Page 146 of Even Exchange

“Hell no,” he says. “No way. You are meant to be a teacher. And the paperwork has already been finalized for the Bronco. No returns, no refunds, Charlotte.”

“You’ve already done so much for me.” I place a hand on my stomach. “For us.”

“And I’m gonna keep doing it,” he says, smiling wide. “We’re family.”

Family.

My heart soars to the moon.

Never when we started this did I think it would end with Noah Caruso calling me his family.

I love the sound of that.

* * *

The paper crinkles beneath me as I shift in place. Any attempt to steady my breathing only makes me hyperventilate more. The thin sheet over my legs does nothing to alleviate the chill from the room’s cool temperature, and I shiver. Noah sits beside me, his warm hand on mine, giving me a soft smile.

“Whatever happens,” Noah murmurs, placing a soft kiss on my knuckles, “I’ve got you.”

Nodding, I squeeze his hand tight.

“How have you been feeling?” Doctor Rigou asks, grabbing latex gloves and pulling them on with a slap.

“Besides a little weight gain, I haven’t had any symptoms at all. Is that bad?” I ask, panic setting in. Of all the things I read during my Google extravaganza, the lack of symptoms is what has me most concerned. “Could that mean something is wrong with the baby?”

“Not necessarily. All women experience pregnancy differently. My best friend was five months pregnant before she realized it.”

“And there were really no signs?”

“Besides her hangovers being worse than usual, no.” Her round rolling stool squeals as she slides towards the monitor.

“Probably because there were two people drunk instead of one,” I say, huffing a laugh, and the expression on Doctor Rigou’s face tells me it wasn’t a funny joke. Noah and I share a look, and he fights a smile, telling me it was, in fact, a good joke. I clear my throat. “But surely there would’ve beensomesigns,” I argue, hoping for clarity.

“Cryptic pregnancy is more common than you’d think,” she says.

“Cryptic pregnancy?”

“Yes,” Doctor Rigou says, grabbing a large wand-looking thing. “Some people have really minimized symptoms, and some have none at all.”

“Weird,” I say, glancing at Noah, who gives me a tense smile.

When I look back at the doctor, she’s holding a large lightsaber in her hand. “Could you please bend your knees and spread your legs apart?”Excuse me, what?

“I thought this was a stomach ultrasound?” I ask, clenching my thighs together.

“Before twelve weeks we do a transvaginal ultrasound, as it’s the most accurate.”

“Okay.” I gulp.

“You may feel a slight pressure, but this shouldn’t hurt,” Doctor Rigou assures me, rolling a condom onto the vagina wand and squirting a gel-like substance all over it, which relieves me a bit that it will slide right in.

Although sliding it in is what got us into this mess in the first place.

I take a deep breath and tug up the sheet, spreading my legs.

Pull yourself together.

Doctor Rigou slides the wand in, and as she mentioned, I do feel a slight pressure, but it doesn’t hurt. She angles the monitor so Noah and I can watch as she probes me like an alien. Noah takes my hand again, giving me a light squeeze.

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