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The energy in the room turns on a dime, and when I look up at him, I don’t see the man I hate. I see the boy I loved. “You ready to see our baby?”
He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and he closes it and nods again. His eyes stay locked on mine, and when I lie back, he takes my hand in his... and I let him.
“Now this is going to be a little cool,” Kenzie tells me as she squeezes jelly on my belly, then presses down with the wand, and I watch tears pool in Callen’s eyes as he hears our baby’s heartbeat for the first time.
“That’s a strong heartbeat,” Kenzie tells us, and Callen drops down into the chair next to the exam table and rests his elbows next to me so he can hold my hand in both of his. He presses his lips to my fingers.
“That’s our baby’s heartbeat, Caitie.”
I manage to nod, which is good because there are no words for this moment.
Kenzie takes a few images, then she points at the screen. “Do you see that? They’re sucking their thumb.”
“Oh wow,” I gasp. “Look at their face. Those lips.”
“Those are your lips,” Callen whispers, awed.
“Do you want to know the sex of your baby?” Kenzie asks, and Callen and I have a silent conversation between us. A shared history after a lifetime of being in each other’s orbits, and it only takes one look for us to be on the same page.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Please. I need to stop sayingit.”
She pauses the screen again and takes another shot. “Congratulations. You’re going to have a daughter.”
Callen presses his forehead to mine as tears stream down my face. “A girl, Caitie. We’re having a girl.”
I close my eyes and focus on the beauty of the moment instead of the pain. “We’re having a girl.”
“What about Persephone?” I ask as I steal one of Callen’s fries later that afternoon. We’ve gotten a tree and basically bought out every decoration Target had left, which wasn’t much, this close to Christmas. My Amazon cart is going to get a workout tonight. And as promised, now we’re at The Busy Bee having lunch. Sometimes I forget how good their strawberry shakes are. I could see these being a pregnancy craving, for sure.
Can I send Callen on strawberry shake runs if we’re not together but we’re living together? I’m going to need to put a pin in this and get the general consensus of the girls later.
Callen drags his fry through a disgusting amount of ketchup and pops it in his mouth. “Persephone Sinclair is gonna be hell on a little kid learning how to spell their name.”
“First.” I hold up a finger and steal another fry. “Who said Sinclair? Beneventi is a great last name. And second, I had to learn Caitlin Beneventi. What’s the difference?”
He pushes the rest of the fries my way, and I smile triumphantly. “Persephone is a longer name than Caitlin, and why wouldn’t it be Sinclair?”
I add an extra shake of salt and pepper and feel no regrets as I make fast work of his fries. If I have to carry his baby and lookat his stupidly handsome, annoying face every day, the least he can do is feed me.
“Why would it be Sinclair? We’re not married. You don’t have to do any of the work. I have to carry her. I have to get fat. And I have to have my body ripped open to give birth. Why should she get your last name?” I’m only half-serious, but that half matters. The other half is a traditionalist at heart and wants our daughter to have her father’s name. He’s going to be a great father, and she’s going to love him. But I’m not ready to tell him any of that.
Callen tries to take his fries back, but I slap his hand. “No backsies, Sinclair.”
He looks torn. “I guess I just always figured we’d be married when we had kids, and you’d all have my last name.”
My hand stops midway to my mouth as I stare in absolute shock. “Excuse me?”
“I’m vetoing Persephone,” he evades. “We can deal with the last name thing later, but I’m not naming our daughter Persephone. What the heck would her nickname be? Percy?”
“Why does she need a nickname?” I push, and he might as well smack my forehead with the look he gives me. “Okay, so our families are nickname people. Forget I said that. What about Serefina? Her nickname could be Sera.”
“Sera Sinclair?” He looks less than impressed.
“Sera Beneventi,” I argue, and we basically end up in a stare-off until I break first and laugh.
“I missed this, Cait.”
It feels good.
