Page 120 of Call You Mine
The clouds would part, the sun would shine down on us, everyone would stop what they’re doing and wonder why there was such a shift in the atmosphere.
But it wasn’t like that at all.
It was small, intimate—a moment just between the two of us.
A subtle transformation.
Loving Anderson is like the burning embers you think are moments away from burning out. But all they need is a blow, a gust of wind, a wave of oxygen for them to ignite, reminding you that they were always there.
But now that we’re here, in a dark room—surrounded by medical equipment that will not only show the literal human being growing in my body but hear their heartbeat too—there’s no escaping the reality of the situation we’ve gotten ourselves into.
“Seriously, Anderson.” I turn my head to face him. “This isn’t just signatures on a piece of paper like our marriage was.”
Anderson uncrosses his legs, settling his feet down on the ground so he can lean in and press a deep kiss to my lips, one that makes me see stars behind my eyes and feel dizzy, even though I’m laying down.
The words we both have yet to say aloud float between us.
I know I love Anderson—I know he loves me.
But I just can’t get myself to say the words.
I don’t know why—there’s something, some part of me, that is holding myself back.
His features soften as if he can read my thoughts. His lips part, but whatever else he’s about to say dies on his lips as a soft knock sounds at the door before the technician comes in.
She’s about my age, her blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail in a scrunchie that matches her salmon-colored scrubs. “Ready, Mrs. Montgomery?” she asks, and I don’t know how long it’ll take to get used to hearing my new last name.
When I told Anderson I was pregnant, he insisted that Georgie and I get on his health insurance, and since we were already doing all the paperwork for that, I figured, why not change my last name? I have no ties to the last name Williams—I don’t even know the man it belongs to.
It never connected me to my sisters since we all had our dads’ last name. I don’t even share it with my mom—she has Steven’s last name, and so does Georgie.
It never felt like mine.
But I haven’t told Anderson yet.
“Ready,” I answer as the ultrasound technician lowers into her chair on the other side of the exam chair. She lays a paper cover over me as I lift up my sweater, exposing my belly.
It hasn’t changed much. If anything, it might seem a little more bloated than usual.
I don’t know how it will feel to have my body change—it’s a weird feeling knowing there are small, subtle changes happening every second yet not being able to see them until enough of them have compiled to make the change big enough to see.
She squeezes a cold gel on my skin, using the probe-like tool connected to the machine in front of her to press against my belly, moving it around as she watches the screen.
There’s a big screen in front of me, one that shows the same thing on her screen, so Anderson and I watch as the black and white swirls and blobs turn into something more recognizable, like what I’ve seen on TV.
Anderson squeezes my hand as we watch, the room quiet aside from the occasional beeping or the footsteps outside the closed door.
The silence in the room makes me feel immediately uneasy, my mind telling me that something is wrong.
I feel my heart rate quicken and my breaths come in shallower.
What if she can’t find the heartbeat?
What if I did something wrong? What if I already fucked this up?
What if I lost this before I even had the chance to want it?
My inhales come in shaky, my exhales quick.
