Page 115 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
Then I leaned into Sametra’s stomach, dropped my voice to a whisper meant just for my growing child. “Sweet pea, your grandma is getting on her first airplane just to meet you when you’re born. That’s how loved you already are.”
Sametra’s hand rested on my shoulder.
“Your mama’s here too,” I continued softly. “She’s the strongest, most beautiful woman in the world, and she’s going to take such good care of you. We both are. Oh, and you got a brother too. But I plan to be your favorite.”
“Anyway,” Sametra said laughing, but I was serious.
Dr. Cole finished the ultrasound and handed us several printed images. I held them like they were bonds, studying every detail of our baby’s tiny form.
“Everything looks perfect,” she said, cleaning the gel from Sametra’s stomach. “You’re measuring right on track for eight weeks and six days. Your due date is looking like March 30th.”
“March 30th,” I repeated, doing quick math in my head. “That’s about seven months from now.”
“Time to start planning. They’ll come quick,” Dr. Cole said with a smile. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to my list. “Actually, yes. Several.”
“Bae,” Sametra scolded.
I promised I only needed five minutes, and Sametra agreed. I asked about everything from prenatal vitamins to travel safety, and her and this damn coffee. Dr. Cole answered each question patiently, clearly used to my shenanigans.
“What about stress?” I asked. “She’s in school, and with everything that’s been happening lately...”
“Some stress is normal but try to minimize it where possible. Make sure she’s getting enough rest, eating well, staying hydrated.” She looked at Sametra. “And don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. If something doesn’t feel right, you come in right away. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“He’s already got that covered,” Sametra said, squeezing my hand.
“One more thing,” she said, turning back to Sametra. “I’m going to refer you to a high-risk specialist, just as a precaution because of your age and because of the complications you had with your first pregnancy.”
My heart jumped. “High-risk? Is something wrong?”
“Not at all,” Dr. Cole said quickly. “It’s just standard protocol for women over thirty-five or with a history of pregnancy complications. Better to be overly cautious than to miss something important.”
I nodded, already mentally planning to research everything about high-risk pregnancies and the best specialists in the area.
“Your next appointment will be in six weeks,” she said, handing Sametra some paperwork. “We’ll do another ultrasound then, and by that time, the baby will look much more developed.”
As we walked out to the car, I couldn’t stop looking at the ultrasound pictures.
“You okay?” Sametra asked as we reached the car. “You’ve been quiet since we left.”
“Just processing,” I said, holding up the pictures. “We made this. Together. This little person is going to be here in seven months. That shit is wild.”
“About to be so damn spoiled,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t forget lunch. We are hungry.”
As we drove to get her lunch, one hand on the steering wheel and one holding the ultrasound pictures, purpose flooded through me like never before. A new level of purpose, of responsibility, of love, I didn’t even know was possible.
I was going to be a father. And whether it was Summer or Blaze growing inside Sametra right now, they were already the most loved baby in the world.
“There,” Sametra pointed to a food truck parked near the downtown plaza. “That’s the spot. Best elote in the city.”
I pulled up and watched her practically bounce in her seat with excitement. Pregnancy cravings were no joke; she woke me up at midnight, asking for the most random combination of food. I drove all the way across town to get Insomnia Cookies and Hot Cheetos with nacho cheese one night.
“Extra jalapeños, extra cheese, extra lime,” she rattled off her order as we approached the truck.
“Damn, baby, you sure about all those jalapeños? Little mama might not appreciate that,” I said, gesturing to her belly.
“Little mama specifically requested this,” she shot back with a grin. “Don’t blame me.”
