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Hugo

“ C an you please stop smiling?” Tristan asked, running a hand through his hair.

“You don’t like my smile?” Hugo retorted.

“I’m just not used to it, man. We’re all weirded out from the way you’ve been smiling all the time.”

“I wouldn’t say all the time ,” Hugo laughed. But he had to admit he’d been smiling more than usual. Which for him meant, more than not at all . There was something about knowing he’d be going home to Jo every night, that made it easy to smile. He found himself having thoughts he’d never had before. Like, which kind of bread to bring home. Jo was partial to anything that had seeds in it, so Hugo was doing the rounds of all the bakeries he knew, looking for the most exotic seeds. So far, pumpkin seed bread was a clear winner.

It wasn’t just about the bread, of course. He recognized he’d settled into marriage—at least their particular kind of marriage—like a pig in shit.

“Fuck. Just stop smiling. Particularly at a time like this.”

His friend’s obvious discomfort made him laugh. “ A time like this? What’s wrong? Were those kids’ pale asses too much for your delicate sensibilities?”

“Just. Don’t. Talk. About. It.”

Hugo and Tristan had been sent to find two teenagers who’d gotten lost during a map reading exercise their summer camp had organized. It had taken Hugo and Tristan less than an hour to find them, hiding under a colorful emergency tarp shelter, happily engaged in a youthful—and very energetic—sexual encounter. So happily engaged, they hadn’t even noticed Tristan and Hugo until the two had walked right into them.

“We’re lucky the tarp was colorful. Otherwise, we might have been out here all afternoon, looking for them,” Tristan grumbled.

“We could have let them finish, instead of interrupting.”

“Let them finish? What the hell is wrong with you, Hugo? And why the hell are you so zen ?” Hugo pondered that for a second. Nobody had ever called him zen before, but it wasn’t altogether inappropriate, perhaps. He’d been feeling lighter, somehow. And it wasn’t hard to know why.

Tristan grumbled something under his breath about rich kids and wasted taxpayers’ money. Hugo didn’t know whose money Tristan was suddenly so concerned with. It was clear to Hugo—and to anyone who’d spent more than a few minutes with Tristan—that Tristan himself came from Money , with a capital M.

“Can you drop me off at the hospital?” Hugo asked, looking at his watch. Dropping the kids back off at camp had taken longer than planned.

Tristan’s light blue eyes darkened with concern. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Jo has her 12-week ultrasound tonight. She’s asked me to be there.” He waited for Tristan to say something about the baby, or about the timing. His friend must realize the baby couldn’t be Hugo’s.

“Wow. A baby. What’s next? A picket fence and a golden retriever?”

Hugo laughed, shaking his head. “We’ve been staying in her one-bedroom apartment, so no picket fence. I wouldn’t say no to a dog, though.”

Tristan’s expression softened, and his teasing tone faded. “Seriously, though, married life suits you.”

“Jo is … she’s different from any other woman I’ve ever met.”

Tristan let out a low whistle. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Maybe I do.” For a moment, Hugo allowed himself to imagine that this marriage was real. That Jo had chosen him freely and for real. That they could bring up this baby together. “She makes it easy to want to be … better.”

Tristan didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “Must be nice. Having someone who makes you want to try.” He stopped the car outside the hospital. “Get out, then. I’ll take care of the report. Then I’ll go to a bar and try to forget those two idiots.”

Hugo’s heart beat hard against his chest. Normally, he didn’t like hospitals. Less so after his recent experiences. But today he wasn’t thinking about his back at all. All he could think about was Jo. As amazing as everything had been between them these last couple of weeks—the sex, but also everything else, this strange domesticity they’d settled into—he hadn’t expected her to ask him to accompany her for something as big as this.

Tonight’s ultrasound was perhaps the most important one of all. He’d read up on it, late at night when he couldn’t sleep. Often called the dating scan, it was the first scan where the baby’s development and health could be formally assessed. He’d learned that the baby would be about the size of a plum, with all its body parts formed, tiny bones beginning to harden. The scan would show the baby’s movement, and the unmistakable flutter of a heartbeat. They might even be able to learn the baby’s gender, assuming this was something Jo wanted to know.

Beyond all those, the scan had practical importance. It would confirm the due date, and check for conditions like chromosomal abnormalities using something they called the nuchal translucency test. Shit. He didn’t even want to consider that option. As unplanned as the pregnancy had been, he knew Jo wanted this baby.

Hugo scanned the signs, looking for the OB/GYN department, probably one of the few areas of the hospital he’d never had cause to visit before. Jo had texted to let him know she was in the waiting room outside the ultrasound room. The idea of her sitting there alone made him quicken his pace.

When he entered the room, with its odd green pastel walls, Jo turned her head toward the door. She couldn’t see him, but her lips curved into a faint smile when he said, “I’m here.”

“You made it,” she said softly. Her tone carried relief, and a vulnerability she didn’t often show. He crossed the small room, squeezing her hand as he settled into the chair beside her.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

He felt a brief pang as her name was called, just a few minutes later. She wasn’t using his name. He berated himself for the unfair thought. Why would she want to use your name? Fuck. He was at risk of forgetting their arrangement.

The sonographer, a cheerful woman in scrubs, smiled at them as she prepared the equipment. “Ready to meet your baby?” she asked, dimming the lights. The machine beeped softly, and then the screen came to life.

Hugo leaned forward, mesmerized. He grabbed hold of Jo’s hand, keeping his touch light so she could pull away if she wanted to, but she wasn’t letting him go.

Because of Jo’s condition, the sonographer proceeded to narrate everything in a warm, professional voice, from the moment she applied the cool gel to Jo’s abdomen. Hugo was grateful. This wasn’t a glass of wine, or a ring. He wouldn’t have been able to explain any of what he was seeing.

“There’s your baby,” the sonographer said, pointing at the screen. “Right there. It’s about the size of a lime, but curled up a little. And I can see … I need to ask, before I continue, do you want to know the baby’s gender?”

Hugo’s hand tightened against Jo’s, waiting for her answer. It was her decision, and she seemed to recognize it. “We want to know,” she said.

“Well, in that case, please meet your daughter.”

“A girl,” Jo said, letting out the breath she’d been holding. A girl. Hugo had no difficulty imagining a beautiful girl, looking just like Jo.

“I see her arms, her legs, and her head. And that sound you hear, quick and steady, like a little drum, is her heart.”

“It’s beating very fast,” Jo said, her voice husky with emotion. “Is that normal?”

“Very normal. Her heart beats twice as fast as ours.”

“It’s like she’s dancing on the screen,” Hugo said, watching the baby move, tiny limbs twitching like it was practicing for a marathon.

“That’s normal, too. Babies even have hiccups, sometimes.” The sonographer’s voice quietened down as she froze the image on screen and started taking measurements. Jo’s hand tightened against his, hard enough to cause him pain. He didn’t complain. “As you know, we measure the back of the baby’s neck. This looks good. I don’t recommend any further tests. And, based on these measurements, your due date is the third week of December. Congratulations. You’re going to have a Christmas baby.”

Hugo’s breath hitched. The due date made everything real, in a way it hadn’t been until now. Christmas. For an instant, Hugo allowed himself to imagine a future where he and Jo could be a real family, no caveats or conditions.

He sighed as the sonographer cleaned the gloop from Jo’s still-flat belly.

“That was incredible,” Jo murmured, her voice thick with emotion, once she was dressed.

“Yeah. It really is.” He paused. “A Christmas baby.”

Jo’s mouth tightened in a thin line. Hugo could feel the worry—and, even worse, the fear—emanating from her. Whatever she was hiding, it was big. Big enough to spoil this moment for her.