17. Seventeen
Seventeen
Emily
The morning sun is bright, streaming through the windows of the beach house, but I don’t feel its warmth. My stomach twists with a nervous energy I can’t shake. It’s not the fluttering excitement I expected. It’s heavier—an odd mix of dread and anticipation that leaves me feeling uncertain.
“Are you ready?” Sam’s voice carries from the kitchen, deliberately light, but I catch the edge of concern beneath it.
“I’ve been ready,” I snap, even though I know that’s not true. I’ve spent the past hour pacing the house, pretending to decide on an outfit even though it doesn’t matter. The truth is, I’m stalling.
Sam appears in the doorway, holding a to-go mug in each hand. He’s dressed in his usual jeans and a T-shirt, the fabric stretched just right over his broad shoulders. He looks calm—irritatingly so.
“Grouchy this morning, aren’t we?” he says, handing me one of the mugs.
I scowl at him, taking a sip. The familiar, soothing blend of chamomile and mint instantly works its magic, easing the tension in my shoulders.
“I’m not grouchy,” I mutter the lie, avoiding his gaze.
He tilts his head, studying me. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not.”
“Emily,” he says gently, stepping closer. “It’s okay to be nervous. I am, too.”
I glance at him, caught off guard by his honesty. The tension in his eyes, the way his hand tightens slightly on the mug—he’s not as calm as he seems.
“You are?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
“Of course,” he says with a small smile. “Having the first ultrasound is a big deal. But it’s also exciting.”
I want to believe his words, to let them dissolve my nervousness, but the nerves just tighten their grip.
“What if something’s wrong?” I whisper, voicing the fear that’s been twisting me in knots.
His expression softens, and he sets his cup down to take my free hand in his. “Then we’ll deal with it together. Whatever happens, we’ll handle it.”
I nod, but the heaviness in my chest doesn’t ease.
The drive to the doctor’s office is quiet, save for the soft hum of the radio. Sam taps his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music, a habit I’ve noticed he has when he’s trying to distract himself.
When we pull into the parking lot, I feel my pulse quicken. The small, nondescript building suddenly feels imposing.
“Let’s go,” Sam says briskly, turning to me.
I nod, swallowing hard.
Inside, the waiting room is surprisingly comfortable. It features soft chairs, muted colors, and a stand of pamphlets filled with information for expectant parents. A receptionist greets us with a warm smile and hands me a clipboard with the usual forms to fill out.
As I scribble down my information, Sam leans over my shoulder, pointing at one of the questions.
“Do you really need to tell them about our sex life?” he teases.
I elbow him lightly, but his joking comment eases some of my tension.
When they call my name, my heart leaps into my throat. Sam is at my side immediately, his hand brushing against the small of my back as we follow the nurse down the hallway.
The exam room is sterile but not unfriendly. There’s a chair for Sam, a monitor mounted on the wall, and the unmistakable smell of antiseptic.
“Go ahead and lie back,” the nurse says after checking my vitals. “The technician will be in shortly.”
I glance at Sam as I settle onto the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath me. He gives me a reassuring smile, but I can see the tension in his jaw.
“You good?” he asks, his voice low.
“Not really,” I admit.
He reaches for my hand, his grip warm and steady. “It’ll be fine.”
A few minutes later, the door opens, and the technician steps in with a polite smile. “Hi, I’m Amy. I’ll be performing the ultrasound.”
The cold gel startles me, and I flinch slightly, earning a quiet laugh from Sam.
“Not funny,” I mutter, shooting him a glare.
“Just a little funny,” he replies, his grin widening.
Amy moves the wand over my stomach, her eyes focused on the monitor. The room falls silent, save for the soft hum of the machine.
And then it happens.
When that first whooshing heartbeat fills the room, something shifts inside me. It's not just a sound—it's our baby, real and alive. I glance at Sam, and the look on his face steals my breath. His eyes are fixed on the monitor, filled with a vulnerability I've never seen before, and suddenly, all my fears seem smaller.
I turn to the monitor, but I only see static.
“That’s... it?” I whisper, trying to hide my disappointment. “I don’t see anything.”
“That’s normal,” Amy reassures me, adjusting the monitor. “You can’t see much now. Only the head, this bean shape right here.” She smiles and adds, “You’ll see more at 12 weeks. Today is mostly for determining your due date and checking the heartbeat.”
After the appointment, we walk back to the car in silence. The ultrasound photos are tucked safely in my bag, along with a dozen or so pamphlets, but I can’t stop thinking about the sound of the heartbeat, the tiny flicker of life on the screen.
Sam unlocks the truck and turns to me, his hand brushing against mine.
“Do you feel better now?” he asks, his voice gentle.
I nod, a smile breaking through the lingering nerves. “Yes. I do feel better.”
“Good.” He grins, pulling me into a quick hug. “We’re having a baby, Em.”
A lighthearted laugh escapes my lips. “You’re just figuring that out now?”
The evening air is cool, and the scent of the sea lingers as I set the table on the deck. String lights drape across the railing, adding a festive air to the space. Sam stands at the new grill, his sleeves pushed up, flipping burgers with practiced ease. He looks calm, but I wonder if he’s as on edge as I am.
“Everything will be great. I’m sure my dad won’t be too hard on you,” I say, more to reassure myself than him.
“He already knows me,” he replies, with an unconcerned shrug, not looking up from the grill.
“They know Sam, Cass’s best friend, the guitar player and jokester,” I counter. “Not Sam, their son-in-law and the father of their future grandchild.”
He glances at me then, his lips curving into a lopsided smile. “Same guy, Em. Relax.”
I take a deep breath, trying to let his calm demeanor settle my nerves. But the truth is, my parents can be intense. Not in a bad way. I mean, they handled learning about their first grandchild, Cassidy, Cass’s daughter, just fine. But when they're worried, they have this way of looking at you, as if they can see straight through to your soul.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway makes my heart leap, and I wipe my hands on a dishtowel, forcing myself to smile.
“Emily!” Mom’s voice rings out as she steps onto the deck, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. She’s the spitting image of me—or maybe I’m the spitting image of her—petite with fair skin, wavy dark hair, and blue eyes.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, stepping forward to hug her.
Dad follows, taller and broader, with the same quiet confidence as my brother, Cass. His smile is warm as he pulls me into a hug.
“George,” Sam says, extending a hand.
“Sam,” Dad replies, shaking it firmly. “Looks like congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks,” Sam says, his voice steady. “And Linda,” he adds, turning to my mom. “It’s good to see you again.”
Mom smiles, but there’s a glint of curiosity in her eyes that makes me nervous.
Dinner starts off easy enough. Sam’s burgers are a hit, and my mom can’t stop gushing about how nice it is that we now live in the same house that Cass used to rent.
“This is perfect,” she says, cutting into her salad. “I can see why you chose this beach house.”
“It’s been nice,” I admit, glancing at Sam.
“And how’s the band?” Dad asks, his tone casual but his gaze sharp.
“Good,” Sam replies. “We’re gearing up for the next leg of the tour. But for now, we’re just enjoying the downtime.”
Dad nods, but I can see the question forming in his mind before he even speaks it.
“So,” he begins, setting his fork down. “How do you plan on taking a baby on tour—”
Hurriedly, I cut in, “Dad, we have six months to figure that out.”
My father nods his head, then switches tracks, “So, about this marriage of yours...”
Here it comes.
“It sounds like it wasn’t exactly... planned,” Mom says gently, her tone curious rather than accusatory.
I glance at Sam, who gives me a small nod.
“No,” I admit. “It wasn’t planned. But we’re together now.”
“And we’re committed,” Sam adds, his voice firm.
Mom studies him for a moment, then looks at me. “When you called from Clay’s farm, you didn’t give us many details.”
“That’s because there’s not much to tell,” I say quickly, my words tumbling out. “We got married last year, and we’ve been figuring things out ever since.”
“Figuring things out,” Dad echoes, his brow lifting.
I resist the urge to groan. This is exactly what I was worried about—my parents reading between the lines, digging for answers I’m not ready to give.
“Well, it seems to be working,” Mom says, her smile genuine. “You look happy, both of you.”
I relax slightly, but the relief is short-lived.
“How did it happen?” Dad asks, his tone casual but curious. “The marriage, I mean.”
Sam clears his throat, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out the best way to answer without setting off alarm bells.
“It was spontaneous,” he says, his voice easy. “But we knew what we were doing.”
“Did you?” Dad asks, his gaze sharp.
“George,” Mom says, her tone warning.
“What?” Dad replies, raising his hands. “I’m just asking.”
“We’ve been married for over a year,” I cut in, my voice firmer than I expected. “And we’re having a baby. That’s what matters.”
The table falls silent for a moment, the sound of the waves filling the space.
“Well,” Mom says finally, her smile returning. “I, for one, am thrilled. A grandbaby! I can’t wait.”
Dad nods, his expression softening. “It’s a lot to take in, but if this is what you want, we’re happy for you.”
“Thanks,” Sam says, his voice genuine.
After dinner, Mom insists on helping with the dishes, and I find myself standing in the kitchen with her while Sam and Dad talk on the deck.
“You seem different,” she says, her voice low.
“Different, how?” I ask, rinsing a plate.
“More settled,” she replies, her gaze thoughtful. “Like you're finding your place.”
I glance out the window, watching Sam as he laughs at something Dad says.
“Maybe,” I state noncommittally, with a shrug.
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “He’s good for you, you know.”
“You think so?” I ask curiously, meeting my mother’s eyes.
She nods, giving me a wise look. “Oh yes. He’s laid back, and you’re—not. You balance each other out. But you also have a lot in common. You’re both witty and funny when you want to be.”
My chest tightens with emotion. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. Besides, you two always did have a thing for each other.”
“Mom! We did not!” I protest.
Shaking her head, Mom lowers her voice, “The sexual tension between you two was off the charts.” Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she states. “Still is.”
“Mother!” I try to sound outraged, but there’s amusement in my tone.
“Emily, let’s just say that I’m expecting lots and lots of grandchildren from you two,” and with that, my mother definitely has the last word, as I’m speechless.
Later, after my parents leave, Sam and I sit on the deck, the string lights twinkling above us.
“Well, that went better than expected,” I say, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Your parents are tough,” Sam says with a grimace.
“Tell me about it,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “You weren’t in the kitchen with my mother.” Mom's words about Sam being good for me linger in my mind. Maybe she's right—we do balance each other out. Where I overthink, he stays steady. Where he jokes, I ground him. It's not perfect, but it works in a way I never expected.
He leans back in his chair with a chuckle, his gaze drifting to the ocean. “But they mean well. They care about you.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice soft. “They just want me to be happy.”
"And are you, Em?" he asks, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my heart flutter. At this moment, under the string lights with the ocean's rhythm in the background, I realize that happiness snuck up on me when I wasn't looking.