I
woke up alone, with no proof of last night other than Bo’s glasses on the nightstand and his prosthesis still laid up against the wall.
He’ll be coming back for those, I think to myself. So I stretch with a yawn and let my eyes drift shut once again.
But they don’t stay closed for long. I wake to pots and pans clattering from down the hall, alerting the rest of my senses to the light coming in through the window and the smell of vanilla wafting through the house.
The faint sound of water running also tells me that someone is in the shower. I contemplate which of the Durand men might be showering and which one could be cooking and decide it’s most likely Bo in the shower, with all he’s left behind.
I curl myself back against my pillow, wrapped in my warm cocoon, deciding to wait for Bo to return before going to greet his dad. But once a few minutes pass, my stomach and curiosity overrule my comfort.
I throw on some sweats and a hoodie before making my way toward the kitchen, where I find Bo pouring batter into the waffle maker.
“Morning,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “I thought you were in the shower.” Bo holds on to the counter, steadying himself. “Morning,” he says,
closing the waffle maker with his tongue poking out in concentration. “I wanted to get up before Dad to avoid any sort of… questions.” He gestures to my bedroom with his tilted chin, wearing a bashful smile. “He’s not subtle, as you may have noticed.”
“Got it.”
“Bonjour!” Robert says, walking through the kitchen in an all-black ensemble, running a towel through his hair as he heads toward the living room.
“Bonjour,” I say, smiling at Bo shyly, as if we have a much more interesting secret than having spent the night cuddling.
I cut up some fruit as Bo finishes the waffles and brews a pot of coffee. We all eat breakfast together on the couch as Robert continues to berate Bo over his lack of dining table. Bo insists there’s not enough room in there between his record player and desk.
They bicker back and forth as I swallow bite after bite of delicious breakfast, only jumping in occasionally to agree with Robert, hoping to earn his favour.
Afterward, we all get ready to leave the house. Then, per his request, we drop Robert off at the local farmers’ market before Bo and I drive to the hospital for our ultrasound.
Bo holds every door open between the parking garage and the clinic. I wonder, if I pretended to be nervous, would he hold my hand too?
Not that I’d really have to pretend.
“You okay?” he asks, opening the clinic’s door.
“Yeah,” I answer reflexively, blowing my chance. We walk inside and walk up to the receptionist behind a glass partition.
“Ultrasound for two please,” I say to her, sliding my paperwork through the narrow slot. She blinks at me, her blank expression saying a whole lot as she sighs through her nose. “Fair,” I mumble, pulling out my ID. “I’m here for my twenty-week scan,” I say, placing my card down.
She takes it and begins typing silently.
“Tough crowd,” Bo whispers next to my ear. “You’ll get ’em next time.” He nods sarcastically, giving me a thumbs-up.
I whack him with the back of my hand.
“Waiting room is the third door on your left. Someone will come grab you from there. You’ll go in by yourself, and then they’ll bring your husband in when they’re done with the measurements.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking back my ID.
I turn over my shoulder and see Bo smiling broadly. “After you, wife.” He extends his arm out toward the waiting room.
I roll my eyes and lead the way.
We sit in the last two available seats next to one another in the otherwise crowded room. Bo plays peek-a-boo with a little girl standing on the chair across from us. Her mom thanks him with ogling, overly appreciative eyes.
In an attempt to thwart her, I place my hand on Bo’s arm, leaning in to speak to him. Except I did it without thinking of something to say first, and now he’s stuck still, waiting for me to speak with his head tilted toward me. “I’m nervous,” I say. Partially because it’s true, and also because I’m not
that quick on my feet.
“What can I do?” he asks. “Peek-a-boo?”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Tell me something. A story about you. A distracting one.”
He nods, crossing one leg over the other. “Okay…” he says, bending toward me. “Want to hear about my first kiss?”
“Was it embarrassing?” “A little.”
“Then yes, definitely.”
He laughs, then licks his lips before he speaks. “I was sixteen and the only one out of my friends who hadn’t had their first kiss yet. I didn’t think to lie about it, but in hindsight I should have, because they teased me relentlessly. Anyway, a few months into grade eleven, there was a school fundraiser where all the juniors and seniors slept at the school overnight.”
I huff. Who would possibly think that’s a good idea?
“I know,” Bo says, “who could have possibly thought that was a good idea?”
Hey, that’s what I said.
“So I’m at the fundraiser, alone in the band room, because all my friends are drunk and wandering around elsewhere, and I didn’t know what else to do. Eventually, I started messing around with the instruments. I was hoping a nice young lady would wander past and be lulled in by my saxophone skills.”
“Naturally,” I interject.
He scoffs, brushing a hand over his face. “And a group of girls did come in. One of them I recognised from the senior band. But we’d never talked before. She sat in the corner with her friends, and they were pretty much ignoring me, but she kept looking over. So I kept playing. About an hour later, her friends left, and she stayed behind. She broke the silence by
complimenting my technique. Sweet, right?” he asks, his obvious embarrassment as to whatever comes next causing a nervous laugh to break free.
“Yes…” I say cautiously. “Oh god, what did you say?”
Bo looks up to the sky, wincing. “I said… want to see what else these lips can do?”
I gasp. “No!”
“Yep,” he says, his eyes closed and nodding. “And that… worked?”
“It did.” He leans back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Before Halloween, that was my quickest close.”
“Oh, you closed me, huh?”
His eyes drift around the room, to my tilted smirk, then to my stomach with a quirked brow. “Sure as hell seems like it.”
“Well, you better rein it in, lover boy. No more unexpected pregnancies for you.”
He snorts from the back of his throat. “How about you? What was your first kiss like?”
“Well, his name was Trent, and it was at a skate park.” “So he was a skater boy?”
“Yes.”
“Did you say see you later, boy?”
I groan into my palm, smiling. “Avril Lavigne would be so disappointed, but no, I did not.”
“So how’d it happen?”
“I asked him to show me some tricks after school. I was better than him, actually. I pretended I wasn’t, though, which was dumb of me but a classic
move of the time. He told me I could thank him for the lesson with a kiss, and I did. We never really hung out again. I can’t remember why. Other than the kiss being nothing to write home about.”
“How old were you?” “Fourteen.”
“Do you think we would have been friends? In high school?” he asks.
“I think so. You probably would have joined Caleb’s nerd legion, and Sarah and I would have met you through him.”
“I would have been in the grade above you all, though.”
“Yeah, but then I could have said I was dating an older guy. It would’ve given me major cool points.”
Bo’s face lights up as he pouts his lips in an effort to not smirk, nodding like a bobblehead. “Oh, really?” he says, elongating each syllable. “So we would have dated, huh?”
Shit, did I say that? “What?” “You said dating.”
“Nope, don’t think I did.” I close my eyes and look away from him as I feel a blush creep over my skin.
“You definitely did,” Bo singsongs. “You would have dated me in high school.”
“With those saxophone moves? Of course,” I say, flipping the attention back onto him. It doesn’t work. Bo’s smiling brighter than the damned sun, and it’s fucking contagious.
The embarrassment washes away with the sight of his hopeful, giddy expression. It seems as if my little slip-up could lead to an admission from Bo, like a neon arrow pointing to an opened door.
Suddenly, it feels like I’m on the edge of a cliff, about to be handed either a parachute or an anvil. And based on the look on Bo’s face, it feels like he’s got a parachute with my name on it. One of his own, too.
You jump, I jump.
One of us just needs to fucking jump. “You know… I still have my sax—”
“Winnifred McNulty?” a technician calls from the entrance.
Bo clears his throat, his smile faltering as he hangs his head for a second. I stand, one had extended into a wave toward the technician, and turn back over my shoulder and smile at Bo. He watches me walk away with a
bouncing knee and a steadfast, encouraging smile.
“Follow me,” the technician says sweetly as I approach the doorway.
 |
Thirty minutes later, the tech finishes taking all the required measurements and images and excuses herself to fetch Bo from the waiting room.
I haven’t seen the baby yet or heard the heartbeat, since the screen has remained pointed toward the technician throughout. We’ve been making polite, infrequent conversation, but this ultrasound has been far more clinical than our last. It definitely feels as if the baby is the patient this time around, and I’m more of a walking incubator. It’s an unnerving feeling, honestly.
I’m twiddling my thumbs, looking up at the square-tiled ceiling, when I hear the curtain at the front of the room rustle as it’s pushed aside.
Bo comically towers over the technician as they walk in.
“All right, Dad, you can take that stool there,” she says, pointing next to the right side of my bed as she walks around the left.
Bo nods his thanks, lowering onto the stool. “All okay?” he asks with a stiff smile.
“I think so,” I whisper. “I’ve just been lying here while she did her thing.
She hasn’t said anything.”
Bo nods, rubbing his lips together anxiously.
“Hey,” I say, capturing his attention. “It’s okay,” I reassure him, smiling. “I’m sure everything is fine.”
“That’s supposed to be my line,” he says with a weak, crooked grin.
“All right,” the tech says, rotating the screen toward us. “Here we go.” She picks up her probe, untangles the wire from around her desk, and places it back on my swollen belly, pressing against the cool gel. With a click of a button, the baby is immediately projected onto the screen. A near perfect silhouette, just as you’d expect. Not a bean or alien-shaped thing anymore, but a full, tiny person with a disproportionately large head.
And I swear that nothing has ever been more beautiful.
I press my cheek into the bed, trying to not block Bo’s view. “There they are,” Bo says, breathing out a sigh of relief. I reach out to him blindly, refusing to take my eyes off the screen, and he wraps my smaller hand with both of his.
“Did you want to know the sex today?”
“No, we want to be surprised,” Bo answers for us both.
She nods, moving the probe again. “Baby has everything we’d like to see at this stage,” the tech says, pointing to the screen. “Spine is looking great.” She twists her wrist at an angle and clicks a button, and then suddenly, we’re looking at every intricate detail of a spinal cord.
It’s honestly kind of gross.
With every button pressed and movement of the probe, we’re shown each of the baby’s organs. Bo asks some questions, but I fail to fully focus my attention on them, enraptured by every little movement on the screen.
I doubt I’ll ever be fully able to conceptualise that this is all happening inside my body, but damn does it make me feel powerful to even consider it.
The camera zooms back out and onto the baby’s face, a white silhouette against a dark background.
“Baby is showing off and sucking their thumb,” the tech says, pointing to the screen. “It’s so cute when they do that,” she coos.
I unconsciously sit up, leaning closer to the screen. The pillow that had been supporting my shoulders falls out of place and onto the ground. Bo lets go of my hand to pick it up before placing it next to me on the mattress.
“You okay?” he asks, resting his hand on my knee.
“I can’t see… I can’t make out the shape of their hand.”
“Ms. McNulty?” the tech says, her eyes held on me. She removes the probe and places it in its holster attached to the monitor.
I shake myself, lowering against the mattress. “Sorry…” “Is everything okay?”
I feel a rolling of my stomach, like nausea but far worse. That anxiety spreads across my abdomen, tightening my chest and pooling at the base of my throat, making my next words come out like an apology. “Do they have fingers? On… on both hands?”
“Oh,” the tech says, her upbeat tone remarkably still intact. “Yes. All ten fingers and toes.” She types something into the computer before shutting it
off. Then reaches for the chart on the side of her desk, tucking it under her arm.
I swallow an apology over and over, my face burning red. Why would I ask that?
“We’ll get you some pictures on your way out, and you’ll hear from your doctor in the next few days if anything needs going over, but”—she tilts her head, attempting to catch my eye—“the baby is growing well,” she says, nodding as she looks between Bo and me. “There’s no reason for concern.”
“Thank you,” Bo says from beside me.
I watch as she walks over to the wall, presses the dispenser for hand sanitizer, and then turns to face me, rubbing her hands together. “Best of luck,” she says before stepping around the curtain and leaving the room.
I shut my eyes tight, attempting to strengthen my shaking breaths.
I thought, before today, that I knew what the phrase bittersweet meant. So much of these past few months has been just that. Wonderful with a painful layer hidden underneath.
But this… this is what bittersweet means.
All ten fingers and toes.
Every sense of relief is sharply followed by shame. Every wave of shame is met with confusion.
Confusion gives way to guilt.
I immediately want to reassure myself that I wouldn’t have loved the baby less if they’d had my hand. That I don’t love myself any less than I would have if I had two fully formed hands. Even if I already know those things to be true, I still feel the need to repeat it, over and over.
But my initial reaction was relief.
I’m glad that the baby won’t struggle in the ways I have.
I feel happy for them. Then consider if I shouldn’t. Afterward, I’m sad for the life experience they’ll miss out on.
That they’ll never know how existing in a body that the world is not designed to accommodate can create so many avenues of empathy for others, experiencing the same thing for a variety of reasons. The determination and the resilience that come from that. The community it cultivates.
The unique bond we could have shared.
With that thought comes another pang of guilt. For mourning, even for a split second, the loss of similarity. The inherent narcissism of wanting my kid to be like me. Because that’s what parents should do, right? Separate their kids from themselves and their own experiences so that they have room to grow into their own people. Accept them and offer unconditional love along the way.
I now realise it’s up to Bo and me to do the rest. Without a crash course from first-hand experience, we’ll need to be the ones to teach our kid how to navigate the world with that empathy. To see their privilege as a tool to use on behalf of others.
But also, to not let our burdens overtake them. A delicate balance.
And once the thoughts and the confusion and the guilt settle alongside my breaths, I decide to trust that we’re up for the challenge.
Opening my eyes, I reach for the towel left beside me and wipe my stomach clean from the ultrasound gel. Then I turn to face Bo, offering him a timid, bashful smile.
“Well…” Bo sighs out, his tone deceptively serious, in juxtaposition with the twitch of his lips. “We’ll still love them, of course. Even if they’re, you
know”—he grimaces—“four-limbed.”
I huff out a long breath, grateful for his deflection. “Disappointed?” I ask, slowly lowering my shirt and sitting up on the bed.
Bo’s lips shift into a wistful smile as he picks up my right hand from the mattress and squeezes it once. “No… but I’m not relieved either.”
“That’s how I feel too,” I say, blinking back the threat of tears.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference to me,” he says, rubbing a thumb against my wrist. “You know that, right?”
I nod, sniffling as a sob breaks free. “I feel stupid for asking.”
Bo stands and lowers himself onto the edge of the hospital bed, facing me. “Hey…” he says softly. “It’s okay that you wanted to know. You’re just trying to be prepared.” Bo holds my little hand by the wrist and stares at it. He brushes his thumb across my palm, his eyes held in concentration. “I lied,” he says, breathing out a bitter laugh. His face softens as his eyes trace the pattern of his thumb as he swipes it again. “I think I might be a bit disappointed.”
I sniffle, shaking myself as a smile breaks through. “C’mon, you don’t mean that.”
“You’re perfect, Win,” Bo says, as easily as breathing. “Of course I’d want them to have every part of you.”
It’s shocking how forcefully his words hit me in the chest. I could keel over if I wasn’t so intent on keeping his eyes held on mine.
The moment feels like a precipice. It seems obvious that he’s going to kiss me. It’s in his eyes. That narrowed, glazed expression I’ve seen before. The brief second in which he glances at my mouth. I prepare for it, wetting my lips and swallowing. But it doesn’t come.
With every passing, lingering second, it seems less and less likely. Eventually, he tightens his jaw and stands, gently placing my hand on the side of the mattress as he does.
I miss him, even though he’s right in front of me.
“We should probably get out of here,” he says, looking at the curtain and the door beyond it. “Dad’s been texting me updates,” he says, scratching his chin, looking wayward. “We’ll be eating like kings for the next few days. He’s bought half the market.”
Bo grabs my jacket and bag from the hook on the wall and places them next to me, not looking at me but around me. “I think he might be wandering around downtown with live lobster in his bag…”
I nod, laughing faintly as I hop down and stand at the edge of the bed, holding on to it tightly for balance as my head spins.
“You okay?” he asks, his hand on my forearm to steady me.
I nod, moving away from his hold to put on my jacket. I pull my hair out of the back of it when it gets caught and look around cluelessly for my bag before realising Bo’s holding it out to me. I force a smile, taking it as he looks at me with growing concern.
“I’m fine. It’s just… I feel…” I laugh, rubbing my face. “I don’t know. I think I’m just hungry, maybe,” I lie. Well, it’s not a lie. I am hungry. That’s always true these days.
He nods, running his teeth across his bottom lip. “Okay. We’ll grab something on our way home.”
Shit.
“Oh, actually…”
I had completely forgotten to tell him that I needed to be dropped off at Sarah’s after our appointment. She’s taking me to the store to grab
everything for Bo’s party tomorrow, and then we’re going back to hers to bake a cake. “I have plans with Sarah this afternoon. Do you think you could drop me off there? After we grab your dad and his new pet lobsters?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” Bo’s face falls, his lips curling inward.
It pulls like a weight in my stomach, watching his frown twitch as his eyes look at the floor between us.
But some space might do us both good. I know I could use a bath and a long chat with Sarah, at least. “Also…” I say, swallowing. “I might sleep over there tonight.”
Bo opens his mouth and shuts it just as quickly. He swallows tightly as his eyebrows press together. “So I’ll see you tomorrow? For my, uh—” He hesitates, looking up at the ceiling as if he can’t believe he has to say this next part out loud. “For my birthday?”
The point of a surprise party is, of course, to make it a surprise. But it takes everything in me not to ruin it when I see the flat expression he’s forcing to replace his obvious disappointment.
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but your dad has a plan for you both tomorrow.” The one I asked him to make. “I’ll be home when you get back.” And so will six other people.
“Promise?” he asks, far too quickly for it to have been intentional. My brows knit together as I nod. “Yeah, of course…”
“Okay,” he says, smiling weakly, his eyes still on the floor. “Sounds good,” he says, tilting his head upward and looking over his shoulder to the door. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I agree, my voice far more defeated than I’d like it to be.
