Page 92

“I’m still glad you asked.”
She tilts her head. “You are?”
“Yep.” I nod toward the steps. “We’re holding up traffic, Monty.”
Collins glances over her shoulder at the woman waiting to enter the medical practice. “Oh. Sorry.”
As she passes me, very quietly, I hear, “I’m glad you came.”
And fuck if that isn’t my second-favorite thing she’s ever said to me.
Right after,“More.”
My knee won’t stop bouncing.
Not only with nerves—although there are plenty of those. Despite what I assured Collins, there are a terrifying number of pregnancy complications according to the research I’ve done. And this pregnancy might have been unplanned at the start, but now it’s very, very much planned.
Yesterday, when Andy Sanborn mentioned the trip to Italy he’s planning next summer to celebrate his daughter’s high school graduation, my first thought was,I’ll be a dad then.
And the main reason my knee won’t stop bouncing is the enormity of that.
Up until now, this pregnancy has felt manageable. It’s often been overshadowed, honestly, by my dynamic with Collins. When I’m around her, I spend a lot more time memorizing her outfit or trying to make her smile than I do focusing on the fact that she’s growing a kid that’s half me.
In a sterile white exam room, that’s all I can suddenly think about.
I’m about toseemy kid. Hear its heartbeat.
“You’re making me nervous,” Collins states, glancing at my jumpy leg.
“Sorry,” I say, focusing on forcing my knee to stay still.
“It’s fine.” She sighs. “I’d be nervous anyway.”
“Wanna hold hands?” I suggest.
“Mine’s all sweaty.”
I grab it anyway, squeezing once. “I don’t care.”
The door opens, and the ultrasound tech returns. She’s roughly my mom’s age, I’d estimate, which is reassuring. It seems like she must have successfully done this many times before. Her attention is mostly on Collins, only sparing me a brief smile before she warns her about the cool gel.
Collins’s fingers tighten around mine when it gets spread on her stomach, and I hide a wince.
She’s strong. In every sense of the word.
I know she’s worried because she told me, but she’s calm and poised as she talks to the tech. Prioritizing the baby, like a mom.
The tech finishes setting everything up, then points to the screen and announces, “And … there it is. That’s your baby.”
“Holy shit,” Collins whispers, and I couldn’t have said it more succinctly myself.
It’s surreal, staring at the shape on the screen. My eyes only leave it to check on Collins.
Silent tears are sliding down her cheeks. The tech notices, too, handing her a box of tissues.
“Sorry.” Collins sniffles.
“Don’t be,” the tech replies. “It’s a big moment. I’ve been doing this for thirty years, and I still get choked up sometimes. Here’s the heartbeat.”