Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Now that is an active little kiddo,” Dr. Sharma says, coming into the room. “Look at you go, practically doing backflips.”
Anton and I both have our eyes glued to the screen in the dim room. This is very different than the last time we were here. I’ve been hiding in a lot of oversized sweatshirts now that it’s cold, but my stomach has just started to protrude, and the ultrasound tech is guiding the transducer through gooey jelly all over my midsection.
The air echoes with that loud, rhythmic whooshing sound again. The heartbeat.
And on the screen is the very clear outline of... a baby. Even I can make out the large, round head, and four limbs waving and kicking.
I suck in a breath. I can’t remember the last one I took.
Anton is perched on a stool next to me, holding my hand, eyes glowing. His heart is so clearly full, it makes me smile. But as I look at him, I can’t figure out how I feel.
I just—I guess I never thought we’d actually get here.
Thirteen weeks, almost fourteen. I never wished for something to happen; it just seemed like it would. The whole thing was too easy. Pregnant the second month of trying. No complications—unless you count the orgasm thing, which is supposedly normal. I’ve never even vomited. I was sure it couldn’t be this straightforward.
But here we are. Second trimester, and I’m not any less pregnant—quite the contrary.
I try to swallow, but my throat is so dry, it takes a couple tries.
The tech has taken about a zillion measurements, but she seems to be finishing up now, typing a last few numbers into the machine while it hums with printouts. Then the whooshing goes silent, the image disappears, and it’s only us in the room again.
But it feels just as crowded.
Dr. Sharma brightens the lights while the tech wipes my belly clean with a towel.
“I’ll double check your bloodwork, but everything seems right as rain,” the doctor says, studying the screen. “Any new complaints? Or new questions?”
“Um, can you tell if it’s a boy or girl?” Anton asks, staring at the strip of black-and-white pictures the tech hands him.
Dr. Sharma smiles. “Not yet—too soon. That will have to wait until the anatomy scan at twenty weeks. We’ll take a close look to see how everything’s developing at that appointment, and if the baby cooperates, we can usually make a guess at gender if you want to know.”
“I—” Anton looks suddenly to me. “I think we do?”
I nod immediately. “I don’t like surprises.”
He grins, relieved, leaning in to show me the printed sonograms. When he does, his clean, masculine scent breaks through all the sterile doctor’s office smells, invading my over-sensitive nose as his arm brushes the side of my breast. And my hormones are still so totally out of whack, this alone sends a shot of pleasure through my nipples and down into my core. I breathe deep, fighting the urge to pull him to me, bring his lips down to mine right here in the ultrasound room. But I resist, turning my attention back to the doctor with the question I’ve been sitting on.
“So, now that it’s officially the second trimester, um...” I hesitate, waiting as the tech exits the room. “I just wanted to ask—well, a couple weeks ago we called the office because I had some cramping after we—um?—”
I can feel my face reddening steadily until Dr. Sharma clicks quickly through my file. “Ah, yes. You had some cramping after orgasm. Has it continued to be as intense? Does it usually last more than a few minutes?”
If I thought my face was going to ignite before, now it’s on its way nuclear.
“We’ve been playing it safe,” Anton says, saving me with his matter-of-fact tone.
“Oh, I see.” The doctor gives us a warm smile. “Well, you have no risk factors or other concerns that I’d be worried about. So I’d say go ahead and resume normal activities—whatever feels good. But if you experience bleeding, sharp pain that doesn’t subside, or any unusual dizziness, give us a call.” She heads for the door and smiles. “Just stop at the desk and make sure you’re scheduled again in about four weeks. Other than that, have a Happy Thanksgiving!”
Anton humors my sudden desire for burgers and milkshakes, picking up takeout from Park Burger on the way home, but we don’t talk much. He’s still wearing that gleam from the doctor’s office, and I don’t want to ruin it for him by verbalizing the fifty different anxieties circling the inside of my brain. First and foremost, admitting I should probably pack a suitcase since our flight to Ohio leaves at seven a.m.
Fortunately, my brother-in-law of all people saves me from my own spiral, standing on our front steps, waiting for us as we pull in the driveway. Anton barely throws the truck into park when he spots him, he leaps out so fast.
“What the hell, man?” He buries his brother in an extended hug, and they’re almost like two handsome versions of each other, one with light hair, one dark. Anton pulls away awkwardly, clapping Seth on the back. “I thought you weren’t getting here till Saturday?”
Seth gives him a roguish grin, and I can’t help smiling too as I gather all our things and exit the car. “We wrapped up the closing quicker than I thought, so I packed Bruno up and hit the road early yesterday. Thought I’d drop in and say hello before you two skip town. ”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, hugging him awkwardly, juggling my purse and takeout bag and milkshakes.
“Here, let me get some of that for you,” he says, scooping things out of my arms and following Anton inside.
“We didn’t get enough food—you should’ve told us you were coming!” I scold him. “And where’s Bruno?”
He shrugs. “I’m good. He’s asleep in the car, but I can’t stay long anyway. We’re meeting Eden with the keys to the new place in an hour.” He sets our stuff down on the counter while Heartthrob runs in circles around us. He loves Uncle Seth.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a strip of paper fluttering to the floor. I forgot I’d been holding it in the car.
Seth bends to retrieve it before it even hits the ground.
“Don’t be stupid. You eat my burger, I have some lasagna,” Anton is saying, digging through the fridge. While Seth stretches out the paper, furrowing his brow.
I open my mouth.
“Oh—oh hey!” Seth holds up the strip of sonograms with a great big grin. “ Is this the little bean?”
Anton has straightened, still standing in front of the fridge. His eyes find mine, and when they do, they’re filled with pride—and apology.
Seth looks from his brother, back to me, and it’s hard to miss the moment he realizes he didn’t follow his apparent directions.
I turn to my husband, voice thick. “What happened to sharing the news together? On Thanksgiving?”
“I—” He winces. “I’m sorry. We were talking the other day, and I was excited?—”
“Who else knows?” My throat burns. “Did you announce it to your whole office? To Henry? Have I been bending over backward to keep this under wraps when everyone already knows?”
“Um, I wanna give congrats, but... I’m going to go check on my cat,” Seth says, stepping out of the kitchen.
“ No one else knows, and I am sorry I told him without you. I shouldn’t have.” Anton clears his throat. “But... does it matter at this point? We’re flying out to tell your family tomorrow, Lydia.”
I ball my hands into fists and step toward him, something hot and ragey boiling up inside me. Because after what we’ve been through—what I’ve been going through for him—how could he?
But when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Because he’s right. There’s a baby growing inside me that’s already developed for fourteen weeks. We’re flying to Ohio, where we will tell my mom and my sister. Which is as good as telling the whole world. Seth already knows. Henry will know. Caprice.
My hands fall limp at my sides and I turn away, down the hall. “Taking a bath.”
On the bed, my purple suitcase lays half-packed, surrounded by the slim number of viable outfits I’ve cobbled together after trying on nearly everything in our closet. Leggings are all still workable, but many of my shirts and T-shirts, and even my favorite gray sweatshirt, hide nothing anymore. This week’s baby email—which informs me our fetus is now the size of a peach —described some women “popping” at the start of the second trimester. Like, one week you don’t look pregnant at all, and the next it’s a full-on baby bump.
Apparently my body got the memo. Every time I look in the mirror, I want to cry.
And my boobs. They make me look like one of those adults-only Hentai images. I’ve already sized up my bras, but I appear to have two inflated balloons on my chest, so out of proportion with the rest of me, they don’t even look real. I frown. I’ve always hated the word, and I’ve only said it in the context of sex, but these are most definitely what Anton would call tits . Huge, and heavy, and obscene, and even worse—now they’re tender in a way that makes me want him to grab them and pay attention to them.
I groan, pulling my robe over my bra and underwear and knotting the belt. All of this has to be one hundred percent hormones. Those sunshiney, weekly what-to-expect emails even said so. I mean, they didn’t say you will turn into Barbie and become indescribably randy, but they did say my body would change, and sex drive might go up or down at the end of the first trimester.
Maybe there was no way for it to go down, so it had to go up .
“How’s it going?” Anton asks, peeking in the door from the hall. I heard him and Seth chatting quietly while I was in the bath, but my brother-in-law eventually left, and now I feel terrible for how I acted. He deserved a proper welcome. I’ll try to make up for it when we get back.
“Couldn’t we just fly out tomorrow morning and come back after dinner?” I ask. “Do we have to stay the night?”
Anton chuckles, coming into the room with a white shopping bag. “Our flight leaves mid-afternoon Friday. But don’t forget your mom scheduled family photos that morning.”
I glare at him, sure that my nausea has returned. But the sensation in my chest simmers into something more like heartburn. “Have you checked the weather? Are there any snowstorms coming? Maybe our flight will get canceled and we won’t have to go.”
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “All forecasts across the country say it’s the clearest, sunniest Thanksgiving anyone can remember.”
I slump onto the bed.
Anton sweeps my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I bought you something.”
He hands me the shopping bag, and I reach inside to find several basic T-shirts, and what looks like one fluttery gray top. My jaw drops as I realize the tags are from a maternity shop in Cherry Creek. He must’ve known how I was feeling, and actually went shopping for me. I look up at him, a lump forming in my throat. On some level, I know this reaction, too, is over the top, but I don’t care. I’m just grateful for my husband.
“I thought you might like something new, that actually fits,” Anton says. “The gray one even coordinates with Marion’s specifications for the photo shoot.”
“Anton—” I look at his face, at the soft light in his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Try it on,” he says gently.
I turn away. In part, because I’m self-conscious about how I look. But also because lately my nipples seem to have a mind of their own in front of him. I had no idea it was possible to feel ridiculous and horny at the same time, but here I am. Before I can get distracted, I drop the robe and slip the new top over my head .
I step in front of the mirror on the back of our closet door and suck in a breath. It’s a pretty V-neck, gathered in a twist below the bust. I’m not sure if it’s the empire cut, or just the way the fabric drapes in front, but it’s actually really flattering and draws attention away from my inflated boobs. Unfortunately, it seems to do this by accentuating my growing belly.
Anton’s eyes dance over my shape, and I have to look away. He is clearly thrilled about the changes. “Wow,” he says. “You look really... preggers.”
I turn, leveling him with a dead-eyed stare. “Please don’t ever use that word to describe me again.”
He gives me a sheepish smile and scratches the back of his head. “Noted.”
“I—I can’t wear this,” I say, turning back to the mirror. “I mean, it’s beautiful, thank you.” I blush. “But...”
“But what?” he says, snaking his arms around my waist. For a hot second, I get excited, thinking he’s going to touch me— really touch me. My nipples are so hard, they’re showing through the fabric. Instead, he tenderly embraces my belly in the reflection. “You look beautiful. You are beautiful. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”
Bile rises in my throat. Or maybe it’s just heartburn. I bite my lip and look away. I had been thinking I couldn’t wear the top because it makes me look too pregnant. I keep forgetting that’s the whole point of this trip.
“It was really thoughtful, thank you.” I lean up to kiss his cheek, hoping to encourage his hands to wander elsewhere. I lean my head against his shoulder. “If only we were going on vacation. And not to see my family.”
“Don’t forget I booked us a hotel,” he whispers in my ear.
“Now there’s something to give thanks for,” I say with genuine relief.
Anton grins in the mirror, and now I’m sure he’s going to turn me in his arms, smother all my doubts with his lips. I feel like a fire that needs to be put out; just the pressure of his hands feels amazing. I want them to drift from my belly to my new, enormous tits . Pull my top off and suck the ache out of each nipple. Help me settle the throb that’s been humming between my legs. I’ve never wanted Anton so badly. Not without him waking my body up first. I’m still a little embarrassed about it, honestly. I should just reach for him, that’s what our therapist would say to do. Just touch him myself, help get things started. But as I stare at his hands on my rounded body in the reflection, his scent filling my senses, I just need him to reach for me first. Show me he wants me... like this.
Our eyes meet in the mirror, and for a moment his gaze darkens, his grip tightens, and I know he does. I glance at the bed behind us, waiting for him to toss the suitcase and everything else to the floor because we are both feeling this. It’s what we both need.
But then he withdraws his hands from my body and lays a chaste kiss in my hair.
“We’d better finish packing and get some sleep,” he says. “We need to be at the airport by five.”