Page 29 of Best Friends

(Six months into the pregnancy)

The waiting room at Dr. Harrison’s office smells like vanilla air freshener and antiseptic, a combination that used to make me nauseous during my first trimester but now just feels familiar.

Malcolm sits beside me, his leg bouncing with nervous energy while he flips through a parenting magazine without actually reading it.

I can smell his anxiety mixing with his usual cedar scent, and I reach over to squeeze his hand.

“You’re more nervous than I am,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so the receptionist doesn’t overhear.

“I’m not nervous,” he says automatically, then catches my raised eyebrow and sighs. “Okay, maybe a little. It’s just... a lot can happen between appointments.”

“Everything’s been fine, Malc. The baby’s been kicking like crazy, I’m feeling good, my blood pressure’s been normal.” I rub my hand over the curve of my belly, which has finally rounded out enough that strangers can tell I’m pregnant rather than just wondering if I’ve been eating too many donuts.

“Carrick Quinn?” A nurse in navy scrubs calls from the doorway.

Malcolm jumps up before I can even start to stand, offering me his hand. I take it, even though I don’t really need the help yet, because the gesture makes him feel useful.

We follow the nurse down a hallway lined with photographs of babies and motivational posters about prenatal nutrition.

She weighs me, and then leads us to an examination room.

The room she chooses is larger than our usual one, dominated by the ultrasound machine in the corner.

The bed is covered with fresh paper that crinkles when I sit down, and there’s a rolling stool positioned next to it.

A small sink sits along one wall, above which hangs a cheerful poster showing fetal development month by month.

“Dr. Harrison will be right with you,” the nurse says, checking something off on her clipboard. “Go ahead and change into the gown, opening in the front. You can leave your pants on for now.”

After she leaves, I start unbuttoning my shirt while Malcolm paces the small space between the bed and the ultrasound machine. The room feels warm, probably kept that way so patients don’t get cold during exams, and I can hear the muffled sounds of other appointments happening in nearby rooms.

“Sit down,” I tell him affectionately. “You’re making me dizzy.”

He settles into the visitor’s chair, which looks like it’s seen better days, its green vinyl upholstery cracked along the armrests. “Sorry. I just want everything to be normal.”

“It will be,” I assure him, though I have to admit I’m feeling a flutter of nerves myself. Six months feels like a milestone, like we’re officially in the home stretch.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and Dr. Harrison enters with his usual warm smile.

He’s in his late forties, with graying temples and kind brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

His white coat is crisp and professional, but there’s something about his demeanor that immediately puts patients at ease.

“Good afternoon, Carrick, Malcolm,” he says, washing his hands at the sink. “How are we feeling today?”

“Good,” I answer. “Really good, actually. The morning sickness is completely gone, and I’ve got more energy than I’ve had in months.”

“Excellent. That’s exactly what we like to hear at twenty-four weeks.” He dries his hands and turns to face us, pulling up a rolling stool. “Any concerns? Questions? Unusual symptoms?”

Malcolm leans forward in his chair. “He’s been having some lower back pain,” he says before I can answer. “Is that normal?”

I shoot him an exasperated look. “It’s not that bad. Just when I’ve been on my feet for a long time.”

“I just want to be sure everything is normal.” Malcolm grimaces.

Dr. Harrison nods, making a note in my chart. “Completely normal. Your center of gravity is shifting as the baby grows. We can talk about some stretches and support options if it gets worse.” He looks up at me with a reassuring smile. “Ready to see how this little one is doing?”

My heart does a little skip of excitement. “Definitely.”

“Let’s start with the basics,” he says, pulling on gloves and then reaching for his stethoscope. “Lie back for me.”

The paper crinkles loudly as I recline, and Malcolm automatically reaches for my hand. Dr. Harrison’s stethoscope is cold against my chest, then my back, the metal shocking against my skin even though I was expecting it.

“Deep breath in... and out. Again.” He moves the stethoscope to different positions, his touch professional and gentle. “Heart sounds great. Now let’s check your blood pressure.”

The cuff tightens around my arm with a soft whooshing sound, and I watch the digital display climb and then slowly decline. “One-eighteen over seventy-six,” Dr. Harrison announces. “Perfect.”

He presses his fingers to my belly, checking for anything abnormal. He measures my belly next, stretching a tape measure from my pubic bone to the top of my fundus. “Right on track,” he murmurs, making another note. “Baby’s measuring exactly where we want to see at twenty-four weeks.”

“And everything’s... normal?” Malcolm asks, his grip on my hand tightening slightly.

“Normal is a big thing for Malcolm lately,” I say teasingly.

Malcolm grins sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Dr. Harrison smiles warmly. “Don’t worry. It’s normal for the alpha to be worried.”

Malcolm and I laugh.

“Everything looks excellent though,” Dr. Harrison confirms. “Carrick’s blood work from last week came back perfect, his weight gain is right where it should be, and all the measurements are textbook.” He glances between us. “Ready for the main event?”

I nod eagerly while Malcolm scoots his chair closer to the bed.

Dr. Harrison wheels the ultrasound machine over, its screen dark and waiting.

The machine itself is impressive—a sleek white tower on wheels with a large monitor mounted on top.

The control panel is covered in an array of buttons, knobs, and digital displays, each labeled with medical abbreviations I don’t understand.

A thick cable snakes from the machine to the transducer wand, and there’s a small printer built into the side that’s already humming quietly in standby mode.

“This gel might be a little cold,” Dr. Harrison warns, squeezing a generous amount onto my exposed belly.

The gel is shockingly cold, making me gasp and instinctively tense up. Malcolm’s thumb strokes over my knuckles in comfort while Dr. Harrison positions the transducer against my skin.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he murmurs, moving the wand around until suddenly the screen comes to life with grainy black and white images.

At first, it just looks like abstract shapes and shadows, but then Dr. Harrison adjusts something and suddenly I can make out the unmistakable profile of a baby. A real baby. Our baby.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, my eyes immediately burning with tears.

Malcolm makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut. “Wow.”

“That’s your baby,” Dr. Harrison confirms with a grin.

The image on the screen is so much clearer than our earlier ultrasounds.

I can see the curve of the baby’s spine, the distinct shape of the head, tiny fingers curled into fists.

When Dr. Harrison moves the wand, we can see the baby’s profile in sharp detail.

There’s a button nose, slightly parted lips, the gentle slope of the forehead.

“The heart looks great,” Dr. Harrison narrates, switching to a different view that shows the four chambers pumping rhythmically. The sound of the heartbeat fills the room, strong and fast and absolutely perfect. “Hundred and fifty beats per minute. And look at this—”

He moves the transducer again, and suddenly we’re looking at the baby’s face straight on. Two eye sockets, the shadow of a nose, and what might be a tiny smile.

“Holy shit,” Malcolm whispers, then immediately flushes. “Sorry, Doc.”

Dr. Harrison laughs. “I’ve heard worse. And honestly, that’s about the right reaction. A baby is a miraculous thing.”

I can’t stop staring at the screen. This tiny person has been growing inside me for six months, and seeing them like this makes it all feel real in a way it hasn’t before. “And everything’s developing as it should?”

“Everything looks textbook perfect,” he assures me, moving the wand to show us different angles. “Brain development is right on track, all the organs are where they should be, growth is excellent.” He pauses on a view of the baby’s hands. “Look at those fingers.”

Ten perfect little fingers, opening and closing like the baby is waving at us. Malcolm makes another choked sound, and when I look over at him, there are tears in his eyes.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

“Better than okay,” he manages. “It’s so cool to see the baby. I’m just… amazed.”

Dr. Harrison moves the transducer to a different position. “Would you boys like to know the sex? I can get a pretty clear view from this angle.”

I feel Malcolm tense beside me, and I know he wants to know. He’s mentioned a few times how much easier it would be to plan the nursery and pick out names if we knew whether we were having a boy or girl.

“I...” I look at him, torn. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s up to you,” he says immediately, though I can see the curiosity burning in his eyes.

“You want to know,” I observe.

He shrugs. “Practicality wise, it makes sense. But I want whatever you want.”

I look back at the screen, where our baby is moving around like they’re trying to get comfortable.

Malcolm is right. Knowing the sex of the baby will make things more practical, but there’s something magical about not knowing.

I like the idea of a surprise waiting for us.

“I think I want to wait,” I say finally. “Is that okay?”

Malcolm’s expression softens. “More than okay, if that makes you happy, C. I like surprises too.”