31. Finn

Finn

“Finn,” Dr. Chen says, stepping into the room, a strange look on her face. Outside the window, the trees are green and swaying in the sunlight. Having not experienced winter in years, I’m still astounded that just months ago the entire city was blanketed in snow.

“Yes?” I’m sitting on the end of the examination bench, wearing the flimsy little smock I always have to put on for these appointments.

Dr. Chen’s hair is pulled back, and she clears her throat. I’m usually great at reading her, but for some reason most of my brain shuts off when I’m in this clinic.

For the past few months, I went through the motions, taking my medication and following my prescription plan, but I’ve been so distracted that I almost forgot about this appointment completely—an appointment to check my levels and move to the next steps.

But I’ve already planned to tell Dr. Chen I want to put this on pause until I talk to Sam about it. We’ve yet to have the family discussion. The one in which I have to admit to him that I want kids—but only if they’re mine, biologically. And that so far, I haven’t been able to achieve that.

Coming to this appointment is a forced meeting to face my fear. When my alarm went off this morning, I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to crawl out from under Sam’s arm and drive to the clinic for this appointment, but that rigorous rule-follower inside me forced the issue.

We’re going on six months of being together now. Six months of nothing but happiness—we haven’t had a single fight. Sam basically always wants things however I want them.

“I just want to make you happy,” he’ll say, pressing a kiss against my temple.

I’ve practically moved into his apartment. Penny has a particular smile she gets when I say anything about not coming home, but she knows better than to comment on it. There are details to straighten, and the terrifying, shuddering knowledge that we might not be able to make it work. But for the past few months, we’ve been ignoring that and spending every moment—outside of practice and work—in his bed.

You’d think less time working on optimization would be bad, but since Sam pushed me into that alcove and told me he wanted me, he’s been playing better than ever. For the last few games, his averages have been stellar. Grey sent me a fruit basket, and I chose to ignore that it could be very tongue-in-cheek.

“Your blood work came back,” Dr. Chen says, drawing me back to the present moment. Normally, that statement makes my entire body go cold, but not now.

I keep thinking that maybe Sam and I can be enough of a family together. That maybe it isn’t worth it to put him through this specific flavor of torture—always waiting for a baby that isn’t coming.

Something about the look on Dr. Chen’s face doesn’t sit right with me though, and my eyes dart down to the file in her hands. The blood work could show something—a condition or other issue.

“Is there a problem? Should I—”

“Finn,” she interrupts, and now I notice she's smiling, just the hint of it at the corner of her mouth, like she’s desperately trying to keep it contained. “You’re pregnant.”

The words don’t register at first. I stare at her, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Waiting for the “but” or “however” that always follows any news like this. In California, I got very used to bracing myself during IVF appointments. I got very used to the fact that this was a losing fight for me.

But Dr. Chen just keeps looking at me, that weird look on her face. It’s like my brain turns back on, and I rush to catch up to what she’s said.

“What?”

“You’re pregnant,” she repeats, coming into the room and taking a seat on the little rolling stool. Giving me a wry smile, she says, “Which is odd, considering the fact that we haven’t started the embryo transfer for this cycle just yet.”

I feel my cheeks get warm even as my heart starts to pound, the blood and adrenaline moving through my body with the velocity of a jet plane taking off.

“Looks like it’s about five weeks,” Dr. Chen goes on, “based on your hCG levels.”

She opens the file and hands it to me. I take it, looking at the numbers. I’ve stared at these figures too many times to count, except now they’re different. Now, they’re positive .

“It’s impossible,” I say, letting out a nervous, breathy laugh. “The last round failed.”

Every round has failed. Everything I’ve tried to make a baby has failed. Every time I come into the clinic, it’s with the feeling of a student who didn’t study for the ACT, and is terrified to look at their results.

“Finn,” Dr. Chen says, taking a deep breath. She settles a single hand on her desk, and I stare at her fingers there. At the wedding ring, her clean, unpainted nails. “Have you been... intimate with anyone recently?”

Sam.

Does he even want kids? We haven’t had a chance to start with those conversations. My mind flashes back, without warning, to him playing with Clementine at the cabin. During the Easter egg hunt. How glued she is to him. How gentle he is with her, how much she loves him.

“Finn?” Dr. Chen's voice brings me back. “Are you okay?”

I realize I’m crying. I never cry during these appointments, it’s a point of pride. And yet, here I am.

“I’m...” A breath. “I'm pregnant?”

She nods, her own eyes starting to look suspiciously wet. “Yes, Finn. You're pregnant.”

My hand moves to my stomach automatically. There’s nothing to feel yet, of course. It’s far too early. After all this time, all the treatments and disappointments and money—I’m pregnant.

“…we'll need to monitor you carefully,” Dr. Chen is saying, making notes and surreptitiously swiping at her eyes. She clears her throat. “Given your age and history—”

“Of course,” I say quickly. “I’ll do anything. Is there something I should be doing right now? Anything we need to start on? I’ll update my calendar, push whatever I need to—”

She smiles, reaching out and putting her hand on mine. “I know you will. But Finn?” She waits until I meet her eyes, pulling my gaze from my phone, which is unlocked but not open to anything. “Try to enjoy this moment. You’ve waited a long time for it.”

“Right,” I say, the air leaving my lungs.

“If there’s someone else who might enjoy the moment,” Dr. Chen says, casually, standing from her stool. “Then you might want to tell them, too.”

The thought of telling Sam makes my stomach twist. We’ve just started this thing between us. It’s new, delicate. When I close my eyes, I see him reacting positively to this news, but what if he doesn’t?

If I have to choose between this baby or Sam, I know which I’m choosing. It’s not even a question. I’ve worked too hard, and for too long, not to take a miracle when it’s handed to me. The thought of letting Sam go makes my stomach twist, but that’s what it means to be a parent—to make sacrifices for your child.

“If you want to,” Dr. Chen says, “we could do an ultra-sound.”

“We can?”

“It might be too early,” she cautions, “but we might hear the heartbeat. Do you want to try?”

“ Yes .”

She gathers the equipment, and I lie back on the exam table. When the cold gel hits my stomach, I close my eyes, letting out a breath.

My baby. In this moment, all the trying, disappointment, private, hurried tears—it all feels worth it. Dr. Chen places the wand on my stomach and moves it, her head turned to the screen, which is turned away from me.

It might be slow, it might be all at once, but a sound fills the room. It’s gentle, rhythmic. Steady and soft, like the quietest tapping against the window at night.

“There it is,” Dr. Chen says softly. “Strong heartbeat.”

When I have the pictures in my hand, I can’t stop tracing my finger over the little lump inside my body. The little thing that’s going to be my baby. My child.

I wait until I’m in the hallway, appointment finished, and follow-up scheduled, to break down completely, the sobs of joy so overwhelming I struggle for breath.

And then, when I look up, I see him. Sam, moving through the hospital’s lobby. He’s wearing a sweater and carrying a bouquet of flowers. For a split second, I think that he might be here to see me, that somehow, he might know. But he turns, going down a different hallway, and I stare after his back for a moment, feeling like I’m in a dream.

What is he doing here? Is everything okay?

As I follow him, I wonder distantly who the flowers might be for, but the thought is like a thundercloud on the horizon. Not nearly as important as my news. As his baby inside me, with a beating heart.

I’m going to tell him, and pray he still wants me the same with a baby on the way.