A few days later, Emily slept in.
“I’m surprised the smell of the coffee didn’t wake you,” Ezra teased, when he kissed her awake after leaving a partially filled mug on her nightstand.
“What coffee?” she asked, sleepily, trying to stretch out her back. It’d been aching all night. Probably just the ligaments of her uterus stretching, Ezra had said, when she’d mentioned it at dinner. He didn’t seem too worried about the spot of blood she’d seen in her underwear either. “It happens in a lot of pregnancies,” he said, though it had really freaked her out, sent her heart racing.
Still, Emily had let his reassurances wash over her. Convince her she was fine. Forget about what had happened last time. At just about this far along, too.
“Did you lose your superpower?” he asked. His voice was light, but Emily could hear an undercurrent of worry.
“I guess so,” she said carefully. “Maybe it was just a first-six-weeks-of-pregnancy thing.”
“Maybe it was,” he conceded. He ran his hand down her body from shoulder to toes, on top of the blanket. “I have grand rounds today,” he said, “so I should go, but you’ll call me if you need me?”
Emily sat up, her back still aching. “You’re worried about me,” she said.
“It’s probably nothing,” he answered. “I’m not a gynecologist.”
Then he kissed her one last time and headed out the door.
Emily got out of bed and took a shower. “Just be okay,” she whispered to the cells she hoped were still dividing inside her. Even though they couldn’t hear her, maybe they were somehow able to know what she was trying to say, somehow able to intuit the urgency with which she was saying it. “Keep growing. I want to hear your heart beat.”
In five days they were going to the doctor for an eight-week check-up. In five days, she would get her first glimpse, her first listen. She’d been imagining what that heartbeat would sound like—soft, legato, like a muted drum. She really wanted to make it to that appointment.
Emily and Ezra hadn’t talked about a name yet, what they were going to call this not-yet-a-baby, and all of a sudden it seemed important. She sent a text to Ezra. I want to name the baby after my mom, she wrote. Eden if it’s a girl, and Edward for a boy. Her mother’s name was Edie.
Okay, Ezra wrote back quickly. I love you.
As Emily got dressed, she kept up a steady one-sided conversation, the way she had with Zoe. “I love you already,” she said. “So does your dad. We want you to grow big and strong, with round cheeks and dimpled fingers. We’ll take such good care of you. I promise.”
Emily knew her words wouldn’t matter, but it was still a promise that felt important to make, whether anyone could hear her or not.