fine. How are you doing otherwise? Any more sickness? Fatigue?”
“I feel pretty good,” I answer honestly. “This second trimester has gone smoother than I expected.”
“You’re still teaching full days,” Tristan mutters. “That might not be as easy moving forward.”
“Lots of pregnant women work. I don’t stay on my feet more than I have to. And I hydrate, even if it means a bathroom break every half hour.”
“There’s really nothing to worry about if you’re feeling good,” the doctor states. “No contractions or discomfort?”
“Nope. I’m good. Also, I’m traveling in early March for spring break. That’s OK, right?”
“Early March is at about twenty-four weeks. That shouldn’t be a problem. Stay put after thirty weeks, though. Till then, continue to eat healthy and hydrate. Grab that vacation while you can.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
She leaves us in the room to gather ourselves. That’s when I notice two trenches between his brows.
“The doctor said the babies are fine. The little one will catch up, don’t worry,” I comfort him.
He runs a hand roughly over his head. “You shouldn’t be carrying your own bags. Or running rehearsals on your feet all night after teaching all day.”
“Shit, that reminds me. We should leave now if we want to grab a meal before the kids get there.”
He bites his lower lip to stop himself from objecting. Good choice, since I’ve got no time to quibble over my job at the moment. On the way out, we sync our calendars for the next ultrasound.
After swinging by Chopped, I eat my salad as he drives us back to the school.
“You should have an assistant,” he declares.
“The school can’t afford one.”
“Bullshit.” It’s a harsh word, but he sounds determined, not pissed.
We make it to the high school auditorium on time and, to my surprise, Tristan sticks around. My baby daddy is a handsome bouncer on stage left, bringing me water every twenty minutes. The kids love this turn of events, hamming up all their roles to impress Tristan.
I feel him watching me.
My feminist sensibilities want to rail at his overprotective attitude. Yet a stronger impulse prevails. Something like peace at having Tristan close. Knowing I can count on him to bepresentfills my heart.
Tristan’s words of encouragement and the way he fetches a more comfortable chair, his squeeze on my shoulder and gentle graze on my lower back . . . all these gestures melt my resolve to focus on the twins. I can’t help projecting a future in which our relationship is more than a convenient and logical outcome of the surprise pregnancy.
