Come on, stupid network. Hurry up.
Ryan: I can’t believe this is the current size of our baby.
The photo finally fills my screen. At first, I laugh. Then I cry. Then both.
It’s a selfie of Ryan holding a blueberry close to the camera, his thumb and index finger looking like they might crush the little fruit at any moment.
I stare at the photo, my fingers fluttering up to my mouth. It’s Ryan. He’s so handsome. With a hat backward on his head, he stares straight at the camera, his gorgeous brown eyes staring straight at me. Smiling at me. He seems . . . happy. And hot.
The magnitude fully hits me. I’m really going to have a child with this man.
The concept is still abstract, and probably will be for a while longer, but Tara is right, if I want to talk to him, figure out where—or rather if—this is going somewhere, I need to be an active participant as well.
Does the fact he knows the size of our baby mean he’s been researching all things babies and pregnancies like I have?
Only one way to find out.
Harper: Has Google turned into your new friend, too?
Ryan: I’m afraid so. It’s a dark and scary place.
Harper: It can be. Everyone tells you not to research this stuff online, but I need information. I feel utterly unprepared.
Ryan: Same.
Ryan: How are you feeling?
Harper: Pretty much the same. Exhausted and hungry, but otherwise pretty normal. Nervous about the first doctor’s appointment next week but also excited.
Ryan: I hope you’ll get a new ultrasound.
Harper: Me too.
Ryan: I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to help out my brother with something. We’ll talk later?
Harper: Sure. Have fun.
Ryan: Try to get some rest.
Harper: I will.
My throat thickens, and I stare at the unchanging screen for a moment. Then I succumb to the fact it’s just me again. No more video calls, no more text messages. Not even Bacon wants to be with me, hiding somewhere else in the apartment instead.
There’s a flutter in my belly, and I know it’s probably just an air bubble, but I put my hand on my stomach anyway.
A sudden calm settles over me, because I won’t be alone for much longer.
I continue to sit there and stare at everything and nothing at all. Since my mom moved into a new apartment with Tom, I’ve settled into one of the guest bedrooms. It’s generic but nice, painted in gray with pink and teal accents. And I have my own bathroom which is a definite plus.
I draw my mouth into a straight line and bite my lip.
What am I going to do now? It’s still freezing outside, and I really don’t feel like getting cold. But I don’t feel like just lying down on the couch or in bed either.
My gaze lands on a picture of me and Dad on the desk. When I was younger and drove him crazy, he’d tell me to put on my swimsuit and to meet him at the car in five minutes. Then we’d drive to a pool, or sometimes even a water park, and spend hours there until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open.
It’s been a while since I actually went swimming. The few vacations I went on over the years were spent more poolside than in the water. Lots of relaxing in the sun while trying to move as little as possible. I’m not even sure if I can still fit in my swimsuit. Well, what better time to find out than right now?
After rummaging around in the closet for a while, I finally find it and put it on. It’s a little tighter than it used to be but it still works.