Chapter 50 Nora
NORA
“Ithink I’m about to burst.” I shift on the plastic chair between Ev and Nate. The waiting room fills with other expectant parents.
Nate squeezes my thigh. “Shouldn’t be long now.”
Evan straightens his back, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. His thumbs rub together over and over as if it’s the only thing keeping him calm. I want to hold his hand. I want to reassure him everything’s all right, but I’m sort of freaking out myself with what-ifs.
“I drank so much water,” I whisper, bouncing my knee. “If they don’t call my name soon, there’s going to be a flood right here in the waiting room.”
Nate huffs a laugh. “Think about something else.” He raises his arm and drapes it along the back of my chair, fingers tracing slow circles against my shoulder over my t-shirt.
Across the room, a couple flick through a baby name book while another woman rubs her bump as her partner talks quietly into her ear. Their eyes flick our way as if they’re whispering about us.
I ignore them and inhale deeply, antiseptic and cheap coffee hitting my nose. The nausea has passed, thank goodness. Now I’m just excruciatingly uncomfortable, like a water balloon stretched to its full capacity.
A door opens. “Nora Harrison?”
I shoot upright. “That’s me.”
Nate and Ev both stand.
The sonographer smiles. “If you’d like to come through, I’m afraid only one person can come in initially.”
I glance between the two of them. “But I—”
“It’s all right, doodles. I’ll wait here.” Ev’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, like he’s rehearsed stepping back before we even got here.
“Please, Ev. You go,” Nate says.
I hadn’t thought about this. “We should have gone private,” I say, annoyed we can’t all enjoy our first scan together.
Silence weighs on me.
“You go,” Ev says, sitting back down. He gives Nate a small nod. “I’ll go in on the next one.”
“You sure?” I reach for his hand, but he clasps his hands together, preventing me from holding his. “We can rebook a private scan where we can go in together.”
“We’re here now. It’s fine. Go on. I’ll wait here.”
Nate squeezes Ev’s shoulder, then leads me into the dimly lit room.
“Hop up and lie back for me,” the sonographer says.
The machine whirs beside the bed as I climb onto it. My heart pounds as I lift my top, cold gel against my skin before I’m ready for it.
Nate grips my hand. We both study the screen. I’ve waited so long for this. It should be perfect with the three of us together. I hate doing this without Ev.
“You good?” Nate whispers.
I nod as the probe presses down.
Static fills the screen. A rapid whooshing sound echoes through the room, the heartbeat like music in my ears.
Grey shapes I don’t understand blur into movement.
The sonographer tilts the probe slightly. “There we go.”
A tiny shape appears. It’s small, but I can make out a head and a body. My breath leaves me in a shaky gasp, but there are no words.
Nate freezes beside me, his fingers tightening painfully around mine. “Is that…” He points to a flutter on-screen.
“That,” the sonographer says, pointing, “is your baby’s heartbeat.”
My smile pushes my cheeks up and forces my unshed tears to drip.
Nate swallows, his eyes shining under the light of the screen. “That’s our Pip.” His hand hovers protectively at the side of my belly as if already wanting to shield and care for our baby.
Ours. I squeeze his hand harder, tears sliding into my ears as I observe our baby.
With his other hand, he traces slow circles against my wrist, matching himself to that tiny heartbeat.
The sonographer takes some notes and measurements.
“Is everything all right?” My voice wobbles, my heart rate fluttering as rapidly as the one on-screen while I hold my breath.
“Everything looks fine.” She continues to move the probe and take screenshots.
I smile up at Nate. More tears stream down my face.
He leans over the bed and kisses my forehead, then my nose, and my lips. “We did it, dimples,” he whispers.
“We did,” I say on another sob.
Nate straightens his spine and glances towards the door. “Can—” His voice croaks and he clears it. “Can I grab the dad? He’s waiting outside.”
The sonographer raises an eyebrow. “Are you not the dad?”
I gulp. The word dad is singular. But Nate and Ev are plural. I should have explained in the waiting room. They should both be here now. “Yes, he is,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to explain, but realising this is how it’s gonna be and I need to get used to it. “They’re both the dad.”
She nods at Nate. “If you’re quick, you can swap your place with him.”
Nate squeezes my hand before slipping out, leaving me alone with the sonographer and the steady thump-thump-thump filling the room. My bladder almost forgotten as my heart swells, now ready to burst open.
Evan creeps through the door, as if he’s walking on eggshells and one false step will cause everything we have to crumble. His eyes find mine, then flick straight to the monitor. “That’s…” he whispers.
“Our baby,” I say, reaching for him.
He comes to my side, taking my hand.
On the screen, the tiny figure jumps as if it has hiccups.
“It’s moving.” Evan lets out a small laugh. His thumb brushes my knuckles, trembling slightly. “It’s beautiful.”
“This is our baby,” I whisper through tears.
His grip tightens around my hand, almost painful, like he’s trying to hold on to something before he loses it.
The sonographer removes the probe from my stomach and wipes the gel away with a paper towel.
“So, with the measurements, your baby’s eleven weeks and five days.
” She makes more notes and taps the chart on the wall with her fingernail.
“Conception would have happened in this window.” She points to some dates on a calendar.
“In case you need clarification on that.” She gives me a sympathetic smile.
Evan steps back, letting go of my hand, his neck bobbing as he swallows.
I pull my top down and swing my legs to the side of the bed. “We know exactly whose baby it is. All three of us were there.” I rub a hand over my stomach, even though it’s still just my rolls and not a prominent baby bump yet. “This baby will be loved so much by the three of us.”
The sonographer raises a brow again, then nods. “I’ll print off three pictures so you each have one.” She clicks her mouse and wheels her office chair to a printer farther along the desk.
Evan stands with his hands in his pockets, shoulders rigid. The only sound in the small room is the printing machine zigzagging from side to side.
I don’t know where that came from. Usually I would have stayed quiet to keep the peace, but this baby has given me strength. I’m a mother now, and I will defend my family when I have to.
The lady cuts the printed images into three and hands them to me. “I’ve adjusted your due date slightly by a few days. We’ll send a letter when you’re due for your twenty-week scan.”
“Thank you.” I scurry out of the dark room into the light. I need to pee.
Nate’s outside the door, waiting for us with a dopey grin on his face.
I squeeze Nate’s hand. “I need the loo. Like, now.”
Nate points down the corridor. “Third door on the left.”
“I love you,” I say as I rush down the corridor, my thighs clenching tightly.
Ev follows silently behind as if he’s still stunned.
But I’m not sure if it’s seeing our baby or the fact that the sonographer knows our business.
I know he’s not ready to be open about what we are yet, and I don’t want to push him, but I hated the look the sonographer gave me, like I was sleeping with both men and wasn’t sure who the father was.
This isn’t Bridget Jones’s Baby. This is our baby.
The bathroom is blessedly empty. I barely make it into a cubicle before relief floods me, my whole body sagging as adrenaline finally drains away.
I peer down at the grainy black-and-white scan picture in my hand. Eleven weeks and five days. I press my palm over my stomach, fresh tears spilling out of me. “We did it,” I whisper to myself and the baby. “I can’t wait to meet you, and I can’t wait for you to meet your daddies.”
Washing my hands, I glance at my reflection in the mirror and wipe my watery eyes and smudged eyeliner, despite not being able to contain my smile.
Outside the door, Nate and Evan are arguing over the photos. Nate holds one up, squinting. “That’s definitely the head.”
Evan shakes his own picture. “No, that’s the head. This is the body.”
“That looks like a potato.”
“It does not look like a potato.”
I laugh as I approach them. “You’re both insulting our child.” I lift my scan photo. “I can totally see the potato.”
“Right. Takes after Daddy Nate already,” Ev says.
“You saying I have a potato head?” Nate huffs a laugh. “Pretty sure it’s inherited Nora’s stubbornness. Wouldn’t stay still for the measurements.”
I didn’t think my smile could grow any wider, but it does as Nate and Ev study the scan photos. “We’re going to be those parents, aren’t we?”
“What parents?” Ev asks.
“The ones who show strangers ultrasound photos.” I laugh. “The ones who bore their friends with their camera roll.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Nate says. “All these years I’ve had to sit through people’s boring kids’ photos, the dreaded onslaught of back to school pics on Facebook of bratty kids and spotty teens.
Now it’s payback.” Nate slips an arm around my shoulders while Evan stands slightly closer than before, his elbow nudging mine as we compare the photos again.
Three pictures.
Three parents.
One tiny heartbeat that belongs to all of us.