26. Joint Operations Planning
TWENTY-SIX
JOINT OPERATIONS PLANNING
Vance
“Shall we take a look?”
My eyes remain on the perforated ceiling tile, only dropping down every few seconds to make sure Rose is okay. Up, down. That’s it.
I don’t know why, but it’s like a house of mirrors in here, with one hanging across from me and another behind, making every angle of the room visually accessible.
And after seeing Rose slide her naked butt down to the edge of an exam table inches from the gynecologist’s face, then put her feet in stirrups with her knees splayed with only a thin paper sheet to cover her all so the doctor can stick a large metal speculum that actually cranks into her vagina so that she can then insert a pair of scissor forceps to remove a shifted, and therefore ineffective, birth control device, I’ve learned the only safe place is up.
If I ever complain about my yearly turn-and-cough exam again, I won’t consider myself any kind of man.
“This shouldn’t hurt.” Dr. Barrios rolls her stool over to the side and grabs what looks like a long white dildo attached to a computer on wheels. “But it might be a bit uncomfortable since I just removed the IUD.” The thing is at least twelve inches long with a slightly bulbous head.
I’m vaguely threatened.
Rose must think the same ’cause she snickers.
The dildo, which is some sort of sonogram tool, gets covered with a plastic sleeve and coated in lube.
No joke.
Rose shifts on the paper when the doctor probes her while I hold her hand, which is all I’ve been able to do since we entered the room. I get it why women always joke about men being useless.
Whomp, whomp, whomp sounds from the machine.
Rose gasps.
Whomp, whomp, whomp.
I chance a glance at the doctor. “Is that…?”
“The heartbeat?” Dr. Barrios nods with a small grin at our expressions. “Yes, it is.” She holds up her watch arm, probably counting the beats per second.
Pinpricks of light twinkle at the edge of my vision. I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for the verdict.
“One hundred and twelve.” The doctor’s smile grows wider. “Perfect.”
Rose and I both slump forward. I squeeze her hand, sharing a look of relief.
The computer screen divides into four quadrants as the doctor clicks the dildo still inside Rose. “There it is.” Dr. Barrios points with her non-dildo holding hand to the screen.
Rose frowns at the dark circles in each of the four photos. “That blob?” Her disappointment is cute.
“Yes, it’s too early for what you’re probably thinking—the head, arms, and legs aren’t discernible yet.” She pulls her arm back, the sonogram wand sliding out and glistening in the light.
My eyes snap to the ceiling again.
“However”—out of the corner of my eye, I see the doctor point to the white static surrounding the darker shape—"this is the uterus, and that ‘blob’ is in the perfect position to grow into a healthy baby.”
I lower my eyes down to Rose, who’s beaming.
“But then again, not much of a surprise seeing as it would take a real fighter to get past a condom and IUD. Even if the IUD had partially slipped into the cervix.”
I squeeze Rose’s hand, feeling a ridiculous sense of pride at the doctor’s words. Rose must pick up on it because she rolls her eyes at me. But she’s still smiling when she does it.
When Dr. Barrios unsheathes the sonogram wand and puts it back in place by the monitor, I feel more confident about looking directly at the screen.
After washing her hands, she pulls herself up to the sonogram machine again.
“Let’s get a few measurements, shall we?
” A few clicks, this time with a mouse and keyboard, and small white cross hatches surround the smaller circle on the screen. Our baby.
“Twenty-one millimeters puts you at about seven weeks.” With a press of a button, the four pictures print out as if from a large, slightly pornographic, Polaroid camera.
She hands the pictures to Rose, who gazes at them unblinkingly.
Dr. Barrios rolls back and grabs her iPhone off the counter. “So according to my good old pregnancy calculator”—she holds up the phone and wiggles it before tapping on it—"that puts your due date at August eighth.”
August eighth. Fuck.
I try for nonchalance. “How accurate is that?”
“Well, seeing as we don’t know when the IUD shifted or because of her IUD the last true menstrual cycle, it isn’t exact.
” She shrugs. “And, of course, some babies like to come early and some like to come late, but at this point, and with an intravaginal sonogram, August eighth should be accurate give or take two weeks on either end.” She scrolls on her phone.
“August twenty-second if the baby is running late and July?—”
“Twentieth,” I finish for her. The date engrained in my head and circled on my calendar.
Rose looks up from the sonogram pictures. Sensing something’s wrong from my expression, she frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Ah…” I stall, trying to figure out how to word this without making her upset. But I must take too much time to think because Rose goes into full panic mode.
“Is it the conception date?” Her voice rapid fire.
“Because that would put it around the time of the wedding. We were together then.” Throwing a leg out of a stirrup, she nearly karate kicks Dr. Barrios across the face as she swings it over, spinning her butt on the exam table to face me. “This is your kid, Vance. I swear it.”
“Rose.” Placing both hands on her shoulders, I pull us together, our foreheads almost touching. “I am one hundred and fifty percent positive this is my baby. I have never, not once, doubted that.”
She nods fast, swallowing. “Okay, yeah, good.”
Even though I’m worried about her reaction, I continue to hold her eyes. “It’s just that July twentieth is the day of my flight.”
Understanding dawns, her eyes and mouth expanding. “Oh.”
“Which means I’m scheduled to be in Moscow at least two weeks beforehand, if not more.”
“Oh,” she says again, and this time her nod’s slow. “I see.”
“In another six or seven weeks, I should be able to doublecheck the due date for more accuracy,” the doctor offers, rolling her chair back and standing. “Maybe the baby is measuring small today but?—"
“No.” I don’t want to give Rose false hope. “The first time we had sex was the first Saturday of November. So the due date makes sense. If anything, it would be later, not earlier.”
“Ah.” She pauses, letting that sink in, then looks at Rose. “In that case your next appointment won’t be for another four weeks, and you can schedule it today when you check out or call when you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Rose says softly, staring at my chest.
“Yes, thank you, Doctor.” My hands still rest on Rose’s shoulders.
She washes her hands again and leaves us to discuss things.
“I’ve always hated math,” Rose finally says, raising her head. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I always get it wrong.”
“This is my fault. I don’t think I told you when the flight date was, but I knew. I just…” I drop my hands expelling a large breath. “I just didn’t put two and two together.” I fist my hair and pull, angry at my brain. “I should’ve, though.”
Rose takes a smaller breath and sits up, looking completely composed. “It’s okay.” She pats my shoulder and slides off the table. “I’m not mad.”
I back up so she can retrieve her clothes.
Stepping into her panties, she catches my dubious look. “Your flight was scheduled long before this pregnancy happened. So really, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.”
“Well, I’m not okay.” I drop my head to the exam table. “Day one of giving you everything and I’ve already let you down.”
“Aw.”
Still resting on the table, I turn my head at her sympathetic tone, catching a glimpse of her black and white checked panties as she pulls up her denim shorts.
“Remember. I know the difference between leaving for yourself and leaving for work.” Buttoning her jeans, she slides her bare feet into her sandals. Her toenails are painted blue.
I wonder if she’s hoping our blob is a boy.
“And besides,” Rose continues, “neither Jules nor Jackie are going with you on that flight, so they’ll be here. And Trish.” She snorts. “And let’s not forget my brothers.”
I do not look forward to telling Holt and Flynn I won’t be here when their little sister goes into labor.
She bends down to me, still hunched over and depressed, and rubs my back. “I’m going to have plenty of people to choose from to be in the delivery room with me.”
Rose is taking the news better than I thought. Much better than me. Which should be a good thing, but it’s not.
I’ve always known going into space was a tradeoff. I get to see and experience wonders that very few in the world get to see and do. I’ve already missed birthdays, weddings, and a lot of my nephews’ milestones. But I knew the people I wasn’t there for had others around them to fill the void I left.
But this is Rose. The woman I love. Giving birth to our baby. Sure, one or all of her friends and family can fill in for me, help make sure Rose isn’t alone during delivery—but who’s going to fill my void?
“I’m not sure if this helps”—Rose continues to rub my back—"but just knowing you’re upset about not being here for the birth makes me feel better.”
I snort, my cheek sliding off the leather cushioned table. “I’m so happy my pain gives you pleasure.”
When I lean back, Rose sits on my lap. “I’m helpful like that.”
I hug her, each of us resting our chins on the other’s shoulder.
And just when I think I’m going to have to just suck it up and convince myself that if Rose is okay with me missing the delivery, then I need to find a way to be okay with it too, I catch sight of her eyes in the mirror behind the table.
And the one tear that falls.