I glance at Tristan. He appears equally alarmed.
The doctor frowns in concentration, adjusts the probe again, and clicks the screen. More swirling static. Another flicker of light. Sounds project from the computer speakers: whooshing interspersed with the galloping of teeny tiny horses.
Clappity-clop, woosh, clappity-clop.
Annie shifts the tool to the other side of my stomach and the heartbeat goes away and comes back.
A second little clappity-clop.
No.
No way.
She turns to us with a slow grin.
“It looks like we’ve got two heartbeats.”
“What does that mean?” I ask like she spoke in code instead of straightforward English.
Tristan sits at the edge of his chair. “I’m sorry, did you say two heartbeats? Are you sure?”
“They look great. Measuring on track. You’re having twins.”
“Twins,” I mumble at the same moment that Tristan exclaims “Twins!”
Tristan lowers his eyes. “We’re having twins. Can you believe it?”
I reach for Tristan’s hand. He doesn’t hesitate. His fingers entwine with mine like he’s just as desperate for the contact.
Brain:This is fine. Many people have twins.
Body:He’s so hot with stubble. He’s got the face of a movie star. Let’s sit on it.
Uterus:WHY DID NO ONE ASK ME?!
“What are you thinking?” he asks with his brows furrowed.
“I can’t think when my bladder is this full,” I whisper back since I was ordered to have a full bladder before the ultrasound.
“You’re around nine weeks. Your due date at thirty-eight weeks—that’s an ideal scenario for twins—is . . .” She pauses to check her calculations. “June twenty-eighth.”
Annie continues talking about bloodwork, next appointments, and what to expect when I see my OB/GYN, Dr. LeGuin. Tristan asks some questions which tells me he’s at least paying attention. I’m barely able to hear words. My eyes stay locked on the screen while the doctor snaps photographs. She hands Tristan the flimsy print outs.
“Congratulations,” she says to both of us. “Take your time getting cleaned up. The bathroom is across the hall. Make sure you book the next ultrasound on your way out.”
When she leaves, Tristan helps me sit up. His palm is warm and a little shaky on my back.
“I was ready for one,” I murmur. “But two?”
He nods slowly. “Two.”
“How are you taking this so calmly?”
Contemplating our entwined fingers, I realize holding hands is something we keep doing naturally.
“All week, I was nervous about the ultrasound. And what I was most worried about was . . .” He pauses.
“Was?”
