Made For Us, page 16
“Oh my God,” he says, putting the hand on top of my head over his mouth. Dr. Emmy presses something on the machine and the sound of horses galloping fills the room. My eyes focus on him, watching him the whole time. My tears roll down my cheeks as I see the awe in his eyes. His whole face fills in a smile as he watches our child moving away in there.
“You hear that?” Dr. Emmy says looking at Tristan. “That is the sound of your baby’s heartbeat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TRISTAN
“You hear that?” Dr. Emmy says, looking at me as what sounds like horses running through the field fill the room. “That is the sound of your baby’s heartbeat.” I can’t help the tears that pour out of me. I can’t explain how love works. I can’t explain how a parent feels once they have a child. I can’t explain the sense of unwavering love I feel for this child. The same love I feel for Penelope, it was instant. I pick up my hand, holding Abigail’s, bringing it to my lips, secretly thanking her for giving me a child.
I watch the screen as my child does summersaults. “You have an active one,” Dr. Emmy says, and all I can do is stare at the screen. When she called me this morning, I was shocked. After she walked out of the house last night, I didn’t think I would hear from her.
I laid a lot on her. I bared my soul to her, things I had never told anyone before. Things I kept just for myself. Things I was afraid to share, but she had to know why I was so angry. “Look at his feet,” I say and then look at Abigail, “or her. Either way, I’m good.”
“Do you want to find out what you’re having?” Dr. Emmy asks. “I know you said you didn’t want to know.” She looks at Abigail, who is wiping away her own tears.
“I didn’t want to know because you weren’t here,” she tells me. “Secretly, I didn’t think it was right to find out without you here.”
“Thank you,” I say because all the fucking words are stuck in my throat. She thought about me while she was going through this.
“So we got a good shot,” Dr. Emmy states. “Do we want to know?”
“Whatever you want,” Abigail tells me, and I just shake my head.
“I don’t care as long as the baby is healthy. That is all that matters,” I admit to her.
“The baby is very healthy,” Dr. Emmy confirms.
“Okay,” Abigail says, “what are we having?”
I don’t even know, I’m holding my breath when Dr. Emmy starts to talk, “You are a having a very healthy baby boy.” Abigail gasps and all I can do is stand there with my mouth hanging open. A son. I’m having a son.
“Shit,” Abigail says, and I look at her, wondering if she’s disappointed it’s not a girl. “I hate when Dylan is right.”
“Okay, Tristan,” Dr. Emmy says. “Let’s show you your son.” She goes step by step as she shows me both legs and arms. At one point, I can swear he waves his hand at me. I don’t know how long we are in there, but I wish it could be longer.
Dr. Emmy grabs a white towel and cleans Abigail’s stomach off before cleaning the transducer in her hand. Abigail slips her hand out of mine as she pulls up her pants over her little baby bump. A baby bump I didn’t even know she had since she was wearing a sweater the last two times I’ve seen her.
Dr. Emmy presses a couple of buttons, and something shoots out from the machine. She gets up and hands me the long slip of white paper. “Here is a picture of your son.”
My hand comes up to grab the paper from her, and I look down at it. You see the side view of the baby in black and white. My finger rubs his little cheek as all I can do is stare at it. I don’t even hear Abigail get off the table until she clears her throat, and I look up at her. She looks beautiful as always, but her eyes are puffy and look tired.
“Thank you so much, Dr. Emmy,” Abigail says to her. “I owe you.”
“Let’s just say this was the highlight of my day.” She puts her hands in her pockets. “Tristan, it was great meeting you.”
“Likewise.” I nod at her. “Thank you for this.”
“See you two in a month,” she says, turning and walking out of the room.
I turn back to Abigail and smile at her shyly. “Thank you for giving me this.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, two words she said yesterday also. “I know this doesn’t cancel what I did, but I thought it would be a good time for you to have your first ultrasound.”
I smile at her. “It was everything,” I declare, my chest bursting with all the emotions in the world. “I think we need to talk.”
“I think that is a good idea,” she agrees softly. “There are some things you should know.” She folds her hands together now, and I know she’s nervous.
“I have to get Penelope,” I say when the alarm on my phone rings. “Do you want to come with me?”
“I don’t want to intrude,” she tells me, and I just chuckle.
“You are never intruding,” I tell her the truth. “We can go and get her, and then why don’t we have dinner together?”
“Okay,” she agrees, and I can hear the nervousness in her voice.
We walk out of the office together, and I look over at her. “Do you have your car here?”
“Yes,” she admits, “but I can come and get it later.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Why don’t you follow me to my house, and we can go get Penelope.”
“Or,” she counters, “how about I meet you at your house for dinner?”
“I’d really like to be with you right now,” I admit to her, not ready for her to be out of my sight.
She smiles shyly as her head falls forward, and she tucks the hair behind her ear. “Okay.”
“I’ll drive you back to get your car later,” I tell her, or tomorrow, my head screams out.
We walk over to my SUV, and I open the door for her. “Thank you,” she mumbles, getting in.
I walk around the SUV to the driver’s side, get inside, and start the car. I can’t help but look over at her. “We are having a boy.” I shake my head in disbelief. “A boy.”
“Apparently, the old wives’ tale is true,” she says, and I just look over at her. “Dylan said I was having a boy because I was still pretty.” She laughs. “Apparently, if you are pregnant with a girl, you are less pretty because she is taking all the beauty from her mother.”
“What the fuck?” I snort in shock.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” She laughs, putting her purse on her lap.
“That’s a bullshit superstition,” I tell her, pulling out of the parking lot. “I’ve known you for six years and you’ve been beautiful every single one of those days.” I don’t bother looking over at her. “You’ve been especially beautiful the last couple of times I’ve seen you.”
“You’re just saying that.” She tries to ignore my words. I let it be, knowing this isn’t the time and place to let her know how I feel about her. There is a lot to talk about it and having this conversation five minutes before I get Penelope isn’t enough time.
She gets out of the car with me when we get into the parking lot. I want to hold her hand but there will be so many questions, and I don’t even have the answers. When Penelope sees me, she smiles and then looks over and sees Abigail, and her smile becomes even brighter. “Abigail!” She runs over to us going straight for Abigail, hugging her. I watch the girl who owns a part of my heart hug the other woman who owns a part, and all I can do is feel like I’m complete. Abigail kisses Penelope’s head. “What are you doing here?”
“Well,” she starts, looking down at my daughter with the same love in her eyes that I have for her. “I missed you and asked your dad if I could come over and visit.”
Penelope’s eyes go even bigger. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“If that’s okay?” she asks, and all Penelope can do is nod her head.
“Do I get a hug?” I laugh at her, and she comes over and gives me a side hug. “How was your day?”
“Okay, I have to ask you something later,” she says, putting her hand in mine. “But first, what are we having for dinner?”
“Well, Abigail is the guest, so she gets to decide,” I throw to Abigail as we walk back to the SUV.
“Absolutely not.” She shakes her head, laughing as Penelope holds her hand also.
“Okay, fine,” I huff. “How about some chicken parm and some spaghetti?” I look at both of them, who share a look and agree. I take my phone out and order the food to be delivered to my house.
When we get home, Abigail sort of stays in the back, not knowing where to go or what to do, “Do you want something to drink?” I ask her softly when I walk into the kitchen, going to the fridge.
“I’ll have some water,” she says, and her stomach makes a huge gurgle noise, “and I think a snack might be a good thing.” She puts her hand on her stomach, and I want to feel what she feels. My hand itches to touch her stomach, but Penelope takes her and pulls her into the pantry, where they decide on peanut butter and apples for a snack.
They sit at the island. Abigail cuts the apple for the both of them while Penelope gets a spoon for the peanut butter. I could get used to this, I think to myself. I watch the two of them talking like if I’m not even here. Abigail even asks about her homework as Penelope empties her school bag.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I finally ask, leaning against the counter and drinking my own bottle of water.
“Oh yeah,” Penelope says. “Do you think I should start wearing a bra?”
I choke on my water, and I have to rush to the sink to spit out whatever is left in my mouth. I cough as I try to get my breathing back to normal. “I’m sorry, what?” I ask her ask I cough.
“Well, Adriana said she went bra shopping so I was thinking maybe it’s time for me to wear a bra.”
“Um,” I hum, not sure what else to say.
“You know,” Abigail starts to say, “I started wearing a bra in the seventh grade.” Abigail looks at her shocked. “But what I did do.” She grabs a piece of apple. “Is wear a little sports bra.”
Abigail looks at her. “Can I get a sports bra?” she asks. “I think your boobs really start to grow when you get your period.”
I almost choke for a second time in less than five minutes. “What the hell are they teaching you at this school?” Abigail just looks at me, rolling her lips. I don’t have the time to ask her anything else because the doorbell rings with the food.
“Are you going to be okay?” Abigail asks when I come back in with the three bags of food.
“Who knows?” I shake my head. “Where is Penelope?”
“I sent her to wash her hands,” Abigail replies. “Can I help?”
We work side by side preparing the table. The three of us sit down, and, thankfully, there isn’t any more talk about bras or periods. When it’s time for Penelope to go to bed, she gives Abigail a hug and then walks up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.” She nods. “Then we can talk.”
I walk away from her without kissing her like I want to. I tuck Penelope in bed. By the time I go back down to Abigail, I find her on the couch, lying down on her side, sleeping with her hand on her stomach. I try not to make noise as I grab a throw blanket from the big basket in the corner, covering her. I sit down near her feet, watching her. Today has been a fucking dream come true in more ways than one.
Putting my head back, I close my eyes for a minute, and the next thing you know, I’m blinking them open. I turn my head and see Abigail just watching me. “What time is it?”
“A little after three,” she tells me, and I sit up, shocked that I just slept six hours.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her, running my hand through my hair as she shakes her head.
“We didn’t have our talk.”
“We did not,” I reply, getting up and holding out my hand for her. “Let’s get you in bed, and we can talk tomorrow.”
“I don’t know about that,” she hesitates, and I want to kick myself in the ass.
“You can stay in the guest room,” I offer, letting her know this isn’t why I want her to stay with me. I am not ready to let her go yet. “It’s too late to drive you to your car.” My hand still hangs there, waiting for her. “Besides, I’d have to wake Penelope.”
“Wow.” She throws the cover off herself, grabbing my hand to get up. “Using Penelope.” She shakes her head. “What a low blow.”
“Whatever it takes,” I tell her as she slides her fingers in mine, and I walk her upstairs to the guest bedroom instead of mine, where I really want her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ABIGAIL
“Wow,” I toss the throw cover off, grabbing his hand and helping myself up. “Using Penelope.” I shake my head. “What a low blow.”
“Whatever it takes,” he says, trying to hide his smirk. My fingers slide in his as he walks up the steps very slowly. The warm hand holding mine gives me butterflies in my stomach. I walk as slowly as I can to make sure it lasts as long as possible. “There is a bathroom adjoined to the bedroom,” he explains when he stops in front of an open room. “Call me if you need anything,” he says, and I can still see the sleep in his eyes.
“Go to sleep,” I urge him, wanting to touch his face. Instead, I release his hand, turn, and walk into the room. “I’ll be fine.” He stands there for a minute longer before he walks away. I sit on the bed in the darkness. I should go straight home, but instead, I’m slipping into his guest bed. When I woke up on the couch, it was just after two o’clock, so I didn’t move for fear of waking him up. I watched him sleep for about twenty minutes before my bladder told me that if I didn’t get up, I’d literally pee all over the couch. I thought for sure he would be up when I got back, but he was still sleeping, and the last thing I wanted was to wake him up. I turn on my side and close my eyes for what I think is a second until I hear a soft knock on the open door.
My eyes flicker open as I look toward the door and see him standing there in the hallway wearing shorts and a T-shirt, a backward baseball cap on his head. “Morning.” He walks in, holding a white Starbucks cup in his hand. “I got you a decaf coffee.” He holds it up.
“You left?” I sit up in bed, blinking the sleep away from my eyes. “When did you leave?”
“I had to drive Penelope to school,” he explains, walking in just a touch more. “I left a note on the counter in case you got up.”
He hands me the white cup of coffee, and my hand comes up to grab it. “Thank you,” I mumble to him.
“And this was going off every ten seconds.” He holds up my phone that I must have left on the couch. I grab it and see texts from Gabriella. “We should have that talk now,” he says nervously, and I just nod my head.
“We should,” I agree with him, taking a sip of my coffee. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and meet you downstairs.”
“I’m going to go and get you some breakfast started,” he tells me, and I just look at him, my stomach fluttering.
“Okay, I’ll be right down.”
“Take your time,” he says, turning and walking out of the room. I put the coffee down on the side table before opening the phone.
Gabriella:
Where the fuck are you?
Are you at baby daddy’s house?
Did you want me to call Dylan?
Wow, harsh.
I hope you get heartburn and have no Tums.
I’m not talking to you.
Bring me my niece or nephew, and then you can leave.
I laugh at the last message because she sent another one right after.
Wait until I get pregnant and ignore you.
I shake my head, typing out.
I’m fine, fell asleep on the couch, sorry.
Is that code for you fell on his dick?
Absolutely not. Got to go. He’s making me breakfast.
It’s like you’re married with kids.
If you need help, send out the Bat Signal.
Walking to the bathroom, I wash my face and pee and then head downstairs, where I find him in the kitchen, going back and forth from the fridge to the stove. The counter is filled with the egg carton, sliced bread, bagels, waffle mix, pancake mix, and orange juice.
My stomach flutters again, watching. He must sense I’m here because he looks back at me. “I don’t know what you like to eat for breakfast.” He puts his hands on his hips before taking off the baseball hat, tossing it like a Frisbee to the living room, before he runs his hand through his hair.
“I can’t eat eggs,” I inform him, walking to the stool and pulling it out sitting on it. “I mean, usually I can, but ever since I got pregnant, I just can’t eat them.”
He looks at me with a sad look before turning and putting the eggs back in the fridge. “So waffles or pancakes?” His voice is softer, and you can hear the sadness in it that he didn’t know.
“I love toast,” I share with him cheerfully, hoping it cheers him up, “with peanut butter and jam.”
“I have that.” He walks away and puts two pieces of bread in the toaster. “Is there anything else you can’t eat since you got pregnant?”
“Not really.” I put my hand on the counter. “I mean, I crave burgers more.” He just nods at me while the toast pops up. He places both on a plate before walking over, putting it in front of me, and then walking off to get the peanut butter and jam.
“Thank you,” I say as he hands me both before getting me two knives. He pulls out a stool beside me and sits down.” Are you not eating?”
“I ate with Penelope,” he says before taking a huge inhale. “We need to tell your parents.” I look over at him, not sure what he means. “That I’m the father.”
