Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
Natalie
The waiting room is exactly what I expected.
Pregnant women everywhere. Some alone with their faces buried in their phones, some with partners who look either excited or terrified or both.
Parenting magazines are scattered across side tables.
A water cooler in the corner with those tiny paper cups that hold approximately three sips.
I spot Jake immediately.
He’s standing near the reception desk in dark jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and my eyes do a full sweep before my brain even pretends to be polite.
There’s no denying Jake is good looking.
What really kills me are the creases that bracket his mouth when he smiles.
Not exactly dimples, but they up his hot factor by at least a hundred.
When he sees me, his whole face lights up.
It’s that right there that worries me. The way he looks at me, like I’m not a walking complication.
As much as I love the way his expression softens when I show up, I know I can’t give him what he wants.
He has this stable, normal life, and mine is about to be the opposite of that.
He’d get tired of it eventually. He’s too nice and I know myself.
I can be a lot. I don’t want to be the one who eventually breaks his spirit.
“Hey.” He crosses the waiting room in a few easy strides. “How are you feeling?”
“Nervous.”
“Me too.”
That comforts me more than I want to admit. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand over his head, gaze flicking toward the hallway like he can see the exam rooms from here. “I’ll feel better once we hear the heartbeat and everything looks okay.” He gestures toward the reception desk. “Have you checked in?”
“Not yet.”
We walk up together, and the receptionist slides a clipboard toward me, stacked with forms. Insurance information. Medical history. Emergency contact. There’s a whole section labeled “Father’s Information” with blank lines staring at me.
Jake leans one forearm on the counter next to me, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Something clean and masculine and annoyingly comforting.
“Need a pen?” he asks quietly.
“I’ve got one.”
We find two seats in the corner, tucked a little away from everyone else, and I start filling everything out. Name. Date of birth. Address. Easy things. Things that don’t require a full mental spiral.
When I get to the emergency contact section, I hesitate. My mom is the automatic answer. She’s always been my emergency contact. But I’m having a baby now. Things are different, and the lines on this page feel heavier than they did five minutes ago.
Jake notices the pause. “You okay?”
“Just thinking.”
He doesn’t push. Just waits, ankle resting on opposite knee, fingers tapping lightly against his knee like he’s giving all that lawyer energy something to do besides hover.
After a moment, I write my mom’s name and number in the first line. The familiar choice. The safe one. Then I glance over at him.
“Can I put you as my second emergency contact?” I ask.
His expression shifts. Surprise, then this warm, almost shy kind of pleased. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”
I write his name and number on the second line. Seeing it there makes something low in my chest loosen and tighten at the same time. We’re tied together now in more ways than just biology.
When I finish the forms, I slide the clipboard toward him. “Can you fill out the father’s section?”
He takes the clipboard like it’s an actual contract that might go before a judge, eyes scanning each line with that focused, careful attention that made him one of my dad’s favorite attorneys before any of this.
“Here you go,” he says finally, handing it back.
We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes before a nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand.
“Natalie?”
Jake stands immediately. When he places his hand on the small of my back to usher me through the doorway, my stomach flips. I’m not sure if it’s from the nerves or him. I hand the completed forms to the receptionist as we pass, and decide it might be a bit of both.
The nurse leads us down a hallway lined with exam rooms, the floor a little too shiny under the fluorescent lights. “Right in here. I’m going to get your weight and blood pressure, then the doctor will be in shortly.”
She glances at Jake and smiles. “Dad, you can have a seat right there.”
Jake sits in the chair by the window, phone in his hand, knuckles white around it like it’s some kind of grounding device.
“You can go ahead and change into the gown. Opening in the front,” the nurse says, heading for the door.
“Do you want me to step out?” Jake asks immediately, already half rising.
“No.” I shake my head. “Just…turn around for a second.”
I change quickly, the gown thin and drafty and making me feel far more exposed than I’d like. My bare legs dangle off the side of the table.
“Okay,” I say.
He turns back around, eyes firmly on my face. I can literally see him make a conscious decision not to allow his gaze to drop below my shoulders, which is both sweet and slightly ridiculous.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m great,” I lie, swinging my foot once.
This is so awkward.
A knock sounds, then the door opens and a woman in a white coat steps inside. “Hi there.” She smiles as she checks the chart on her tablet. “Natalie? I’m Dr. Nelson.”
“Hi,” I say, forcing my voice not to squeak.
“And you must be Dad.” She shifts her smile to Jake and offers her hand.
“Jake Reyes,” he says, shaking it. Lawyer charm activated.
“Nice to meet you both.” She pulls up a little stool and taps on her tablet. “Looks like you’re about fourteen weeks now. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” I say. “Hungry.”
“That tracks.” She smiles. “Energy levels?”
“Totally normal.”
“Excellent.” More tapping. “Any bleeding? Cramping? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Nope.”
“Great. And you’re taking prenatal vitamins?”
“Every day.” I flick a glance at Jake. I have him and his grocery delivery to thank for that.
“Perfect.” She stands, rolling the ultrasound machine a little closer. “All right, let’s take a look and see how baby’s doing. We’ll get some measurements and make sure everything’s on track.”
My heart rate kicks up so fast I’m pretty sure she can see my pulse in my neck. Jake gets up, hovering, clearly uncertain where he’s supposed to be. Dr. Nelson glances up and nods toward me.
“You can stand next to her,” she says. “Most dads like to watch the screen.”
He moves to my side, close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the gown. His arm is right there if I need to grab onto something.
“This is going to be cold,” Dr. Nelson warns as she squirts gel onto my stomach.
She’s not exaggerating. I flinch when the wand hits my skin, teeth almost chattering from the unexpected chill. Then the monitor flickers on.
And there it is.
My baby.
There’s a clear curve of a head, a spine like a string of tiny pearls, little limbs moving. Arms. Legs. A profile that looks like something you’d recognize if you saw it again.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. That’s a person. A tiny, impossible person who’s been growing inside me this whole time while I taught yoga classes and rewrote scripts and pretended everything was normal.
My throat goes tight. I want to reach out and touch the screen, trace the outline of that perfect little head, but my hands are frozen at my sides. There’s this overwhelming surge of something I can’t name. Protectiveness, maybe. Or terror. Or both at once, fighting for dominance in my chest.
This is real, moving, living proof that in a few months, I’m going to be responsible for another human being.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“There we go,” Dr. Nelson says, adjusting the angle. “Baby is measuring right on track for fourteen weeks.”
She clicks a few buttons. The image sharpens, and I swear I see a hand flicker near its face like an accidental wave.
“Let’s get that heartbeat,” she says.
She moves the wand, and then the room fills with sound. Fast, steady, impossibly loud for something so small.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh.
“That’s the baby’s heartbeat,” she says. “Nice and strong. About one-fifty beats per minute. That’s exactly what we like to hear at this stage.”
I can’t look away from the screen. The baby moves again, a little twist, a flex of tiny arms. It’s so small and yet so very clearly there. Not theoretical. Not maybe someday. Right now.
I risk a glance at Jake. He is staring at the monitor like he’s hypnotized. His eyes are shiny, and when he realizes I’m looking at him, he doesn’t bother to even hide his emotion.
“That’s our baby,” he says, voice rough.
I hold his gaze for a moment and then turn away, overwhelmed by all the feelings happening in this room.
“Everything looks great,” she says finally, wiping the gel away with a towel. “Baby is growing beautifully. Any questions?”
Jake pulls out his phone and opens his notes app. “I have a few,” he says. “When can we find out the sex of the baby?” He pauses and turns to me, “I mean if that’s something you want to know?”
“I do.”
“Around twenty weeks,” Dr. Nelson says. “We’ll get that scheduled before you leave today.”
“And movement? When will she start feeling the baby move?”
“Usually between sixteen and twenty weeks for first-time moms.”
He types furiously. “Are there any specific activities she should avoid?”
“No high-impact or contact sports,” Dr. Nelson says, smiling. “But yoga, walking, swimming are all excellent. I see here you’re a yoga instructor?”
“I am,” I say.
“Then you’re already very in tune with your body. Listen to it. If something feels off, stop and call us. Otherwise, you can keep moving.”
Jake asks about sleep positions and what qualifies as a real emergency and which symptoms are normal versus “call us immediately.” He’s thorough without being obnoxious, and by the time he’s finished, Dr. Nelson looks genuinely delighted with his level of investment.