Page 67 of Until Hanna

After she instructs me to lie on the bed and unbutton my jeans, she turns off the light and places a paper blanket over my lap. “If we can’t see anything this way, we’ll use a wand that’s inserted into your vagina, which would mean you’re not very far along,” she explains.

I squeeze my eyes closed when she squirts a cold liquid on my belly, and within a couple of seconds, the sound of galloping horses fills the room while tears fill my eyes.

“Well, no wand needed. Do you know when you had your last menstrual cycle?”

I shake my head, then clear my throat. “When I was on the shot, I rarely had my period, or when I did, it was really light. I kind of forgot about it.”

“Okay.”

I hear some clicking and look over at the machine next to the bed. My heart lodges in my throat when I see the outline of what looks like a tiny bean. God, I’m really pregnant with Walker’s baby.

Our baby.

Fear and an overwhelming amount of protectiveness and love hits me so hard that if I were standing, I’d probably fall to my knees. “From the measurements, I’d guess you’re around seven, maybe eight weeks along.”

I try to think back to seven weeks ago, to where I was and what I was doing, but these last few months have felt like a blur. “Is he healthy?”

“It’s too early to tell if it’s a he or a she, but everything looks and sounds perfect.” She does some more clicking around, then flips on the light. When she hands me a wipe, I clean off my belly, then sit up and put my pants back in place. “I sent a few pictures to the printer in my office. Would you like them?”

“Yeah.” I stand up, and she rubs my arm before wheeling the cart back out of the room, coming back less than a minute later holding a printout of the ultrasound. I take and tuck it away in my purse without even looking them over.

“I’d like you to make an appointment for a week from now with the obstetrician here in the office.” I nod. “If you need anything or have any questions before you have the chance to meet with him, you can always call me.”

“Thank you, Dr. Shelly.”

“Good luck, Hanna.” She leaves, and I take a few minutes to pull myself together before I open the door and leave the room.

I step into the waiting room, where Walker has been since I was called back, and stop just inside the doorway to watch him as he talks to the older woman sitting next to him. The idea of him hating me after the news I’m going to have to share makes my chest hurt.

Somewhere along the line, my stupid heart that didn’t know any better got completely wrapped up in him, a guy who is about as tame as the ocean in a storm. He turns and smiles when he spots me, then says something to the older woman sitting next to him, patting her hand before getting up and walking in my direction.

“Ready?” he asks, and I nod, forgoing my stop at the counter to set up an appointment for next week. I’ll call and schedule one over the phone.

“Sorry you had to wait so long.”

“It’s all right. Was everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I step into the elevator with him and try to talk myself out of puking as he presses the button for the lobby of the building.

When the doors open, a woman pushing a stroller greets us, and Walker steps out with me, then holds the door for her so she has time to go in. “Thanks.” She smiles at us, looking exhausted but happy, and without thinking, I place my hand to my stomach.

“You okay?”

My eyes fly up to Walker, who is watching me closely. Then again, he’s always watching me closely.

“Yeah.” I remove my hand quickly. “Just hungry,” I lie.

“That Indian place you love is close by. We can get lunch there.”

“That sounds good.”

Since it’s just a short distance, we walk down the sidewalk hand in hand, and like the universe wants to keep reminding me of my current situation, we must pass a dozen couples or moms with strollers and women who are pregnant and showing. I glance up at him each time to see if he notices any of them, to try and imagine what he’s thinking if he does. I get nothing and honestly I’m lost on how or when I’ll tell him that I’m pregnant. I know he mentioned that he wanted kids but that was one day in the future scenario that doesn’t exist in this situation, one where we had settled, probably gotten married and planned for a baby.

When we arrive at the restaurant and are seated, I wonder if the smell of curry and other spices I normally love are making me nauseous or if the fear wrapping around me is.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

“Okay, baby.” He watches as I slide out of the booth, and I hurry to the restroom.

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