Oh, so you DO like when I’m nice to you…
Me
Don’t push it, Dimples.
Trevor
My bad, sweetheart
Me
Trevor, the pet names…
Trevor
You started it
Feeling any better?
Me
If I say yes, will you promise to never clean my house again.
Trevor
LOL! Nope.
There’sa knock on my door at 2:55 p.m., and all my nausea rises in my throat. I don’t think I’m ready for this appointment.What if something’s already gone wrong and I’ve stressed everyone out for nothing?What if there’s more than one in there?What if?—
Another knock has me on my feet, smoothing out my dress before I open the door. Trevor has a computer bag slung over his navy blue EdTechU windbreaker, and he’s wearing the biggest smile. I can’t help but roll my eyes. “You ready?” he asks, stepping back so I can lock the door.
I nod silently and follow him to his rental car. Having no control over what’s going on inside my body is one of the most stressful things I’ve ever experienced. After spending the morning reading statistics on early pregnancy loss, I’m mostly convinced I’ll walk into this appointment and be told the worst.
Trevor heads straight to the passenger side, opens the door, and waits well after I’ve settled into the seat. Sneering, I reach for the seat belt, pausing with it halfway across my body. “I know how to close the door, Trevor…”
“So do I.” He winks and stands there like a damn car salesman. Rolling my eyes at his amused laugh, I click the buckle and pull out my phone to send the clearest signal that I’m already done with him. As soon as he starts the car, a super cheesy ’90s boy band song fills the cabin. I’m talking love, fire, desire, and all that bullshit.
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t actually listen to this…”
“What you got against my music, Jim?” He laughs.
“Nothing. I just think all the lovey-dovey lyrics are gonna make me puke in this car,” I say with a straight face. “Change it. Let’s see if that helps.”
He shakes his head, smiling as he presses a button on the radio. Another love song comes on. This one might be worse, talking about wedding vows and cherishing forever. I groan, and he laughs while backing out of the parking spot. “It’s a playlist,” he says.
“So it’s just ’90s love songs, all the time?”
“Nope. Sometimes they’re from the ’80s and 2000s.” He glances at me as we drive down the street, and his smile falls. “Speaking of puke, how are you feeling today?”
“Better. As long as I keep these things on my wrists and a candy in my mouth, I’m okay.”
He nods as he maneuvers onto the freeway. Neither of us say anything else. Nearly twenty minutes later, a blond nurse introduces herself as Mandy while showing us back to a room. After taking some blood, she hands me a white sheet and instructs me to undress from the waist down. My heart stalls.
“W-we’re not just answering questions?” I thoughtmaybewe’d do an ultrasound on my stomach at the most, but I never once thought about needing a pelvic exam.
“This is a dating scan,” Mandy explains. “The baby is too small to see over the belly. We’ll have to use the internal transducer for accurate measurements. It’s like a little wand that?—”
“Yeah. Got it,” I say, glancing at Trevor. He doesn’t look fazed one bit, lounging back in a chair with his arms crossed.
