Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jason
“Jason, are you nervous?”
On the wheeled stool, I spun back toward the exam table and ground to a halt.
“Why would I be nervous?”
Franky squinted at me. “Because you’ve fondled all the equipment, spun around on that chair like it’s an amusement ride, and pretty much babbled nonstop since we got here.”
What did she expect? This was an important appointment, the first one that gave us the all-clear for the baby.
“Just want to know everything’s okay.”
She grasped my hand. “We’ll know soon enough.”
And right after, she was leaving for Boston. I was supposed to be cool with it. I most definitely was not. But a surefire way of pushing someone away was begging them to stick around.
The door opened and an older Southeast Asian woman came in. I’d met Dr. Patel before because she had been the OB for all of Theo’s kids.
“Hello, you two.” Official introductions were made while the doctor washed her hands and fiddled with some of the buttons on the monitor. “How are you feeling, Franky?”
“Not bad. A little nauseous and tired, but I’m eating well”—she raised her eyebrow at me, healthy lunch provider—“and I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. At least, not according to the books I’ve read on the topic.”
The doctor nodded. “Okay, feel free to raise your shirt so we can take a look.”
Franky stared at me, willing me not to look.
Eyebrow raise from moi. You couldn’t pay me to turn the other way.
She was thicker than the last time I’d seen her naked, more round, and her skin had stretched slightly to accommodate Super Kid. Color flushed her cheeks, though that might be because the gel Dr. Patel applied was cold, not embarrassment at me seeing her increasing size.
I caught her eye and mouthed, “So. Hot.”
She shook her head, reddened, and did that thing where she tried to pretend that I wasn’t the most annoying person in the room. Within a couple of seconds, her gaze found mine again, probably because I was irresistible.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, because she was, and I needed her to know, even if she didn’t take me seriously.
“And there we are,” Dr. P. said after a couple of moments. “Mom and Dad, meet your baby.”
Dragging my eyes away from Franky, I focused on the black-and-white screen image, which seemed to pulsate in step with my heartbeat. Then I realized that was the baby’s.
My baby has a heartbeat.
“Is everything okay?” I blurted out, though a heartbeat was probably a very good sign.
“Your baby looks to be doing just fine. The head, torso, limbs—all within normal parameters.”
I met Franky’s wet-eyed gaze and curled my hand around hers. With a bone-crushing squeeze, she held on as we both watched that monitor, listened to that echo of life, and let it all sink in.
“Look at that, Francesca,” I murmured. “She’s as healthy as can be.”
Dr. Patel smiled. “Well, we can’t really tell the sex from this position. Baby’s a little shy. Maybe the next time.”
Franky swallowed. “I-I don’t need to know. I think I want it to be a surprise.”
I hadn’t given it much thought, but the moment she said it, I knew she was right. “No rush to reveal it, Doctor P.”
“What about the due date?” Franky asked. “We have an idea, but wanted to be sure.”
“Let me see …” She checked Franky’s chart and ran a calculation on her phone. There was an app for everything. “I’d estimate about July eighth.”
So, after the Finals. I grinned at Franky. “Perfect timing.”
“Yes, I had your hockey schedule in mind.” She sniffed, and I raised her hand to my lips. So we weren’t a couple in the traditional sense, but this was huge. I would use any excuse to maintain this connection. To touch her. To kiss her.
“And what about the nuchal translucency test?” Franky tightened her grip on my hand.
Dr. Patel nodded. “That looks okay from what I can see here. But we’ll also complete your bloodwork and get back to you in a couple of days with a final assessment on any chromosomal differences. Right now, everything appears normal. Mom and baby are doing very well. Any more questions?”
I had a million, but none she could probably answer. Mostly I wondered where did she get off calling my kid “normal” when it was clear she would be in the “super” range?
Franky and I shared a look, then turned back to the OB.
“Think we’re good,” I said.
She nodded. “Now I understand that you’ll be spending the majority of your pregnancy in Boston, Franky.”
“Yes, I’ve already found an OB there, but I’ll be back long before the baby is born.”
“Okay. Just let our assistant know where to send your files and results, so we can maintain that continuity of care. And you can pick up a photo of your baby at the front desk.”
We thanked her and watched as she left the room.
I released a held breath. “You okay?”
“We just saw our baby, Jason. If it wasn’t real before …”
“I know. We’ve got ourselves a little plum in there, veering into kiwi territory.” I’d memorized the fruit comparisons chart for fetus sizes.
She rolled in her lips. “I think you’ve done more research than me.”
I pulled up outside her building. The joy I’d felt at seeing my kid on that monitor was starting to fade, evicted by a growing dread.
“I’ll walk you up.”
“Oh, okay.”
At her front door, she turned to me. My heart clattered wildly in my chest. Tomorrow, she was leaving for Boston, and while I would see her a couple of times when my playing schedule took me there, the mere fact of her absence from my everyday life felt all wrong.
We had just witnessed something miraculous—the life we’d created, the heartbeat of our child—and there was no going back to before.
I wanted to see her and my kid all the time and walk this journey together.
Suddenly I had no words. Me, Jason Isner, who could talk the hind legs off a herd of mules, was tongue-tied. All my nervous energy had been expended, and now a cloud of sadness had rushed in to take its place.
She placed her hands on my chest. “Thanks for coming with me. It meant a lot.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” I placed my hands over hers, trapping them against my pecs. “All packed?”
“Mostly.” She smiled. “I’m going to miss my special lunches.”
She didn’t know yet, but I’d be taking care of her nutritional needs in Bean Town. The last thing I needed was for the doc to get distracted by some snails banging and not get her recommended daily calorie intake.
“I’m going to miss your snark,” I said.
“Oh, I can still provide. Text. Video call.”
“Telegram. Carrier pigeon.”
“It’s not far. And not for long.” She stepped back, setting space between us. “Take care and keep winning, Jason.”
I would. But it sure would be easier, knowing she was safe. That they were both safe. Time to activate my network of spies.
But there was one more thing I needed to do. I stepped back into her space, cupped her fine-boned jaw, and inclined my head. Her gray-blue eyes turned silver as I stamped my mouth over hers, claiming what was mine.
For a split second, she made no reaction. But then she moaned, right into my mouth, and I deepened the kiss, telling her everything I couldn’t say with words.
This means something, Francesca. We are bonded forever.
Then I broke away before she could.
She touched her lips. Her eyes were on fire, her cheeks flushed. “What was that for?”
“Just a little something to keep you warm in Boston.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. Congratulations, Isner, you left your woman speechless.
Turning heel—kind of pissy about it, too—she headed inside. I waited a moment for … I wasn’t sure what. The gods to change her mind?
This was Francesca St. James we were talking about. She was the captain of her own ship, and I was merely a deckhand.
One week later …
“Where’s your buddy, then?”
I looked down into suspicious green eyes as they quickly adjusted and attended to the main event: getting fed. Bunsen was kind of dainty but once that bowl of food made an appearance, he turned as savage as his ancestors.
Beaker, when he deigned to show his cute orange face, alternated between scared silly and a hurricane making landfall. When he wasn’t hiding out under the sofa, he’d taken to settling behind the screen guard in the empty fireplace.
“Beakster! Food’s up!”
A crashing noise, which sounded like the logs in the basket by the hearth, was followed by a cartoon-quality skitter and Beaker’s appearance in the kitchen. Bunsen looked up absently and returned to his food bowl. I stepped in front of him and pointed at the other one.
“That’s for you, buddy.”
Rosie had said they preferred their own bowls but that sometimes Beaker forgot and went for Bunsen’s. I hadn’t realized how much time I would spend on this kind of food-distribution nuance when I volunteered to look after the cats while she took a weekend trip to help Franky get set up in Boston.
I was surprised Franky didn’t bring them with her, but Bunsen was old—maybe twelve—while Beaker was about six, a teen in cat years. She worried that the elder statesman wouldn’t like the journey so Rosie was subletting Franky’s place to look after them, and I was the backup.
Also, Rosie knew I was the father of the kid. Franky had told her at Thanksgiving.
I was cool with that. It also gave me leave to tell my kin, though part of me held back.
How would they feel about me essentially “giving up” as Lauren termed it, foregoing a shot at the regular nuclear unit?
Most of my family were in real relationships, some with kids, some not yet on that road.
They were doing it “conventionally,” and here I was, grasping at the first opportunity to procreate that came my way.
What I knew for sure was that I had to tell Sean, especially given the fact he was Franky’s first choice. With the cats mid-feed, I took a seat on the doc’s sofa and video-called my brother.
“Hey!” he said. “Hold on a second. Let me find a quiet spot.”
“Thought you’d be at home.” It was a Saturday morning after all.