“Okay then.”
“Well, you’re gonna have a little boy,” the technician said, her face still without emotion, as if the news of a boy was a disappointment to Izzy. Izzy had not cared either way, had not been able to wrap her head around the specificity of a boy or a girl, thinking of the child only as a baby, as an it. The baby had been, up to this moment, merely a ghost that was haunting her, but now it had a shape and a sex, and Izzy felt relieved to know that all of this was real, was worth the sadness and uncertainty.
“A boy,” Izzy replied.
“By the measurements here,” the technician continued, “a perfectly normal, growing baby boy.”
“Good,” Izzy said, taking a certain pride that her body could form and house something perfect.
“Just one,” the technician said.
“Even better,” Izzy replied.
“The doctor will be here in a few minutes to go over the results and talk to you. Have you met Dr. Kirwin?”
“No,” Izzy admitted. “I just moved over to him recently; I’d been seeing a different doctor.”
“Well, he’s very energetic, just so you know,” the technician said, and she abruptly stood up, handed Izzy a paper towel for the gel, and then turned away from Izzy to type some notes on the computer. Izzy had a hard time conceptualizing what was meant by energetic. She imagined the doctor jogging in place during the entire visit, doing jumping jacks as he discussed her placenta.
“This the mom?” Dr. Kirwin asked as he pushed open the door.
“Yes, Doctor,” said the technician, not even looking at him.
“She’s too young to be a momma,” he replied, smiling so broadly that it seemed to Izzy that she was on a very easy game show. “She’s a kid.”
Dr. Kirwin was in his late fifties or early sixties, the size and dimensions of Uncle Fester from the Addams Family, a bald, big-eyed chunk of a person. He was, Izzy had to admit, terrifying in an enclosed space.
“I’m nineteen,” Izzy offered, as if hopeful that Dr. Kirwin was simply confused and anticipating a different pregnant girl.
“Well, that’s not so young, these days,” he offered thoughtfully. “Not so different from fifty years ago, truth be told. People always have babies and a lot of them are too young to be having them.”
“Doctor,” the technician said, a warning note, though she still wasn’t paying him much attention.
“Sorry. I get going and it’s hard to stop. Now, let me see,” he said, looking over her meager chart. “Oh, you’re the girl that Dr. Jackson sent my way. How is Horton these days?”
“He’s fine,” Izzy said, not sure what the doctor or Mrs. Jackson had told Dr. Kirwin.
“He’s a damn sight better than fine, I imagine. Saint Horton, I call him. Richer than god, he is. Well, let’s look at this baby.”
He looked briefly at the results, seemingly uninterested in the numbers and measurements. “Okay, okay, okay. You got a good womb, darling. You have a healthy baby in there and your placenta looks good and we’re just fine and dandy here.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Izzy said.
“Just go home and tell your husband that things are good.”
“Doctor,” the technician said, another warning note in her voice.
“No husband? No boyfriend?” the doctor asked Izzy, who was caught off-guard by the question. When she’d filled out the forms, as instructed by Mrs. Jackson, she put Unknown when asked for information about the father. Izzy hated doing it, the way it made it seem that she had slept with so many men that it was impossible to pin down the father or that she had immaculately conceived.
“No,” Izzy said, her face feeling warm.
“Not a problem,” Dr. Kirwin replied, his face still stuck in that weird rictus of a grin. “Once you get pregnant, no real need for the man, truth be told. They just get in the way.” He winked at Izzy and then turned to leave. “Be good to that baby, Isabel,” he said, and then he was gone.
The room was silent until the technician, her face softening for the first time all day, lightly rubbed Izzy’s shoulder and said, “Dr. Kirwin is probably the most respected OB/GYN in the state, sweetie.”
“I’ve heard,” Izzy admitted.
“He’s a complete doofus in all other respects, but he’ll make sure that baby is safe and sound, I promise you.”
Izzy nodded in thanks, unable to say anything, and then the nurse handed her some photos of the ultrasound. “These are for you. A couple pictures of the baby. On this one,” she said, pointing to one of the pictures, “I circled the penis so you could show people the evidence.”
“Thank you,” Izzy said, perhaps the strangest reason she’d ever had for thanking someone.
She placed the pictures in her purse, another clue that would eventually lead her to solve the mystery that was unfolding around her, and she walked out of the room, down the hall, and into a waiting room filled with women in her same situation. She could not determine, as she moved out of the room to leave, if it made her happy or sad to be in their company.