Chapter Thirty-One
Emilia was at twenty weeks when it was time for more cryptography, that was how I liked to think of the so-called big ultrasound.
I took the afternoon off work and met her at the doctor’s office. She was working on her laptop in her scrubs, having just come off a short call shift, all while sipping at a small bottle of orange juice, not her usual beverage of choice. I frowned. “What’s that all about, you aren’t getting sick, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s for the ultrasound. I have to have a full bladder again, but juice has a lot of sugar in it, and it will get the baby moving. Just don’t want him to be so shy he won’t show off his bits.”
I arched a brow. “Or lack thereof. If he’s a she, there won’t be any bits.”
Emilia nodded. “Fair. But either way, I’ve heard of people getting their ultrasound and the baby is quiet and keeps their legs closed the entire time and they don’t end up finding out what they’re having ‘til the baby comes out.”
I smirked. “Ah, the old-fashioned way.”
“Yeah, I don’t want the old-fashioned way. I want to know. This is the modern age and this is modern medicine—”
“And your mom is dying to know how to decorate the nursery.”
She nodded, running a hand over her curving belly. Her scrubs were still loose but it was starting to get obvious at certain angles that her body was changing. I flicked a glance up at her. “Are you telling people at work yet?”
She shook her head, gaze flicking away. “Nope, not yet. Soon. Maybe after we find out the gender of the baby.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “We’re not doing one of those kooky parties or TikTok videos, are we?”
Her dark brows arched. “Are you kidding? Neither one of us is into social media BS since I dropped my blog. The thought of throwing a party right now makes me beyond exhausted and we’re not even in the exhausting trimester yet, so, no. No party, no fancy firework show that threatens to burn down half the state of California. Nothing that will wreck the environment or make us look foolish for all the world to see.”
Well, that was a relief, at least, though I hoped she wasn’t too tired for the surprise baby shower that her friends had twisted my arm to cooperate with. But that wouldn’t be for at least a month.
“Nobody’s got time for that shit, especially when we’re taking graduate-level parenting classes.”
She started laughing. “That last test was crazy. I have a medical degree and I still missed a question!”
“Yeah, you have an unfair advantage.”
“Oh?” her brow arched. “What was your score?”
“I passed my first-aid certification, thank you very much,” I said indignantly. I’d never in a million years tell her how many times I had to retake the damn test to do it, though.
We were assigned to a different room this time, and instead of the obstetrician, we were seen to by the ultrasound technician. This appointment took a long time because the technician was doing a close look at organ development and taking measurements of the different bones. Emilia watched closely and made a few comments, noting the baby was within all the standards of growth milestones, and on the upper end, at that. A big baby.
And at least, this time, I had a better idea of what we were looking at, at least after Emilia pointed out the baby’s cranium and long bones, all four chambers of the baby’s heart that seemed to be beating regularly, et cetera.
As all the clicking and measuring came to an end, the ultrasound tech asked, “Do you want to know what gender your baby is?”
Emilia smiled wide. “I already got a peek.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You mean you know already, and you didn’t tell me?”
She shrugged. “I know what I’m looking at.”
My eyebrows climbed in my forehead. “Okay, well, then, let me in on it. Are we having a son or a daughter?”
Her grin widened and she turned back to the ultrasound screen, pointing to a certain area. “Right here is where we’re looking. What do you not see?”
I rolled my eyes. “Emilia, I have no idea what I’m looking at and you really don’t have to use this as a teaching moment, just say—”
“There’s a vulva here. No penis,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“My son doesn’t have a penis?” I blurted, alarmed for about two seconds before I realized how stupid my words sounded. The ultrasound technician immediately burst out laughing.
Emilia grinned at me. “No, your daughter has a vulva.”
I blinked, mouth dropping open, my eyes flew back to where Emilia was pointing. I’d just have to take her word for it because computer inner-workings and multiple programming languages were a whole lot easier to comprehend than this stuff.
“She’s sucking her thumb, did you notice?” The tech said. “Awww, so cute.”
Emilia glanced up, then bit her lip and turned to me with tears in her eyes. She grabbed my hand. “You ready to be a girl dad?”
I took a big, deep breath and squeezed her hand tight while looking back at that incomprehensible screen. “Is any man ever ready to be a girl dad?”
She laughed. “If you suggest Alloreah’ala for her name, I’m vetoing it instantly.”
“Eowyn?”
“Nope.”
“Daenerys Khaleesi?”
“Absolutely not that one.”
The next morning, I left the bike in the garage and drove the car to work.
Because now, I had not one, but two women in my life to protect.
About a week after finding out that we had a daughter on the way, we were lying in bed reading. I was on my tablet, and she was reading a paperbound book with a book light clipped to the pages—another pregnancy book. This one, by the looks of it, was from a more hardcore medical perspective, given all the Latin words strewn about when I glanced over at the pages she held open.
I was reading for pleasure for once, a fantasy novel that was immersive enough to catch my interest. It had been a long time since I’d picked up a novel, having preferred long, epic history books about the Roman Empire and the like. But this novel was good enough that I was sucked in. I didn’t notice until her tossing and turning jostled the bed for the third time how restless Emilia was.
After her twentieth explosive breath and fifth turning from her side to her back to the other side and returning to her back, I looked up from my tablet. “Everything okay? You seem uncomfortable.”
She sighed heavily. “Not uncomfortable, per se, but she’s kicking like crazy. She’s been doing this a lot lately. She’s quiet during the day, but at night, I can feel her moving around in there like she’s playing Dance Dance Revolution or something.”
“Are you automatically assuming our daughter is going to be a gamer girl?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please, she has no choice. Look who her parents are. It’s already in her DNA.”
“Don’t put our baby in a geeky box. She can be anything she wants to be.”
“Yeah, well right now she either wants to be a ballerina or a break dancer. Maybe even a soccer player.”
I couldn’t resist the temptation to put my hand out onto her rounded belly. “Where is she kicking?”
Emilia grabbed my wrist and repositioned my hand high on her stomach. “She likes this spot a lot, but I’m not sure if she’s big enough for you to be able to feel it yet.”
I waited for a minute and we looked at each other but nothing happened. “Are you feeling something right now? Because I got nothing.”
“No, she suddenly went quiet. Maybe it’s stage fright or something.”
I sighed. Oh well, there was time yet. I kept my hand where it was but pressed the button on my tablet to reactivate it and continue reading.
Emilia seemed to get comfortable and settled in that position, propping her head up on her arm so she could keep reading her book.
A few minutes later, a muscle on her stomach twitched. She sucked in a breath and looked at me wide-eyed.
“Your muscles are twitching,” I said.
“Uh, no. That wasn’t me. That was your kid. She’s back at it again, apparently, after her two-minute nap. She must be nocturnal.”
I blinked, adjusting my hand so it stayed on that exact spot. “That was the baby?”
“Yeah, you felt it. She’s kicking or head-banging or something.”
I shifted my palm on her stomach, putting a little pressure against the surface, instantly enchanted. “C’mon, you can do it. Give me another kick.”
Almost as if she’d heard me, there was that sensation again—what I’d mistaken for a muscle twitch.
Emilia’s eyes widened. “Did she just do exactly what you asked her to do?”
I grinned. “Yep. That bodes well for the future, doesn’t it?”
She shook her head, marveling. “She’s not even out yet, and she’s already daddy’s little girl.”
I grinned, then set my tablet on the nightstand, fantasy novel now forgotten. “Roll over,” I said, and when she had her back to me, I pressed up against her, spooning her, placing both my hands on the spot where the baby was now kicking relentlessly. “Does it hurt?”
She shook her head, her fragrant, soft hair falling against my nose. I inhaled deeply. She smelled so good. My lips sank automatically to her neck, kissing her there.
She sighed happily. “I think Daddy has something else in mind besides going to sleep?”
“I’m not sure whether I’m liking you calling me Daddy in bed.”
She snorted. “I’m not calling you Daddy like that. Or are you saying you want me to?”When I didn’t answer, she rolled over to face me. “Are you?”
I blinked. “It’s not a known kink that calls to me, no. But maybe I can see the appeal—under the right circumstances.”
She screwed up her face as if truly contemplating that. “Don’t you and I both have too many daddy issues to explore that, though? Wouldn’t that just drive us straight to therapy?”
I blinked, suddenly feeling defensive and not realizing why. “Is that a bad thing?”
She frowned. “Seeking therapy? No, not at all. I was just joking around but....” She shrugged almost self-consciously. “Nothing wrong with going to therapy. It wasn’t an appropriate joke.”
“I mean, you’ve done therapy before, so I was just wondering.”
“Yes, therapy helped me. I was just saying it to be funny. And not everyone who has daddy issues—or a daddy kink—needs therapy. Did I...did that joke bother you?”
I blinked. “Not specifically, no. But...” I took a deep breath while she looked at me expectantly. The baby kicked again and this time, with her belly pressed to mine, I felt it right in my abdomen. Impressive, little Miss Drake. Very impressive.
I met her mother’s gaze and suddenly we were grinning like fools at each other. After a moment, her smile faded. “I’m sorry. I hope my joke didn’t offend you.”
I sobered. “It didn’t. It just got me thinking and realizing that I have a confession to make.”
She looked mildly alarmed. “What’s that?”
I swallowed. “I’ve been seeing a therapist for the past few months.”
Her brows knit as she stared at me, probably trying to discern if I was pulling her leg or not. Then, she suddenly laughed, as if she had concluded that I was cracking a joke. But when she saw that I wasn’t laughing along with her, she sobered. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were joking. I—sorry. I’m processing.” She bit her lip and frowned briefly. “Every time in the past when I’ve brought up the subject of seeing someone, you seemed resistant—sometimes very resistant. I’m stunned that you made the decision to go on your own and then decided not to tell me about it.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t keeping it secret more than I was just...managing expectations. In case it didn’t work out, I didn’t want you to be disappointed if or when I decided to throw in the towel.”
She nodded slowly, appearing to understand. “I get that, but it’s not for me to be disappointed. It’s for me to be supportive of your journey. And if I didn’t know, then how—” She cut herself off, as if having a new thought. Her brows knit then a look of pure amusement crossed her face. “Unicycle lessons, circus training, underwater basket-weaving class and that weird TR one.”
I laughed, realizing what had just crossed her mind. “Well, I had to put something in that time slot on my calendar so that Maggie wouldn’t double-book me.”
She giggled again and the baby kicked twice as if echoing her mother’s amusement. “What does TR mean?”
“Temporal reduction.”
She burst out laughing. “Head shrinking. Clever.”
I smiled. She got me. This amazing, smart, beautiful, clever woman really got me. Even when I made stupid jokes on my calendar. “I didn’t realize that you were looking at my calendar that much these days.”
“For all these baby appointments and our crazy schedules, I’ve had to. Your calendar is a scheduling nightmare of Tetris-style time-slots, and we have parenting classes and checkups and on and on.”
“Exactly, so I needed to put something in that block, and it really isn’t any of Maggie’s business that I’m doing therapy.”
She tilted her head. “But it is my business.” She smiled sweetly and put her hand against my cheek. “And now that I know, how can I support you?”
“Well, maybe we could go together in a few months. My therapist suggested that as something we should do in a little while.”
She nodded. “Okay. Just let me know and I’ll put it in my not-so Tetrised calendar.”
I shook my head. “You are in denial thinking that your schedule is less crazy than mine, Dr. Strong.”
She studied me for a long time. “So, would it be okay if I asked what prompted you to go to therapy?”
I thought for a minute, acknowledging the brief surge of my pulse as a familiar fight-or-flight response to her wanting me to open up. I acknowledged it, understood where the feeling came from, and reminded myself that I was safe here. With her, I was always safe. Huh, curious. Was this evidence that the therapy was working?
My hand went to her stomach. “I’m doing it for her. I want to be the best dad I can possibly be. But I also want to be the husband you deserve.”
Her eyes widened and she blinked rapidly, her mouth softening. “Oh, Adam. You’re already pretty damn terrific.”
I cracked a smile. “Still not what you deserve. But I’m getting there.”
She shook her head slowly. “Well, you’re setting that bar pretty damn high tonight, mister.” She leaned in to kiss me and the baby kicked multiple times as if echoing her mom’s emotions. This woman in my arms, our baby safely tucked inside her, between us. I was the luckiest fucking man on this planet.
I kissed her deeply and she returned it with fire on her lips, her tongue. When I drew back slightly, she let out a pleased sigh and leaned in, deepening the kiss. “I am so turned on right now, Adam Drake. You better watch out.”
And as she pushed me onto my back and did wicked, delicious things to my body I could only bask in this happiness and appreciate this for what it was. This present. This moment. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for what I had and I’d fight like a questing knight to keep safe what was precious to me. And if that meant wandering into the mysterious, unknown regions of my psyche with a therapist as my guide to do it, then I would, as I had been. Sometimes those regions resembled the Fire Swamp and sometimes it was like fucking Mordor in there.
But I wouldn’t quit.
Because I wanted to become the man she deserved. That they deserved.