Page 51 of Home Run

“I will, thank you.”

Doctor Humphries pulled a monitor around to the bed and unclipped the ultrasound wand. Lifting up mygown to expose my belly she positioned a tube of gel over it.

“This is going to be cold,” she said.

Tanner’s hand slipped into mine, but even with the warning I flinched as the gel hit my skin.

“Sorry.”

Doctor Humphries’ eyes bounced between the screen and my belly, moving the ultrasound wand in slow circles until she found what she was looking for. A whoosh of white noise blasted from the speakers, underpinned by a loud and distinct thumping.

“And there’s your baby,” she replied, turning the screen toward us. “Good strong heartbeat. Good size and length. We’re right around twelve weeks, and we can put the due date at March twentieth. Confirmed by the last time of intercourse, according to Doctor Scott’s notes.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My throat tightened, but miraculously I kept it together as I stared at black and white blobs and wavy lines. A muffled sob came from my left where Tanner was wiping the sleeves of his tee across his eyes, a movement that lifted the hem of his shirt, momentarily exposing a golden stretch of skin along his stomach.

“Tan…”

“Our baby, Mills.” He sniffed, taking another swipe of his eyes. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you checking out my abs.”

“Shut up.” I turned back to the screen but found his hand again and squeezed it.

“We’ll confirm the sex at your next appointment,” added Doctor Humphries. “If you want to know it.”

“Hey doc, can you double-check and make sure there’s not two in there?”

My neck cracked at the speed I turned to Tanner. “Two? What does that mean?”

“I’m a twin. They’re hereditary.” He shrugged far more casually than I cared for.

Ohmygod, OHMYGOD.Please don’t let there be twins. Please don’t let there be twins. Please don’t let there be twins.

She moved the wand across my belly, back and forth, before shaking her head. “No, I’m only seeing one in here.”

The breath I’d been holding came out in one long puff.

“Bummer, next time, eh, Mills.”

“Next time?No, buddy, this is the only time.”

“We’ll see.” He grinned, adding a wink and totally ignoring my scowl. “Can we have extra pictures, please, doc? We have a few people to hand them out to.”

“Certainly,” she replied, hitting a button that caused the monitor to spit out a long stream of paper repeating square identical images. Holding it in front of us, she pointed to a small blob on the left of one of the frames. “This is the baby.”

Tanner took the paper as I sat up. He stared at it as Doctor Humphries told me I could get dressed. He was still staring as I tied my sneakers and sat down at the desk.

“Tanner.”

“Sorry.” He jumped up and hurried over to where the doctor and I were. “Size of a plum now, amirite? That’s what the app says.”

“Yes, around that.” She smiled. “I’ve made your appointment for eight weeks time. But call the clinic if you have any further questions or you’re still feeling sick.”

“We will, thanks, doc,” Tanner replied before I could, and stood up.

I followed him out silently, down the corridor, into the elevator, and back out into the inferno of August in New York. An entire block later and we still hadn’t said a word. Tanner walked the whole way staring at the sonogram.

“Tanner?”

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