by Gina Azzi
"Ah." Den nods, as if starting to understand the connection.
"And I did get to know her, which I'm so grateful for. She's amazing." I point to the various canvases showing her face, hidden by shadows or open in the natural light, her hands always stretched out before her as if offering a gift. "But Dad and I never really connected the way I hoped." I shrug, as if to ward off the chill I feel by my father's consistent rejection. Den must feel it, too, because he shifts closer to me, his arm snaking around my shoulders. "Anyway, I'm glad I came back to the US. I only lived in London for three years and it was great but I missed the States. Going back to Arizona really helped with my painting, understanding who I am, where I come from. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah, a lot of sense. Do you always paint, I don't know what it's called, faces?"
"Portraits. Usually. Sometimes landscapes."
"You're really amazing. I had no idea."
"Thanks. I wish my family saw it that way."
"They don't think you're good?"
"No, it's not that. They do. They love my art, but they don't think it's a stable career choice. Probably because it's not."
"But it's what you love." His tone is harsh, as if he's trying to convince me.
"Yeah." I smile at him. "It is. But Mom worries I'm going to end up drifting and unsettled like Dad. My brother Lachlan and my step-brother Callum both work for James. So do my cousins Finlay and Aaron. And I'm sure when my other brother, he's actually my half-brother, Liam, graduates, he'll work there, too. He’s already interning there during the summers and on holiday breaks."
"Wow. That's, I mean, it's cool to have an opportunity like that."
"I know." I nod in agreement because it is. "But it's not what I want. I want—"
"To create?"
"Yeah." I smile up at him.
Denver's eyes warm, the black shifting from midnight to whisky, and I want to melt into them. "Then do you," he says seriously. "You're an adult; you don't actually have to do whatever your parents tell you."
"Is that how you're going to be with our baby?" I ask, teasing, but my question causes Den to pause as he considers it.
"Not with everything. Not when he or she is small and needs to be told what to do. Like no running in the street or playing by the stove. But when he or she is all grown up? Yeah. If our kid is half as talented as you and wants to pursue a dream, I'd encourage him or her to do it. And to do it right, give one hundred percent. There's no shame in failing. None at all. Loads of people wait for someone to mess up, so they can point and talk about how the person didn't make it. But you gotta keep going, keep at it. Because there is shame in wasting talent, in purposely missing opportunities out of fear, in giving up because you think you're supposed to pick the safest choice. You're not. You're supposed to always pick the option that causes something to blaze inside of you, something that keeps you up at night. That is, if you’re lucky enough to find it."
I bite my bottom lip, surprised by his admission, surprised that he even spoke so many consecutive sentences. "I like that. A lot," I tell him, snuggling deeper into his side. “What keeps you up at night?”
His fingers brush against my arm as he hugs me into him, his fingers playing over the ends of my hair. “I haven’t found it yet. I’ve been stuck for a long time now and kind of forgot what it feels like to be excited by something, to be challenged.”
“Well don’t give up on it.”
“I won’t.” His chest rumbles under my ear as he speaks, the sound comforting. “I can’t, especially now that we’re going to have a kid. Kids learn more by what they see then what they’re told. That’s probably the one good thing I learned from watching my dad. I know this isn't what you planned or expected. But me and you, we're going to be a good team, Sierra. We're going to be good parents to our baby."
"I know."
"Good."
I try to swallow back my yawn, but Denver catches it and chuckles lightly, the sound rolling through his chest. "Let's get you back to bed. I hear rest is important when you're creating a human."
I giggle as he pulls me into his chest and stands easily, carrying me out of the studio and depositing me into my bed like I'm a pillow. Pulling my comforter up, he tucks me in and smiles down at me. "Sleep tight."
I gesture toward the space next to me. "You’ll be back, right? I mean, there’s five other bedrooms here that you can choose from but –"
“I’ll definitely be sleeping in here with you, babe.” Den brushes his lips against mine, lingering for a beat too long, and I close my eyes as I breathe him in. Soap and basil and leather and something distinctly Denver, purely male. Already, I want him again. Need him. “I’m going to make a few calls but I’ll be in in a little while. You sleep now.”
"Okay," I whisper, my eyes already closing as sleep pulls me under.
"Okay."
12
Denver
Sierra's appointment is the next morning, and I can tell she's nervous. Unsure. She's jittery and hoppy and keeps flipping her hair over her shoulder, a habit I recently noticed.
"You all set?" I ask, tugging on my black, scuffed up boots.
"Think so," she says, flipping through the papers in her hand again.
"What's all that?"
"Insurance stuff, some questions, a copy of my most recent bloodwork."
"You have questions?"
She shrugs, her eyes darting to the door, and I can tell she wants to get moving.
I open the door for her, and she locks up behind us. We wait for the elevator in silence, a strange tension forming around us. We're both on edge, unsure and expectant. We're both way out of our element. The elevator dings and we step inside. I press the button for the lobby and the silence continues.
Sighing, I reach out and take her hand in mine.
Her neck jerks up at the contact, and her eyes scan over me, but I don't turn to stare back. Instead, I squeeze her fingers until she slowly relaxes, and I'm able to lace her fingers with mine.
We got this. We're in it together.
Then we're out on the street, swept up in the insane hustle of New York City, walking the three blocks and two avenues to Sierra's doctor's office.
The office is...unlike any doctor's office I've ever been inside. Not that that's saying much since all of my experiences were with small town doctors in Georgia. But this, this is something else. Sleek furnishings and a calming waterfall greet us when we enter. Around the waiting room are framed black and white pictures of newborn babies or women in various stages of pregnancy. The room is inviting yet sterile. It's a far cry from the worn chairs and fading carpet and one receptionist at Dr. Green's back in Ashby County.
"Sierra Begay," Sierra says as she steps up to the receptionist. The receptionist is seated behind a long, white desk that is elevated just above the rest of the waiting room. There is no glass, just wide-open space. Weird.
"Take a seat, Sierra. Dr. Leona will be with you shortly."
"Great, thanks." Sierra gestures to a pair of chairs and we sit down.
I can't help but scan the other couples present. There are only two, but they're about as different from me as possible. One man is dressed in a pressed charcoal suit, his shoes so shiny I can see my reflection in them. He's scrolling through his phone, his fingers replying to messages and emails at a furious pace. Next to him, his wife sits, a pinched look on her face. Wearing a bright red dress with a colorful scarf tied around her neck, she clutches the straps of her handbag as if someone is about to rip it away from her.
On the other side of the room, another couple—two women—sits talking in hushed whispers and laughing quietly to each other. One of them is wearing tailored khaki pants and a white button down. She looks crisp, professional, and businesslike. The other woman sports a long, flowy skirt with sunflowers splashed throughout. It's so big and swooshy, it looks like it could swallow her. Her hair is long and wild, curling in a million different directions, and green, cat eye glasses are perched o
n the edge of her nose.
I glance from the corner of my eye to Sierra. She's sitting straight as a board, her hands clenching the armrests, her nails digging into the fabric.
Reaching out, I drop my open palm on her thigh, and she jumps slightly before shooting me a grateful smile and slowly, slowly she relaxes once more under my touch.
"Sierra Begay?" a voice calls from an opening door.
Sierra and I both stand and make our way toward the nurse who smiles brightly and escorts us to a room.
"You both can take a seat here.” She gestures to two chairs in front of the organized desk. "Dr. Leona will be in in a few minutes."
"Thank you," Sierra and I both murmur.
The nurse leaves, and we look at each other. A million unsaid, unshared things seem to pass between us before we both smile.
And then we meet Dr. Leona.
Dr. Leona is a small, sweet woman with wild red hair and freckles spread across her nose and cheekbones.
"Hello and welcome. Congratulations on your new miracle!" she greets us warmly, gesturing for us to sit back down. "I'm Dr. Leona, and I will be caring for you and your baby during your pregnancy."
"Thanks. Hi. I'm Sierra and this is my...this is Denver."
"Very nice to meet you both."
Sierra sits down and looks up at me expectantly until I drop into the chair next to her, suddenly anxious. I have no clue what to expect, and the realization slams into me. I'm about to be a dad. A father. And I have no idea how to do that.
I look at Dr. Leona, the panic obvious in my expression because her smile softens.
"I'm going to answer all of your questions. I know this can be a scary time, but I'm here to support you through this process and ensure that the health of your child and Sierra are handled with the utmost care. Now, Sierra, when was your last period?"
Sierra blushes at the question, a soft pink blooming on her cheeks, which somehow calms me. This is awkward for her too. We're not like a normal couple. This wasn't planned, and we're not in a real...anything. But sitting here across from Dr. Leona, watching Sierra fidget next to me, I realize that needs to change. We’re having a baby, we’re connecting and sleeping together, we’re…dating at least.
"August thirteenth."
Dr. Leona nods, marking something on the paper in front of her. "Okay." She picks up a spinning wheel and adjusts the different portions until she smiles up at us. "Then you should be about eight weeks along. You due date is May 20. Are you taking a prenatal vitamin?"
Next to me, Sierra's posture grows rigid, and her skin tone morphs from embarrassed to alarmed. "No." She shakes her head, her fingers curling into her hands.
I reach out and place my hand on her knee. Who knew anything about prenatal vitamins? I mean, is that something that people just know?
"Not a problem." Dr. Leona reaches into a drawer and hands Sierra a box with prenatal vitamins. "Start these today. You take one supplement each a day. One is a prenatal vitamin that contains the necessary amount of folic acid, and the other is an omega-3 fish oil supplement. These are to help aid your baby during his or her development."
Sierra nods.
"All right." Dr. Leona clasps her hands together. "How are you feeling, Sierra? Any nausea?"
Sierra nods again. "I feel mostly okay, just exhausted. Like completely worn out. And a bit nauseated. I threw up last night."
"Is the nausea manageable, or do you think you need medicine to help control it?"
"No, it's manageable. I'd rather not take any type of medicine that isn't absolutely necessary."
"I understand. And you, Denver, are the father?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Excellent. Do you have any plans for how your roles will work during Sierra's pregnancy?"
"Um, roles?" I swallow the thick lump in my throat, a ball expanding in my chest and squeezing until I can't breathe.
"Yes. Will you be supporting Sierra throughout her pregnancy? Attending appointments? Maybe a prenatal class?"
"Dr. Leona, Denver and I aren't together. We're not, well, I'm not sure what we are. We're still sorting this all out, and the baby came as a surprise to us both." Sierra says, saving me.
But still, I hate the sound of her words hanging in the air between the doctor and us. They're heavy, disappointing words. They tell the story of a guy who knocked up a girl and now there's no plan, no cohesiveness, no family unit to raise this baby in. They're not the excited couple reminiscing of a wedding and a strong love and the desperate desire for a baby.
But I want them to be. I want this baby and I want Sierra and I want us to be a family.
Shame and guilt swirl in my stomach for not discussing this with Sierra earlier, for not learning about what she wants our roles to look like during her pregnancy. But screw that, I’m in this, I’m not going anywhere and –
“I’ll be moving to New York. Sierra and I are still sorting out what our relationship will look like but as for roles, we’re both committed to having our baby and I’m completely committed to her. Whatever she needs. Or wants.”
Sierra’s head whips to look at me but I just squeeze her hand in mine, letting her know I meant every word I said.
Across from me, Dr. Leona smiles, a pleased look passing over her features. “Excellent. I know this is a challenging time but Sierra is going to need a support system. Do either of you have family here?”
We both shake our heads.
“Then you’ll need to rely on each other even more. Okay, let’s examine you Sierra.” Dr. Leona stands, gesturing for Sierra to hop up on the examination table.
I shuffle behind her, standing next to Sierra’s shoulder as Dr. Leona picks up some gel. "This will feel a bit cold on your tummy."
Sierra lays back and folds her shirt back to below her bra as the doctor squirts some blue goo onto her stomach.
Dr. Leona takes a wand and runs it along Sierra's abdomen. Turning the ultrasound screen in our direction, a smile flickers across her face. "Here." She points to a small blob in a larger black circle. "This is your baby."
Sierra's hand flies up to cover her mouth and I grin, reaching blindly for her hand until I clasp it in mine. She laces our fingers together, turning to give me the brightest, sweetest smile I’ve ever seen as Dr. Leona fiddles with the controls. Then she’s staring at the ultrasound monitor, fixated on our little peanut, her eyes shimmering with so much love I can’t look away from her.
"That's your baby's heartbeat."
And then, I hear it.
The most beautiful sound, a rhythm so pure I want to memorize it for always, beats out, and my throat clogs with an unnamed emotion, my eyes stinging.
Tears dot the corners of Sierra’s eyes and her expression blossoms into pure happiness, her smile genuine and true.
"Hi, little peanut," she whispers, her free hand cupping her flat stomach.
"Listen to that little hummingbird. Nice and strong. One-hundred-sixty beats per minute."
"Is that normal?" I ask, panic blazing through me. That's gotta be too fast, right?
"Perfectly normal at this stage," Dr. Leona reassures me. "Sierra, I'm going to take some measurements, and then I'll print out a photo for your fridge, and we'll discuss your medical history, as well as any concerns and questions you or Denver may have. And then, I'll see you in another four weeks, okay?"
"Okay," we say in unison, smiling at each other, suddenly lost in our own world.
Our baby's heartbeat.
It's the greatest moment of my life.
And it changes everything.
13
Sierra
I clutch the black and white photo tightly in my hand. It's small and square and reminds me of a throwback polaroid, yet I'm in love with the tiny little peanut in the frame.
"You feeling okay?" Denver asks as we walk down the street, my eyes scanning the usual restaurants for a lunch spot.
"Yes. Hungry," I admit, my stomach growling as if on cue.
"Let's get
you fed then." Den raises my hand to his lips and presses a sweet kiss to the back of it.
"Can you believe we heard the heartbeat?" I ask him, excitement still coursing through my veins.
"No." He shakes his head, grinning at me. "I wasn't expecting that at all. Best sound ever."
"I know, right?"
"What about this place?" Den points to a casual salad and sandwich shop.
"Yeah, this is great."
We take a seat inside, and I look at the ultrasound picture one more time before slipping it into my purse.
A server passes by, and we order a couple of sandwiches and coffees. I opt for a decaf.
I shuffle in my seat across from Denver and his eyes narrow, a frown twisting his features for a moment before smoothing out. I still can’t believe he told Dr. Leona he’s moving here. Is he moving here? For me? Or the baby? Or both of us?
His eyes blaze black, and I can tell he's got a lot on his mind just by how lost in thought he is. He rests his elbows on the table and drops his head into his hands, raking back flyaway pieces of hair and tucking them into the elastic that holds his hair in place. When he glances up, he tilts his head toward me, studying me. “You okay, Sierra?”
"Yeah. Are you?” I ask, suddenly nervous. What if this just became too much for him? Too real and he wants out? Oh God. Am I ready to care for and raise a baby on my own? Then I'd have to move back to the UK and accept the job at James's company. At least then I could properly support my baby, but what would I do for childcare? I wonder if Mom would watch the baby. I could ask her. But first, I’d have to tell her that I'm pregnant. That's going to be some conversation. Panic starts to build at the base of my neck, a slow and steady pressure that radiates upwards as my mind runs in a million different directions.