Haisley
Me too
Rasmus
If they’re as cute as their mom, we’re in big trouble
Haisley
Smooth, Westerholm. Very smooth.
Rasmus
I try
Haisley
See you there
Rasmus
See you *smiley face emoji*
I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wants to ask if she’s really okay. Another part wants to tell her that I’ve been thinking about this appointment since the second we scheduled it two days ago. That I’ve been thinking about her. About us.
But no words in any language I know feel right. So instead, I slip the phone into my pocket and unlock the truck. I rest my hands on the wheel, but I don’t start the engine, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves.
Tomorrow, I’ll see the first glimpse of the tiny human we made. The proof that this isn’t some surreal dream I don’t want to wake up from.
15
YOU’RE GROWING A FUTURE HOCKEY STAR
RASMUS
Double-checking my phone that I’m in the right place, I walk across the street to the doctor’s office. My nerves are all over the place, which is ridiculous because I’ve been through hundreds of high-pressure situations on the ice.
But this is different. I might pass out.
I can’t quite explain why I’m so damn jittery. Maybe it’s because I missed the first ultrasound, and no matter how much Haisley says it’s normal for dads to miss some appointments, I still think of myself as a failure. And our kid isn’t even here yet.
I pull open the door, and the bell above it rings as I step inside. A cheery receptionist looks up from her computer, smiling at me as if she’s used to seeing nervous dads-to-be. “Hi there, how can I help you?”
My voice cracks. “Uh, I’m here for the ultrasound. I’m Rasmus Westerholm.”
“You’re here with Haisley, right?” I nod, so she continues. “Right, you’re all set. Follow that yellow line to the waiting area. Someone will come and get you.”
I nod again, muttering a quiet “thanks,” and walk to the other room. A couple passes me, and the woman seems ready to pop soon. I can’t believe that it will be me and Haisley this summer.
Sitting down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, I glance around at the other people. There’s a couple in the corner, the woman with her hand on her growing stomach, smiling softly at her partner. A new dad, who clearly hasn’t slept well in days, walks past me while pacing with a crying baby in his arms. The posters on the wall feature information about pregnancy and labor.
Everything feels so…real. Until now, the baby has been an abstract idea. But in this situation, it’s actually hitting me: I’ll be a dad this year if everything goes well.
I fold my arms across my chest, trying to settle down, but it’s no use. My heart is thudding, and I can’t keep my mind from racing to what’s coming. The ultrasound. The baby. Our baby.
“Mr. Westerholm?”
I turn and see a young woman in colorful scrubs. “That’s me,” I tell her, my voice shaking.
