Chapter 13 The First Heartbeat #2
"Not right now." I stand too, facing him across the space between us. "I just needed you to know."
"Thank you for telling me yourself." His hand lifts, then settles at his side. "I'm glad I heard it from you. Nobody else needs to know until you're ready."
I don't know what makes me do it. Maybe it's the look on his face, or the way he stopped himself from touching me, or just the exhaustion of carrying this secret alone for days. I take his hand and squeeze it once, briefly, before letting go. "I'll call you about the appointment."
He nods, his expression soft and uncertain and full of something I'm not ready to name. Then he turns and walks back through the garden gate, and I watch him go until he disappears around the corner of the house.
I press my hand against my stomach, feeling nothing but the ordinary flatness of my own body.
We're having a baby. And I still don't know what that means for us.
***
On Monday morning, the clinic offers me an appointment for the following afternoon. I write the time on a slip of paper and leave it beside my formula notebook, where I won't have to keep checking my phone to remember it.
Then I call Rafael.
"Tomorrow at three." I keep my voice neutral, businesslike. "The clinic in town. I'd like you to meet me there."
"I'll be there." I hear a chair scrape on his end of the call, followed by the click of a pen. "Should I pick you up? I can drive us both."
"No." I want the drive to myself, a little time to gather my thoughts before I see him. "I'll meet you in the waiting room. If that's okay."
"That's okay." The pen clicks again, and I picture him writing the time as I did. "Sera? Thank you for letting me come."
"I want you there." I keep my eyes on the appointment time, letting myself say it plainly. "I don't want to do this visit alone."
Monday passes slowly. I unpack the droppers and small scale Rafael left with my father, then spend the afternoon comparing my existing trial blends with the notes Fiorella and I made. I stop myself from adjusting anything just to keep busy. I want to know what I'm changing and why.
My parents have known since Sunday evening, after Rafael left.
My mother cried when I told them. My father held me for a long time without saying anything.
Neither asked me to decide about the marriage while they were still taking in this news.
That night, I texted Rafael that he could tell Beatrice and Corrado.
He replied that he'd ask them to give me a little space before calling.
By Tuesday afternoon, I have read the appointment slip enough times to know it by heart. I drive to the clinic alone.
Rafael is already there when I arrive, sitting in the waiting room with his hands clasped between his knees. He stands when he sees me, his face anxious and hopeful and terrified all at once.
"Have you been waiting long?" I stop beside the empty chair, still holding my car keys.
"A little." He moves his jacket from the seat. "I wasn't sure how easily I'd find parking. Sit down. I'll get you water if you want some."
We sit together in the waiting room, not touching but close enough that I can feel the warmth of his arm near mine. The clinic is quiet, just a few other patients scattered around the room, everyone carefully not looking at each other.
"Serafina Castille-Visconti?" A nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand.
I stand, my heart suddenly pounding. Rafael stands too, but he doesn't move toward the door. He's waiting for me to tell him what to do.
"You can come." The words surprise me, but they feel right. "If you want to."
His face lights up, and he follows me through the door, staying a step behind, giving me space while still being present.
The examination room is small and bright and smells like antiseptic. The nurse asks a few questions, and I answer while Rafael takes the chair beside the examination couch. He moves it closer when I gesture to the space beside me.
Then the doctor comes in, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and steady hands. She introduces herself and explains what she's going to do, and I lie back on the table and try to breathe normally.
Once the scan begins, I stare at the monitor, waiting. The image is gray and static at first, just shapes I don't understand. Then the doctor adjusts the angle, and suddenly there it is.
A tiny, rapid flicker.
"There's your baby." The doctor's voice is warm. "Strong heartbeat. Everything looks good so far."
I can't speak. I can't do anything but stare at that tiny flicker on the screen, that impossible evidence of a life growing inside me. My eyes burn, and I don't try to stop the tears that slip down my cheeks.
Rafael makes a sound beside me. I turn my head and see him sitting utterly still, his face wet, his eyes fixed on the monitor with an expression of such naked wonder that it makes my chest ache.
"That's our baby." His voice breaks on the words. "Sera, that's our baby."
I reach out without thinking, and he takes my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. We stay like that, holding hands in the bright clinical room, watching the tiny heartbeat flutter on the screen.
When the doctor turns to the next appointment, I ask her to repeat herself. Rafael finds a pen and writes down what she tells us, then places the note where I can see it. His handwriting tilts unevenly across the page. I have never seen his hand shake while he writes.
Whatever happens next, this moment is real. This baby is real. And for just a few seconds, I let myself believe that maybe, somehow, everything might turn out okay.
***
After the appointment, we stand in the parking lot, neither of us quite ready to leave.
"I should get home." I pull my keys from my bag. "My parents will want to know how it went."
"Of course." Rafael nods, but he doesn't move toward his own car. "Sera, can I... is there anything you need? Anything I can do?"
I think about it. The honest answer is that I don't know what I need. I don't know how to navigate this strange new territory where we're having a baby together but I still don't know if I can trust him with my heart.
"I've been craving almonds." The words slip out before I can stop them, and I immediately feel ridiculous. Of all the things I could have said, I'm telling him about food cravings?
But Rafael's face lights up like I've given him a gift.
"What kind?" He leaves his own keys in his pocket, giving the question his full attention. "Toasted? Salted? Tell me which ones."
I almost tell him it doesn't matter. It is such a small thing to want after everything we have just seen.
"There's a woman at the Thursday market who sells them with lemon and a little honey." I tuck the doctor's note into my bag. "She was near the fountain last time I saw her. If you happen to pass that way."
"Lemon and honey." He takes out his phone and types. "I'll ask if she's there on Thursday."
"Thank you." I unlock my car, needing a moment alone with everything that has happened. "I'll see you soon."
"Sera." He stops me with his voice before I can get in the car. "Thank you. For letting me be there. For letting me see..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to. I know what he's trying to say.
"You're welcome." I get in the car and close the door, and I watch him stand there in the parking lot until I pull away.
On the drive home, I think about Rafael trying to write with an unsteady hand. I have seen him frightened of failing before. Today he let me see it without stepping away from me.
***
On Thursday morning, I wake to a text from Rafael: Found the lemon almonds. Can I bring them by?
I stare at the message for longer than I should. Such a small thing, almonds from a market vendor. But he remembered. He went looking. He found exactly what I said I wanted.
I'm going to the market later this morning, I type back. Will you still be there?
His response comes immediately: I can be. I have a couple of things to get. What time suits you?
I lie in bed and think about what I want. The honest answer is that I want to see him. Not because of the baby, not because of the cabin, but because some stubborn part of me still lights up at the thought of his face.
That's dangerous. I know it's dangerous. But I'm tired of being careful every single second.
Meet me by the market fountain at ten, I type. We can walk around.
The market is crowded when I arrive, vendors calling out their wares, shoppers moving between the stalls with baskets and bags. I spot Rafael before he sees me, standing near the fountain with a paper bag in his hand, scanning the crowd with an anxious expression.