21 - Strawberries and Bananas #2
Our scars are proof that the past is real.
Building the courage to force my feet to obey my brain, I lead Cordelia to the front desk. A woman dressed in a light blue tunic, buttoned up to the collar, smiles at us from behind transparent glass.
“Mr Cox,” she greets me with a warm smile.
“Kirsty,” I reply, checking her name tag just to make sure I got the right one. “We’re here to see Sebastian.”
Her fingers skate across the keyboard with the efficiency of someone who’s completely at ease behind a desk. “Please take a seat. I’ll inform Dr. Arvanitis you’re here.”
Cordelia screws up her nose as we walk away.
“Even his name sounds like an illness,” she comments, eyebrows raised to the ceiling.
“The guy’s Greek,” I explain, filling a cup from the water cooler and pushing it into her hand. She grumbles, but sips from it anyway. Glad she’s learning.
“Clarke is Spanish, Ezio is Italian, and now this man is Greek. Any other nationalities you want to throw at me?”
Instead of answering, I ruffle her hair and am rewarded with a glare.
She looks like a pissed-off cupcake. Sebastian doesn’t make us wait long.
He strides into the room, white coat swinging behind him like a hero’s cape.
His tanned skin and dark hair are a stark contrast against the bright fabric.
He’s all sharp lines and angles, and his dark eyes shine with warmth and quiet determination.
Almost immediately, he clocks the bandage wrapped around Cordelia’s hand. He knows what it is, but he won’t probe.
“Good morning, Logan, and— “
“Cordelia, nice to meet you,” she replies, standing up to give him the typical French greeting of air kisses. Her sultry eyes make me want to gouge his out. Yeah, the guy’s attractive. Also married with three kids. Poses no threat to me. So why am I getting all territorial?
“Wonderful. Shall we step into my office?” He doesn’t wait for an answer.
We follow him down the hall and through a door at the end.
His room is clean and practical, with a couple of snapshots of family holidays hanging above the desk.
It still has the usual: an uncomfortable-looking bed for examinations, scales, a blood pressure cuff, a small sink with a large dispenser of soap, and two chairs for the patients.
Cordelia slips into the seat furthest from the desk, her nose working overtime from the various clinical scents wafting around the room. With a sigh, I slump into the chair beside her, clasping my hand around hers to stop her from rubbing her fingers raw.
“So, Cordelia,” Sebastian addresses her, “I hear you’re having some problems.”
She’s too busy staring at the carpet to answer.
“She’s being sick. A lot,” I offer the words she seems unwilling to volunteer.
She throws me a look that says, ‘I really hate you for bringing me here.’ Tough tits, sweetheart.
“She walks around like a zombie from lack of sleep, and when she thinks you’re not looking she’ll just stare at absolutely nothing.
Like she’s not even in her body anymore. ”
“How much is a lot? More than twice a day?”
Finally, she nods, lifting her eyes to meet his.
“Hmm. How many weeks are you?” He asks, the nib of his pen scratching notes along a clipboard.
“I’m not sure,” she replies, fragility seeping through her beautiful accent, “at least six weeks.”
“Right. Here’s what I suggest,” he says, pinning us both with that haunting look professionals give before they’re going to tell you something serious.
“We'll get you in for an ultrasound scan today, simply to determine a more accurate due date and check all is okay in there. Based on your symptoms, I do have some mild concerns so I’m going to need to do some general observations - bloods, blood pressure, weight. Does this sound okay?”
“Yes,” I’m rewarded with another death glare. I shrug, raising my chin, giving her a no-nonsense look that says, ‘don’t argue with me.’
She groans in response but inclines her head.
“Excellent,” Sebastian claps his hands together. “I need to grab a few things. I’ll just be a minute.”
Cordelia’s eyes snap to mine, lips pursed in a pout. “Don’t look at me like that,” I counter. “If you refuse to look after yourself, I’ll do it for you. And stop flirting with the doctor.”
“I’m not flirting,” she grunts, scowling at me.
One eyebrow arches. “You are, with your eyes,” I say. “And I suggest you stop doing it, if you want him to keep his.”
She huffs a frustrated breath, just as Sebastian strides back in. But she doesn’t argue with me, or him. She steps up onto the scales, waits patiently as the blood pressure cuff inflates, and only flinches a little whilst several tubes of blood are collected from her arm.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll get one of the nurses to do your scan, then we can come back here and have a chat.”
We both nod, trailing after him until we reach an isolated room at the end of the corridor.
It’s similar to the consultation room, with the added computer monitors and complex-looking equipment and tools.
I guide her to the bed so she can lie down ready.
Her eyes are wide, darting around the room.
She’s scared. So am I. Don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid in my entire life, to be honest.
I pull up a chair next to her, gripping her fingers in my own. Then I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She smiles back; it’s small, but it’s there and it’s beautiful.
“Hey, guys.” We both look up at the same time. The nurse strides in.
An attractive-looking woman in her mid-thirties. I’m beginning to think physical appeal is part of the job requirements here. Pretty sure sixteen-year-old me didn’t complain.
“How are you both feeling?”
“Shitting ourselves,” I reply for both of us. You don’t need to be a genius to know she’s feeling the same.
“Bless you. Well, let’s see what’s going on, shall we?” Her warm smile instantly eases my jittery nerves. Turning to Cordelia, she says. “Okay, my lovely. I just want you to relax. This will be a bit cold.”
All the emotions hit me at once as, together, we fix our gazes on the ultrasound screen. Fear. Excitement. Nervousness. Considering I didn’t think I wanted a child, the anxiety hits me like a sledgehammer to the face. Cordelia and I gasp in unison.
I work my throat to hold back a tear. I’ve seen scan pictures before, but nothing prepares you for your own. For staring at your own creation. I tilt my head, blinking at the monochrome image.
“Did you want to hear the heartbeat?”
Cordelia’s already got tears streaming down her puffy cheeks. But when the tiny flicker of ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump reverberates through the room, I can’t hold them back any longer. We both listen in silence, sobbing, but absolutely in awe.
But something sounds off. When I concentrate harder, it’s like there’s an echo. The beat isn’t rhythmic; it almost sounds like—
“Congratulations guys. They’ve both got strong, healthy heartbeats.”
Cordelia and I turn to look at each other, eyes widening to the size of fucking saucers.
“They?” we blurt out together.
“Yes,” she chuckles. “They’re no more than the size of a strawberry right now. But they’re there. Twins.”