Part 28 (1/2)
My annoyance with Maverick disappears as soon as the tech opens the cap of the needle. I loathe needles. Loathe them more than pap smears and crinkly b.u.t.t paper.
”Remember you're doing this for our baby.” Maverick threads his fingers with mine.
I lean against him, and as the needle enters my vein, Maverick counts to ten.
I'm lying on another bed in another room. My s.h.i.+rt is up to my bra, and the waistband of my pants are low on my hips. Our doctor applies gel to the wand and begins to move it across my abdomen.
Maverick stands by the side of my bed, both of our eyes glued to the computer screen. Nothing on it resembles anything familiar. Just a large triangle with a scooped bottom line, but we don't dare look away. This is the first time we'll see our baby.
The doctor stops. ”There it is,” she says, clicking on the keyboard.
But she didn't have to tell me. My heart stilled the moment I saw a large head and two tiny legs. I exhale, not believing what's inside me. How can a person fall in love with another person so fast?
Maverick squeezes my hand, seeing what I'm seeing, feeling what I'm feeling.
”You're about ten weeks already,” the doctor says, pointing to the measurements she's taken.
”Can we see the gender?” Maverick asks.
”Unfortunately it's too early for that. Sometimes we can know by twelve weeks.”
The doctor prints off pictures and gives them to me. ”Everything looks normal. Congratulations.”
I peer at Maverick. He's beaming at me like I've done something spectacular. Like he sees me differently today than he did yesterday.
And maybe he does. Because right now, I see him differently too. He's always been Maverick-my Mav, my love, my best friend. But today he's someone else too. He's the father of our child.
We leave the office, and Maverick can't stop smiling. He can't stop touching me either, caressing the back of my hand with a thumb and kissing me. There's no fear etched into his eyes, no trace of worry.
For the first time since the plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test, I have no worry either. Our little family of two has now become a family of three.
Maverick opens the car door for me and reaches out to help me inside.
”I'm pregnant. I'm not elderly,” I say.
”Doesn't mean I can't a.s.sist my lovely wife into her chariot, does it?”
I have a retort ready, but his phone rings. ”Hang on,” he says. ”h.e.l.lo?... Yeah ... I took the afternoon off... They did? Does Peterson know? ... Uh-huh... Yeah, okay.... Litigation isn't for two weeks... All right. I'll be in later tonight.”
”Work?” I ask unnecessarily.
”The afternoon is yours, Mama Jellysnack.”
”And the evening belongs to the office.”
”Probably most of the night too.”
I reach for the door and close it. One half-day with my husband has suddenly become a quarter of a day. A measly few hours.
He gets in and leans over to kiss me. ”Hey. I have an idea. Are you up for it?”
”Depends on the idea. Sky-diving is probably frowned upon in my condition.”
”d.a.m.n. I'll have to re-schedule then.”
”Bungee jumping might be okay.”
”Eh, they were booked well into next month. We'll have to wait on that one too.”
”Dirt-biking?”
”It's eight degrees below zero, and there's three inches of snow on the ground.”
”Oh, but the previous two ideas were legit in this weather.”
”They do those things in the winter.”
”Yes, they do. In Florida.”
”Maybe I got plane tickets to Florida.”
”Then we can dirt-bike in Florida too.”
Maverick grins. ”How about something where gravity is less involved. Like a day where my wife, the beautiful mom-to-be, gets a day of husband-pampering.”
”Husband-pampering not in the bedroom? What does that entail, because I'm not having s.e.x with you in public.”
”Bedroom pampering comes later, I promise. Whatever you want. But today, it means I take you somewhere to get your nails done, do some baby shopping, and go out for dinner. Sound girly enough?” He eyes me, waiting for a reward for his brilliant plan.
It sounds good. Great, actually. Other than cla.s.s, I haven't left the house for anything other than the grocery store. And with Maverick working these ridiculous hours, even Morocco's company is lacking.
I place an imaginary tiara on my head. ”Let the pampering begin.”
Maverick takes me to the mall, where I get French tips on my fingers and toes while he browses the pro sports shop next door. After, he suggests shopping at the maternity store, but I'm so not ready for that yet. I opt for Cinnabon instead.
”I'll probably throw this up later, but it's totally worth it,” I say with a mouthful of sugary-cinnamony heaven.
Mav wipes the corner of my mouth with this thumb. Then he holds it out for me to lick the frosting off. ”Have I ever told you how happy I am that I married you?”
”You'll never find a girl who can down a Cinnabon like me. You're a lucky man. Don't forget it.”
”You wouldn't let me if I wanted to.”