I glance over at the screen even though I don’t want to. It’s like watching a horror movie with my hands over my face, peeking through my fingers.
The doctor and ultrasound tech are studying the screen intently. And the concern on both their faces is evident. I also haven’t heard a heartbeat. What if there isn’t one? What will I do if he tells me something is wrong? How would I tell Aiden?
I look closer and try to figure out what they are seeing. All I see is what looks like static, but then the movement stops, and they focus on a dark circle.
The tech nudges the doctor.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask.
“Do you see that, there?” The doctor points to the screen as it flickers, showing us the dark circle from a different angle. One that allows me to see there’s something inside it.
“Ohmigosh, is that the baby? Is it okay?”
“It is okay,” the doctor says. “Do you see that flicker? That’s the baby’s heart beating.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“And don’t worry. I expect your pregnancy to continue normally,” he tells me. “This will just cause a few wrinkles.”
“A few—” I start to ask.
The tech, who has been clicking away, interrupts me. “Eight weeks and two days for this one.”
“This one?”
“Yes,” the doctor says with a grin. “Show her.”
The tech zooms out, and I can see that there are two little dark circles with two little flickers inside.
“Twins,” the doctor says.
“Twins?” I repeat in shock. “Is that why I’m starting to show so early?”
“Yes. And it’s why your hormone levels are higher than normal. I suspected twins, since multiples run in your family, but wanted to be sure. Aiden will be pretty excited by this news, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, he will be.” I shake my head and look down at my the side of my hand, remembering when Inga read my palm in St. Croix years ago and predicted how many children I would have.
“Um, hang on,” the tech says. “Look at this.”
“Zoom back out,” the doctor instructs. “Well, will you look at that sight. Something doctors don’t see very often. Triplets.”
“Triplets?”
“Yes, your mother was one of only two naturally conceived sets of triplets I’ve had the pleasure of delivering. You will be number three. Congratulations. I’m glad you have some scheduled time off toward the end of your pregnancy. You’re going to need it.”
When the ultrasound is over, he hands me a photo and sends me on my way.
When I get inside the town car waiting to take me to the studio, I burst into happy tears as I think about how I’m going to tell Aiden the news.
And when.
Vanessa’s Estate - Holmby Hills
VANESSA
Peyton is at my house. I discreetly texted her on Sunday and told her I wanted to redecorate and asked if she was free today.
“So, I want to get rid of everything and start over. Can we do it fast?”
Peyton is surveying the family room. “Do you really want to get rid of everything?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“But look at the lines on this.” She runs her hand across the back of a chair. “And this chair is leather. The fabric will stand up to kids and can be dressed down. You have so many amazing things to work with. I’ll take an inventory of all the furniture, move it out to the garage, and we’ll start over, bringing in pieces where they will work.”
“I guess that’s okay, if you can use some of it in a casual way. I just want it to be comfortable.”
“Do you want any formal rooms? What about your dining room, living room, and the ballroom?”
“I can tell you that the only time I used those rooms were when Bam’s family came to town. I’m pretty sure his mother sleeps fully dressed and made up.” Peyton laughs. “You have kids. Make this house a place where they’d feel comfortable.”
“I still think you need a few spaces that are more formal. For when you entertain, like during the holidays.”
“That’s a good point. So a few sort-of formal spaces.”
Peyton studies me. “Are you doing all this for Dawson?”
“No, actually, I’m doing it for myself. I need a fresh start. Dawson and his girls were just the catalyst that made me realize it.”
She gives me a smirk. “I like how you’re dressed today.” I look down at my cutoffs and bare feet. “I haven’t seen you in something like that since I met you on the beach. And I think that was the only time.”
“These are probably the same shorts,” I laugh. “I need to find myself in this house, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” she says, scribbling something into the margin of the list she’s making.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I inquire.
“Sure,” she says.
“If you and Damian divorced and you had never had children of your own—if you couldn’t have children—would you adopt or would you assume that if you couldn’t have them you weren’t meant to?”