Epilogue Jay
TWO MONTHS LATER
The first thing I notice is the smell. Not disinfectant, not that crisp astringent hospital aroma, but something softer like baby powder mixed with vanilla.
The second thing I notice in the waiting room of Worthington Hills OBGYN is that the walls are the color of melted vanilla ice cream.
Every chair is upholstered in a shade of baby blue, mauve, or pale yellow that makes my eyes ache.
Nadia sits next to me, leg bouncing like a jackhammer.
She’s got a battered copy of Pregnancy & Baby Magazine laying in her lap, but her eyes haven’t moved from the same page in five minutes.
I doubt she’s processed a single word. Her lips are pressed tight, chin tilted down, blonde curls exploding in every direction as always.
I’m holding her left hand in mine with my thumb tracing her knuckles.
I count the heartbeats in her pulse and find it’s running a full-blown sprint.
The engagement ring and platinum band I slipped on her finger a few weeks ago glint under the fluorescents, but she keeps sliding it up and down, turning it, twisting, and fidgeting with it.
I squeeze her hand before leaning over to brush a kiss to her temple. “You know I love you, right?” My voice comes out gruff, but it works—the corner of her mouth twitches.
“I know, and I love you, too.” She gives me a smile that melts my heart.
God, I’m obsessed with this woman. The minute she said yes, I didn’t waste a goddamn second.
I booked the flights, the hotel, and the corny-ass wedding chapel with a Justice of the Peace who wore an Elvis jumpsuit.
Vegas. It was impulsive, bonkers, and absolutely perfect.
We got married that night. Nadia wore a white sundress and wild curls. She looked like an angel sent straight to ruin me. I barely remember the vows. I just remember her soft “I do” and the way she stared up into my eyes adoringly.
Three days in Vegas. Just us. No work, no lesson plans, no gassy Frenchie needing a walk. Then we came home and settled into our perfectly messy life.
Today is our first ultrasound, and my wife is a nervous wreck. I keep trying to reassure her that everything will be fine, but she won’t breathe easy until we see our little one on the screen.
“Hey,” I whisper, trying not to draw attention from the other would-be parents around us. “Did you know the most popular baby name in Texas last year was Maverick? I’m not saying that’s the right choice, but I’m also not saying it’s the wrong one.”
She snorts, which is what I’m going for, but it comes out shaky.
“If it’s a girl, we could do something wild, too. ‘Chaos’ is gender neutral. So is ‘Tuesday.’”
She gives me her adorable side eye look. “We aren’t naming our baby Maverick, Chaos, or Tuesday.” Her tone is unbending, but her mouth twitches at the corners, almost a smile if I squint.
“You’re no fun.” I lace my fingers through hers, squeezing tight. And there it is—a smile, faint but real. I can’t help it. I want to keep her smiling. “Maybe we should go with something really simple, like ‘One.’” The word drops between us, ridiculous and perfect.
“One?” She snorts, full-body. “That’s it. You’re absolutely banned from suggesting any more names.”
I just grin, basking in her laughter, and hold her hand like I’m never letting go.
An older woman in scrubs appears at the door and calls, “Nadia Vale?” God, I love knowing this woman belongs to me forever.
Nadia jumps so hard she nearly throws her magazine on the floor.
I stand and gently help my wife to her feet, and she keeps a white-knuckled grip on my hand as we follow the nurse, whose name badge reads Patrice, down a corridor lined with photos of glowy, blissful parents cradling gurgling infants.
The nurse leads us into a room at the end of the hall. “You’re here for the first ultrasound, right?”
Nadia nods, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “We are.”
Patrice’s voice softens. “Go ahead and sit. Just a few questions first.”
We shuffle inside, and I help Nadia up onto the paper-sheeted table, which crinkles alarmingly loud as she settles. I pull a chair up to her side, ignoring the urge to pace the tiny square of floor.
The nurse runs through a rapid-fire checklist, and Nadia answers each question while I hold her hand. God, I want to fast-forward this whole thing and give her every ounce of reassurance she needs.
The nurse finally cracks a smile, clicks her pen, and tells us, “You’re all set. The technician will be right in to do the ultrasound.” And then she’s gone.
Nadia lets out a heavy breath. “I have never,” she whispers, “wanted to throw up and pass out at the same time this bad in my life.”
I slide my hand up her arm. “Everything is going to be great.” I rest my forehead against hers. “We’re in this together, okay?”
“We’ve got this.” She smiles as there’s a knock at the door.
A smiling middle-aged woman strolls into the room. “Hi there, I’m Melinda, and I’ll be your ultrasound tech today!” Her voice is sing-song, zero judgment, maximum comfort. “Ready for your close-up of the little one?” She eyes the chart, then Nadia. “Oh, first time? Congrats, you two.”
Nadia nods, lips glued shut, but Melinda is unfazed. She flips on the monitor, slaps a pair of gloves on, and wheels over a little cart. She talks through every step, probably for our benefit, but I only catch half the words. My entire focus is on Nadia.
Melinda spreads a blue paper drape, then grabs the bottle of ultrasound goo. She pauses, looks at us both, and says, “This will be a little chilly.”
She wasn’t kidding. The second that gel hits Nadia’s belly, a full-body shiver runs through my wife’s body.
“We’re going to try to do this externally, but we’ll switch to the internal wand if we can’t get a good view of the little one.
” Melinda presses a white plastic wand over Nadia’s belly, and immediately, a black-and-white snowstorm fills the monitor.
There’s a pulsing “whoosh-whoosh” from the speakers.
My heart is hammering in my ears, but it’s nothing compared to the noise of the tiny, alien heart beating inside my wife.
At first, it’s just a blur. Melinda clicks buttons, moves the probe, and adjusts angles. Nadia cranes her neck to see the screen, then looks at me, eyes wide. I can’t read her expression. Fear? Excitement? Both?
Melinda squints, pokes at the keyboard, then stops. She leans in. Then she grins. “Well, would you look at that?”
She freezes the image and points at the monitor.
I lean forward, squint. I see… a peanut? A jellybean? Maybe a shrimp.
Then I see something.
Then I see another something.
Two little kidney-shaped blobs, both flickering in and out. Two tiny heartbeats, thumping in perfect sync.
Nadia doesn’t say anything, but her grip on my hand tightens painfully. I think I might lose circulation below the wrist, but this is worth it.
Melinda clicks to highlight both blobs and circles them with her pointer.
“You’re having twins!” she announces cheerfully. “Identical, I’d bet. You guys hit the jackpot.”
My brain short-circuits. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I look at the screen, look at Nadia, look at Melinda, then back at the screen.
“Two?” Nadia’s voice is so small I barely hear it.
Melinda laughs, kind and gentle. “Two. There’s no mistaking it.”
Nadia turns to me, blue eyes brimming with tears and terror and a joy so sharp it nearly slices me open.
“Jay,” she whispers, and it’s half a question, half a warning.
She’s crying, but she’s also laughing—a hiccupping, delirious sound.
“We’re having twins,” she says, over and over, like she needs to hear it out loud to believe it.
I kneel beside the table, cradling her head in my hands, and kiss her forehead. My own eyes are stinging. Fuck, I think I’m crying, too. “We won the baby lottery, sweetheart. Two for the price of one.”
Melinda beams, takes about a thousand measurements, and narrates the whole thing in real time.
“Looks like they’re sharing a sac, so they’re identical.
Both heartbeats are strong. This one’s being shy, but we’ll get a better look next time.
Your babies look absolutely perfect. I don’t see any reason to worry. ”
My wife visibly relaxes as a huge smile breaks out on her gorgeous face. I nod like I understand any of this, but really, my entire world is two flickering blobs on a ten-inch monitor and the woman beside me who is carrying them in her body.
Melinda prints out a strip of grainy photos and tucks them into a little envelope.
“Here’s your first family photo. Show it off!
” She cleans up the gel, helps Nadia sit up, and says, “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate.
And get plenty of rest, Mom. You’re growing two superheroes in there.
The doctor will talk to you about how this changes your care at your next appointment. ”
The tech leaves us alone. Nadia sits on the edge of the table, knees wobbling, hands full of printouts.
“I can’t believe it,” she says, staring at the paper. “Jay. There are two.”
I kiss her again. Her face is hot, flushed with adrenaline. “We can do this,” I promise, but my voice cracks, and we both start laughing.
“Are you freaking out?” she asks, eyes glued to mine.
I shake my head. “I’m too busy being in awe of you.” I scoop her up, yoga pants and all, and spin her in a slow circle. “Twins. We made twins. That’s insane. I love you so fucking much, Mrs. Vale.”
She laughs, but it’s a wild, happy sound. “I love you, too.” She smiles down at me. “We’re going to need a bigger apartment.”
“I’ll start looking for houses tonight,” I tell her, and it’s not a joke. My mind is already mapping security systems and baby gates and backup baby gates for when the first ones get destroyed.
We sign some paperwork, and Nadia schedules her next appointment, then we step out into the Worthington Hills sunshine, blinded for a second by the real world. I look at Nadia, and I see it—the relief, the terror, the raw, shining love. It’s mirrored in my own chest.
I slip my arm around her and press my palm to her still-flat stomach.
“We’re really doing this, huh?” I murmur, grinning like an idiot.
She holds up the ultrasound strip, pride and panic warring in her face. “We really are.”
I lean down and kiss her, right there in the parking lot, like I’m staking my claim on the future. Two for one. Double trouble.
Best. Jackpot. Ever.
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