Chapter 7
The waiting room at the obstetrician's office smelled like hand sanitizer and anxiety.
Beth shifted in the plastic chair, trying to find a position that didn't make her lower back scream in protest. The chairs had clearly been designed by someone who had never been pregnant, or perhaps by someone who actively disliked pregnant women.
Either explanation seemed equally plausible.
Beside her, Gabriel sat with his hands clasped between his knees, his leg bouncing in a rhythm that was slowly driving her insane.
“You're vibrating,” she said.
“I'm not vibrating.”
“Your leg is bouncing so fast it's creating its own weather system.”
Gabriel looked down, as if surprised to discover that his body was betraying his attempt at calm. He pressed his palm against his thigh, forcing it to stillness. The stillness lasted approximately four seconds before the bouncing resumed.
“I'm fine,” he said.
“You're terrified.”
“I'm cautiously optimistic.”
Beth reached over and took his hand. His fingers were cold, which happened when he was nervous.
She had learned to read his body like a weather report over the years they had been together.
Cold hands meant anxiety. Clenched jaw meant frustration.
The particular way he rubbed the back of his neck meant he was thinking about something he didn't want to talk about.
Right now, he was all three.
“Gabriel,” she said gently. “Whatever Dr. Patel tells us, we're going to handle it. That's what we do.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like you're about to face a firing squad?”
He turned to her, and she saw the fear in his eyes, naked and raw. Gabriel Walker, who had built furniture with his bare hands and chopped wood in the freezing cold and once carried her half a mile through the snow when her car got stuck, was terrified of a routine doctor's appointment.
“Because this is the part I can't control,” he said quietly. “The babies, the birth, all of it. I can't build it or fix it or make it better with my hands. I just have to sit here and wait and hope everything goes the way it's supposed to.”
Beth squeezed his hand. “Welcome to parenthood.”
“I hate it already.”
“No, you don't.”
“No,” he admitted. “I don't.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Beth Walker?”
Beth struggled to her feet, a process that now required momentum, determination, and occasionally a supporting hand from whatever surface was nearest. Gabriel was beside her instantly, his arm under her elbow, steadying her as she rose.
“I can walk,” she told him.
“I know you can.”
“Then stop looking at me like I'm going to shatter.”
“I'm looking at you like you're carrying the two most important people in my life inside your body and I want to make sure nothing happens to any of you.”
Beth paused, momentarily disarmed. “That was smooth.”
“I've been practicing.”
They followed the nurse down a hallway decorated with cheerful posters about prenatal nutrition and infant development.
Beth had memorized these posters over the past months, had stared at them during countless appointments while waiting for news.
She could probably draw them from memory at this point: the food pyramid with the smiling pregnant woman, the developmental milestones chart, the diagram of fetal positions that always made her slightly queasy.
The exam room was small but bright, with a window that looked out on the parking lot. Dr. Patel was already there, reviewing something on her tablet. She looked up when Beth entered and smiled.
“There's my favorite twin mom. How are we feeling today?”
“Enormous,” Beth said, climbing onto the exam table. “Exhausted. Ready for these two to pay rent or move out.”
Dr. Patel laughed. She was a small woman with graying hair and warm eyes, and Beth had liked her immediately from their first appointment.
She had a way of making the overwhelming feel manageable, of breaking down the terrifying complexity of twin pregnancy into steps that Beth could actually handle.
“Let's take a look and see what the tenants are up to,” Dr. Patel said.
The ultrasound gel was cold against Beth's belly, a sensation she had never quite gotten used to. Gabriel moved to her side and took her hand, his eyes fixed on the monitor as the image flickered to life.
There they were. Two babies, curled together in the cramped space of her womb.
Beth could see the curve of one spine, the tiny fist of the other.
After all these months, she still found it miraculous, the fact that she was growing two entire human beings inside her body.
The weight and the exhaustion and the constant need to pee seemed like small prices to pay for such a wonder.
“Both babies are looking good,” Dr. Patel said, moving the wand slowly across Beth's belly. “Baby A is head down, which is what we want. Baby B is transverse, lying sideways, which is not unusual for twins. They're measuring right on track for thirty-seven weeks.”
“And their heartbeats?” Gabriel asked. He always asked about the heartbeats. It was the first thing he wanted to know, the reassurance he needed before he could absorb any other information.
Dr. Patel adjusted the equipment, and suddenly the room filled with sound. Two heartbeats, rapid and strong, overlapping in a rhythm that sounded like a galloping horse.
Gabriel's grip on Beth's hand tightened. She looked up at him and saw tears in his eyes.
“They sound good,” he said, his voice rough.
“They sound perfect,” Dr. Patel agreed. She finished the ultrasound and handed Beth a paper towel to wipe the gel from her belly. “Now, let's talk about timing.”
Beth sat up slowly, Gabriel's hand on her back to steady her. “Are we looking at an induction?”
“Possibly. With twins, we typically recommend delivery between thirty-seven and thirty-eight weeks, assuming everything continues to look healthy.
You're at thirty-seven weeks now, which means we're in the window.” Dr. Patel consulted her tablet.
“I'd like to see you again on Friday for another check.
If the babies are still doing well and you're showing signs of being ready, we can talk about scheduling an induction for early next week. If things happen naturally before then, you know the drill.”
“Hospital bag is packed,” Beth said. “Has been for two weeks.”
“Good. Any questions?”
Beth had a thousand questions. She had spent months reading books and articles and online forums, absorbing information until her brain felt stuffed with facts she might never need.
But the one question that mattered most was the one she couldn't bring herself to ask: would everything be okay?
Would her babies arrive safely? Would she be a good mother?
Those weren't questions Dr. Patel could answer. Those were questions Beth would have to live her way into.
“I think we're good,” she said.
“Then I'll see you Friday. Call if anything changes before then. And Beth?” Dr. Patel smiled. “Try to rest. I know that's easier said than done at this stage, but these are your last few days of relative quiet. Enjoy them.”
They scheduled the Friday appointment and made their way back through the waiting room, past the nervous couples and the enormously pregnant women and the cheerful posters that Beth hoped she would never have to look at again.
Outside, the March air was cold and clean. Beth stood on the sidewalk and breathed deeply, letting the chill fill her lungs. Gabriel hovered beside her, as he always did, ready to catch her if she stumbled.
“Early next week,” he said.
“Maybe sooner.”
“Maybe sooner.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Beth recognized as his processing mode. “That's...soon.”
“Very observant.”
“I mean, I knew it was coming. Obviously. The calendar has been staring at me for months. But hearing her say it out loud, putting a timeline on it...” He shook his head. “It's real now.”
“It's been real for a while, Gabriel. There are two humans inside me. They move. They kick. They have hiccups at three in the morning.”
“I know. But now they're going to be outside humans. Humans we have to keep alive and feed and teach things to. Humans who will eventually ask us questions we don't know the answers to.”
Beth reached up and cupped his face in her hands. His beard was soft against her palms, his eyes wide and slightly wild.
“We're going to be fine,” she said. “We have help coming. My mom and Paolo and Chelsea will be here Thursday. Your dad and James are right down the road. My sisters are driving up with Grandma Sarah. We are not doing this alone.”
“I know.”
“And we have each other. That's the most important part.”
Gabriel leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. They stood like that for a moment, breathing together, two people on the edge of the biggest change of their lives.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too. Even when you hover.”
“I don't hover.”
“You absolutely hover. You're like a very large, bearded hummingbird.”
He laughed, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “A hummingbird. That's a new one.”
“I've had a lot of time to think about it.”
They walked to the car, Beth moving slowly, her hand pressed against the small of her back. The babies had shifted during the appointment, and now one of them was pressing against her bladder while the other seemed to be practicing gymnastics on her ribs.
“Before we head home,” she said as Gabriel opened the passenger door for her, “can we stop somewhere? I want to call Emily, and I don't want to do it from the house where everyone can hear.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Everyone being my father?”
“Your father has very good ears, and he worries. I don't want him to worry.”
“About Emily?”
Beth lowered herself into the car seat, a process that required careful maneuvering and an undignified amount of grunting. “About me. About the fact that I'm trying to manage seventeen things at once when I'm supposed to be resting.”