28. Court
28
COURT
D evin stands in the doorway as I shut down my computer to leave. It’s sonogram day, so I’m only working in the morning so I can pick Lucy up and drive out to the Warwick clinic.
We discussed moving to a New York doctor, but initial calls showed no one was accepting new patients, not even on a cash basis. So, we’re staying with Warwick, knowing it’s a risk if she goes into labor, and it’s too intense to drive out of the city for the hospital where her OB/GYN delivers.
Devin retrieves a set of signed documents from my desk. “Lucy sure lights up the place. Everything is set up for the pizza party tomorrow.”
“Good. Lucy’s been baking all week.”
“She’s an energy ball, even this far along.”
My mind flashes to last night and the things that happened on my grandfather’s old bed. “She is.”
“We look forward to finding out what you’re having.” He emphasizes the you’re to make a point.
It’s moot. I can’t imagine sending Lucy away if the baby isn’t mine, although we’d have to figure out how to handle the actual paternity.
I don’t want to think about that. I want to have faith in what she says.
I tuck my phone in my pocket. “Hold down the fort for the afternoon.”
“Not a problem.”
It’s pouring rain, so I grab a taxi back to the apartment.
Lucy’s sitting on a stool by the stove, periodically turning on the oven light so she can check on a tray of cookies. Containers filled with everything from snickerdoodle to shortbread to chocolate chip cover the counters.
“Cutting it close on this batch?” I ask.
“They’re about to come out.” She shoves a hunk of hair from her forehead. She looks tired.
“Are you all right?”
“I didn’t sleep well. Couldn’t find a position that worked.”
I rush over to her, running a thumb down her cheek. “What can we do? A new mattress? There were special pillows at that store.”
She flashes a wan smile. “I think we’re in the toughing-it-out portion of gestation.”
I run my hand down her arm. “If you don’t have enough cookies, we can buy the rest.”
“I’m taking pride in making them all.”
I make a rough count of what she already has. “It looks good already.”
“We could use more macadamia nut.”
“Then you’ll direct me from a comfortable chair when we get back.”
Another tired smile. “All right. That’ll be something to see.”
I wait until the timer dings and pull out the tray myself. Then I lead her to the bedroom to lie down while I change into more casual clothes for the visit.
“It’s exciting, right?” she asks. “Knowing the gender for certain?”
“Now that the old methods have failed us?”
She giggles. “I can’t get a confirmation from the stars. We’ll have to use modern technology.”
I hang up my suit and switch to jeans and a blue button-down to balance out Lucy’s pink dress.
When I come out of the closet, Lucy is napping. I head to the kitchen to move the cooled cookies to a container, then check on Matilda.
She’s standing by the railing, looking out at the rain. It’s only a moderate sprinkle.
“You like wet skies?”
She turns to me with a short meh eh.
Her water looks good, and she has fresh hay.
“Be a good girl.”
As if she’s ready to prove she’s anything but, she pushes her back end against the rails, lifts her tail, and poops off the end of the balcony.
“Matilda! No!” I rush forward to drag her more centrally onto the platform.
From far below, I hear, “What the hell? It’s raining shit?”
I don’t dare look down. I sit with Matilda, making sure she isn’t visible from below. “That was not a good plan, Miss Goat.”
She lowers her head. I know what’s coming next, so I release her and hurry to the door before she can butt me.
When I slide it closed, she’s glaring in my direction.
We’re never going to be friends, it seems.
It’s time to get going if I want to allow for bad weather. I head to the bedroom and stroke Lucy’s hair. “Time to go, sleepyhead.”
She stirs, then her eyes fly open. “Are we late?”
“A little early. I want to give us extra time since it’s been raining.”
“Oh! I need to check on Matilda.”
“Already done.” I take her hands and help her sit up.
She slides her feet into her shoes. “Thank you. I need to put those cookies away.”
“Already done.”
“Is the oven off?”
“I checked.”
“Oh.” She runs her hands through her hair. “Then I guess we’re ready.”
The rain slows us down on the island, but we come out of the Lincoln tunnel to bright skies.
We have to stop for Lucy to pee, which is becoming wildly frequent.
“You sure nothing’s wrong?” I ask as she dashes back into the car.
“I think he’s head-butting my bladder.”
“The goat tried butting me again on the balcony today?”
“What did you do?”
I laugh. “Whatever it is, it’s my fault?”
She takes my hand. “She’s my baby. My first baby.”
I get that. I don’t quite understand it, not when she’s growing a human baby, but I respect her feelings about it.
“She pooped off the balcony. I noticed there’s been less to clean up lately. I’m worried she’s been doing it when we haven’t noticed.”
“Do you think anyone has guessed where it’s coming from?”
“Not sure. At least we’re far enough down the building from where Jerry stands that he won’t put two and two together.”
“You mean doo and doo?”
I shake my head. This is my life now. Poop jokes.
Lucy is overcome with giggles. We pull into the parking lot of the clinic.
“Blood test first,” she says, holding her belly. “I feel like I’m going to laugh the baby right out.”
“Can excessive laughter cause you to go into labor?”
She’s caught up in it again and can’t answer.
I take her hand and lead my giggling lady up to the door. We’re pointed to the lab.
She goes dead sober when the phlebotomist preps the needle. “Here we go.”
“I thought you said you were fine with needles. I asked you last week when you made the appointment.”
“I didn’t want to seem like trouble.”
“Do you faint with needles?” the phlebotomist asks. “This chair lies back to help you.”
“I’ve come close, but I’m worried now that I’m so pregnant, it’ll happen.”
“Let me lay you back.” She pulls a lever below the chair to lift a footrest and angle the back of the seat. “Dad, stay close to make sure she doesn’t roll off.”
“You’re prepared for this,” Lucy says.
“We have to be.”
“Look at me,” I tell Lucy and hold her gaze as the phlebotomist preps Lucy’s arm. “What’s your final guess on Julian or Julia?”
“Hmmm.” She closes her eyes. “Julian.” Then. “Ouch!”
“It will only take a few seconds,” the phlebotomist says. “You’re doing great.”
“Then I’m Team Julia,” I say.
“I like those names,” the woman says. “And… we’re all done.” A cotton ball and strip of tape goes on Lucy’s arm. “We’ll sit her up slowly.”
“I’m good,” Lucy says. “Whew.”
We take our time walking to radiology. I hold Lucy’s hand tightly as we’re checked in, and we wait for our turn.
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Lucy says. “I’m fine either way.”
“Probably you’re ramped up from the blood draw.”
She nods. “I’m going to need another milkshake or three.”
I kiss her knuckles. “Anything you want.”
We’re called back, and a tall woman ushers us into a dimly lit room. “Let’s take a peek at baby!” She helps Lucy onto the exam table and covers her lower half with a paper sheet.
“Oh, I shouldn’t have worn a dress!” Lucy says.
“Not a problem. I’m Olivia. Do you know your gender?” She rolls Lucy’s dress up to her chest.
“Not yet.”
“Do you want to know?”
“Yes,” Lucy says. “Today’s the day.”
“I love these days.” She squirts gel on a paddle and runs it over Lucy’s belly.
I watch the confusing screen of black and white dots, unable to make out anything.
“Here’s the head,” Olivia says. She clicks on a few things. “Measuring perfectly.” She shifts the paddle and clicks more. “Femur good. Might be tall like Dad. Let me measure a few other little things and see if we can get a look at girl or boy parts. Oh, let me turn on the sound.”
She turns a dial, and that familiar whomp, whomp fills the room.
I lift my phone and record Olivia and her screen, then the glow on Lucy’s expectant face.
“Everything looks perfect. Let me rummage around here.” Olivia moves the paddle. “Ah, here we go.”
I set down the phone and peer more closely. “What is that?”
“That’s a penis,” she says. “It’s a boy.”
My throat instantly tightens. A boy. All the images come roaring forward. Running in the park. Flying a kite. Throwing a ball. Racing across a yard.
I find Lucy’s hand.
“Julian,” she breathes.
I don’t remember the last time I cried. Middle school, I think, when I broke my arm.
But it’s happening. I’m overwhelmed. I see myself with my father, jumping in the car for a ball game.
Then, me with my grandfather. I can picture his eyes on me, his smile after I finished my first hand-made music box.
I get to be that person now. I may have lost him, but now I get the chance to become him.
The tears gather enough to fall, and Lucy squeezes my fingers.
I didn’t know happy crying was something I could even do.