Chapter 16
SLOANE
The sociology exam questions look like ants on the page. I've read the same multiple-choice question three times now and still can't process what it's asking.
I circle an answer at random and move on. Twenty minutes left. Twelve questions to go. I can do this.
Except I can't stop checking the clock on the wall. The doctor's appointment is at two. It's one-thirty now. The exam ends at one-forty-five. If I leave immediately, I'll have exactly fifteen minutes to get down to the women’s hospital a mile away.
And Tucker will be there.
I told him the appointment time, thinking maybe he'd have practice, a workout, or some other hockey obligation. Instead, he'd texted back within minutes: I'll be there.
Just like that. No negotiation, no excuses.
My hand moves unconsciously to my stomach. Still flat. Still no visible evidence of the tiny cluster of cells that's turned my entire life upside down.
Focus, Sloane. Finish the exam.
I force myself to read the next question. Something about Durkheim and social solidarity: I know this. Dr. Khan covered it extensively in lecture. But my brain feels like it's wading through fog, every thought taking twice as long as it should.
The exhaustion is constant now. I fall asleep on the couch, at my desk, sometimes mid-sentence while talking to Mel. And the nausea—God, the nausea. I've learned to keep pretzels in my bag, to avoid strong smells, never to let my stomach get completely empty.
Mel still doesn't know. She's been so consumed with bar prep and her upcoming move to the new accessible apartment that Stag Law helped her find. Every time I think about telling her, she launches into another excited monologue about her future, and I can't bring myself to interrupt with my mess.
Five more questions. Ten minutes left.
I speed through them, not caring if my answers are correct, just needing to be done. The teaching assistant collects my exam with a smile that I can't return. Then I'm out the door, practically running to the bus.
The OB-GYN office is inside the hospital where people deliver their babies. I’ve never actually been in here before. And why would I, when Josh took the family option away from us?
I arrive with three minutes to spare, my hair escaping its ponytail, with a light sheen of sweat on my forehead despite the air conditioning.
Tucker's already in the waiting room.
Of course he is.
He's sitting in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, dressed in khakis and a navy polo that brings out the color of his eyes.
His hair is neat, like he actually made an effort instead of just rolling out of bed.
And there's a small bag at his feet—fabric, reusable, the kind of tote bag someone's mother would give them.
He stands when he sees me, his expression somewhere between nervous and hopeful.
"Hey," he says.
"Hi." I clutch my purse strap, suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look compared to his put-together appearance. “I guess I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
“I told you, Sloane. I’m stepping up.” He picks up the bag. "I, uh, brought some things. My dad said they helped my mom when she was pregnant. Also, I told my dad.”
I peer inside the bag as he holds it open. Ginger ale. Shortbread cookies. Small packets of lavender candies. A tin of peppermint tea.
"I wasn't sure what would help," he continues, his words coming faster now, nervous. "So, I just got everything Dad suggested. The ginger is supposed to be good for nausea, and the lavender is calming, or something? And the shortbread is just... I don't know, easy on the stomach?"
The gesture is so unexpectedly thoughtful that I don't know what to say. Josh would have shown up empty-handed, irritated by having to rearrange his schedule. I really need to stop comparing Tucker to Josh. Or thinking about Josh at all.
"Thank you," I manage. "That's... really thoughtful."
"Sloane Campbell?” A nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand.
Tucker looks at me. "Is it okay if I come back?"
I want to say no. Want to keep this boundary firmly in place. But something about the bag of ginger ale and cookies, about the effort he clearly put into being here, makes me nod.
"Okay."
The exam room is small and sterile, with motivational posters about prenatal vitamins and the importance of hydration. The nurse takes my vitals and asks routine questions about my last period and any symptoms I've been experiencing.
"Nausea, fatigue, food aversions," I list off, very aware of Tucker sitting in the corner, listening to every word.
"All completely normal for early pregnancy," the nurse assures me. "Dr. Patel will be in shortly. Go ahead and undress from the waist down, and you can put this sheet over your lap.”
When she leaves, Tucker and I sit in silence. The exam table crinkles every time I shift position. The clock on the wall ticks too loudly.
He clears his throat. “Should I step out while you …” He twirls a finger at the sheet.
I shake my head and toss the cloth on my lap as I wriggle out of my pants and underwear. No sense trying to be modest with the man who is deeply familiar with my anatomy at this point. But it’s easy enough to cover up with the sheet.
"Are you scared?" Tucker asks, finally.
"Terrified," I admit. "I don't know how to do this. Any of this."
"Join the club."
I look at him, really look at him. He seems smaller in this medical office, less like the confident hockey player and more like... just a guy. A scared guy who has no idea what he's doing.
“I have never even met my father," I say quietly.
"And my grandma did her best raising me, but she was exhausted all the time.
I remember her falling asleep at the kitchen table, still in her work uniform.
" I twist my hands in my lap. "I don't know how to do this without becoming her.
Without sacrificing everything until there's nothing left of me. "
"You have resources she didn't," Tucker points out gently. “Me. Money. Support. You're not alone in this, Sloane. Even if you don't want me romantically, even if we're just co-parents—you're not alone. This baby has a family.”
"I don't know what that looks like," I confess. "My whole life, it's just been me and my grandmother until she died. Then Josh and I, but that was just... him making decisions and me going along with them. I've never had people. A network. I don't even know what that means."
Tucker leans forward, elbows on his knees. "It means my mom will probably show up with casseroles. It means ten Stag cousins will be so excited to play uncle, they'll probably drive you crazy. It means you'll have so many babysitters you won't know what to do with yourself."
The picture he's painting sounds surreal. Foreign. Like something from a TV show about families I've never been part of, never dared to dream about.
"That sounds overwhelming."
"It is," he admits with a small laugh. "But it's also... nice? To know people care. To know you're not doing it all alone."
A knock on the door interrupts us. Dr. Patel enters—an Indian woman in her fifties with kind eyes and an efficient manner.
"Sloane, nice to meet you. And you must be...?"
"Tucker," he supplies. "The father."
Dr. Patel nods. "Well, let's take a look and make sure everything is progressing normally. Sloane, if you could lie back on the table and put your feet in the stirrups."
I comply, acutely aware of Tucker in the room as I position myself. Dr. Patel explains what she's doing—measurements, checking my cervix, and preparing for an ultrasound.
"This early, we'll need to do a transvaginal ultrasound," she explains, holding up what looks like a wand. "It's a bit uncomfortable, but it gives us a much better view of the embryo."
Tucker sputters. “Vaginal? Like … her vagina?”
Dr. Patel looks at him, one brow raised. “I imagine you are familiar with that part of her body?” I cough to cover a laugh. The admin had prepared me for this when I called to make the appointment, but I guess this is an unexpected advancement for Tucker.
"Trust me, you'll be seeing a lot of this over the next eight months," Dr. Patel says with a smile. "Ready?"
I nod, and she guides the probe inside. Tucker stands, his chair scraping against the linoleum tile. “You just went for it. Right on in there. Holy shit, are we seeing inside?”
He’s by my side at the exam table, leaning forward toward the screen, which lights up with grainy black and white images and swirling static sounds.
"There we go," Dr. Patel murmurs, adjusting the wand. "Let me just..."
And then I hear it. A rapid flutter, like hoofbeats in the distance.
"Is that—" My voice catches.
"That's the heartbeat," Dr. Patel confirms. "Nice and strong."
Tucker gasps abruptly, moving closer to the screen. His hand finds mine without either of us seeming to decide it should, and I let him hold it because I need something to anchor me to this moment.
That's a heartbeat. A real, actual heartbeat. My baby's heartbeat.
Our baby's heartbeat.
"Wait," Dr. Patel says, her brow furrowing slightly as she adjusts the probe. "Let me check something."
My heart stops. "Is something wrong?"
"No, not wrong. Just..." She moves the wand again, and the sound amplifies. The flutter seems to double in speed. Dr. Patel hums happily. “Yes, I thought so. I'm seeing two gestational sacs. Two heartbeats."
The room tilts. "Two?"
"Congratulations," Dr. Patel says, smiling at both of us. "You're having twins."
Tucker's hand tightens around mine. I can't look at him. Can't look away from the screen where Dr. Patel is pointing out two tiny flickers, two separate miracles that are somehow both mine.
Twins.
"Are you sure?" My voice sounds distant, not quite my own.
"Positive. See here?" She indicates two distinct areas on the screen. "Two separate embryos. Based on the measurements and your last menstrual period, I'd say your due date would be sometime in late February. But twins like to arrive early.”
She glances away from the screen. “Do twins run in either of your families?”
Tucker’s mouth works open and shut. “I’m a twin.” He points a thick thumb at his chest. Dr. Patel nods.
The information is coming too fast. I can't process any of it.
"Both look healthy," Dr. Patel continues, taking measurements, typing notes into her computer.
"Heart rates are good. Size is appropriate for gestational age.
I'll want to see you back in four weeks for another ultrasound, and we'll need to discuss the specifics of managing a twin pregnancy. Higher risk category, but everything is perfectly normal right now.”
She's still talking—about diet, supplements, warning signs to watch for—but I can't focus on any of it. Tucker is squeezing my hand so tightly I'm losing circulation, but I don't pull away.
Twins.
Twenty minutes later, we're standing in the parking lot. Dr. Patel printed out ultrasound photos—two tiny bean-shaped blobs that look nothing like babies but somehow are. Tucker is holding his copy like it might dissolve if he grips it too tightly.
"My mom is going to lose her mind." He laughs, but it sounds slightly hysterical. “Once I tell her.”
Tucker insists on driving me home and, given the news we just got, I’m not inclined to say no. “You said you told your dad,” I start to say, needing something banal to focus on while my brain stops freaking out. “Not the rest of your huge family?”
He sighs and clicks a key fob, unlocking the doors of his fancy car.
“I wanted to check in with you before I told the entire crew.” He opens my door for me and gestures for me to get in.
I stare up at him, surprised he’s managing to be thoughtful.
“I haven’t told my own twin yet. And now I’m having twins. We are, I mean.”
Tucker closes my door and walks around to his side. I pop one of the candies from the tote into my mouth as he gets buckled.
"Sloane?" Tucker's voice is gentle. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know." It's the most honest answer I can give. "I thought one baby was overwhelming. Two seems..."
"Impossible?"
"Yes."
He turns to face me fully. “I know it’s scary. But I also know my family will help us. I gotta believe this will be okay.”
“How, though?” I gesture vaguely between us. "We're not even together. How are we supposed to raise two babies?"
"I don't know," Tucker admits. "We'll figure it out."
I want to believe him and ignore that smug grin on his handsome face. Want to trust that his certainty isn't just naivety, that he understands what he's signing up for.
But I've heard promises before. And they all sounded sincere until they weren't.
Tucker parks effortlessly in a tiny space outside my building.
Despite my overwhelm, I appreciate how good he smells when he puts one arm behind my seat as he backs into the spot.
And he smiles at me as he turns back around.
“Piece of cake.” And then his face falls.
“Man, I guess this beauty will have to go. Can’t be hauling twins around in a two-seater. ”
“Ha.” I push the button to open my butterfly door, imagining curly-haired babies spitting up on his leather interior. “I would think not.” I fiddle with the ultrasound photos, the tote bag, and my backpack. Soon I’ll be juggling a massive diaper bag, too. And a stroller.
These tiny people will depend on me for everything.
Tucker navigates around the car with his long strides and lifts the bags from my hands, frowning up at the stairs to my front door. “Your building isn’t so easy to access. How does Mel manage?”
I point to the side, where there’s an accessible entrance and a service elevator she has permission to use. “She gets by.” I purse my lips, knowing I need to be open with him, but wanting to protect my privacy all at once. “We’re moving. Well, she’s moving. Your uncle found her a cool place.”
“Sounds like him.” Tucker takes the steps two at a time, and frowns when he sees the door to the building isn’t locked.
“Well…” I gesture for him to hand me my bags. He hasn’t seen my apartment, and I don’t want him to, not while it’s in chaos and I’m reeling about today’s news.
Tucker nods, arranging the straps of the bags on my shoulders. “Text me when we can talk again?” I nod. “Hey.” His voice is so soft, his eyes so gentle, I want to cry. “Take care of our guys.”
I clutch at my stomach as he walks back to his car, wondering how I’ll manage not to lose myself when he keeps saying things like that.