The next day Bernie sat in Dr. Underwood’s waiting room, flicking her gaze to the clock every ten seconds. Was Jeremy actually going to show up? Or did he go home last night, think about the prospect of a trip to the obstetrician’s office, and realize fatherhood involved way more than he wanted to deal with?
If he was going to bow out, she hoped he’d do it now. Now, before she started to count on him. Now, before he became one of those whenever-he-felt-like-it fathers who disappointed his child over and over. If he wasn’t serious about being there for the long haul, she truly hoped he’d just stay home. As the clock hands crept past one o’clock, she became convinced that he really wasn’t going to show up.
Then all at once the door opened, and Jeremy walked in.
He stopped for a moment to slowly remove his sunglasses. Then he fanned his gaze around the room, until every woman in the place noticed he was there. And they were all staring at him, not overtly, but with little sideways glances that had to be wearing out their eyeball muscles. Did they recognize him from photos in the media? Or was he just so damned good-looking that they couldn’t keep their eyes off him?
That really irritated Bernie. They were all married, for heaven’s sake. Well, maybe not married, but committed. Okay, maybe not committed, but they were going to be mothers, right? It was time to keep their eyes off handsome men and concentrate on the task at hand. Having a baby.
So why was she having trouble taking her own advice?
Then Jeremy zeroed in on her. With a smile of supreme confidence, he made his way across the room to take the seat beside her.
“Did Max bring you here?” she whispered.
“Yep.”
“What reason did you give him for coming to a medical building?”
“I’m the boss. I don’t have to account for my actions.”
“Where is he now?”
“I convinced him to watch for bad guys from the comfort of my car.”
Thank God. Even though Max knew she was pregnant, Bernie was happy to keep the identity of the father under wraps for now. She could only imagine what Max was going to think when he found out.
“Bernadette Hogan?”
Bernie looked up to see a nurse she didn’t recognize standing at the door leading to the exam rooms. She looked nothing like Dr. Underwood’s usual nurse, a fifty-something woman with iron-gray hair and a depilatory issue on her upper lip. This one was slim, gorgeous, and not even thirty, with auburn hair and big blue eyes. Somehow the shapeless Snoopy scrubs she wore only made her look that much more feminine, as if she were a supermodel who’d slipped on a man’s flannel shirt over her baby pink undies. Bernie sighed inwardly. If she put on a set of Snoopy scrubs, she’d look like… Snoopy.
Out of the corner of her eye, she swore she could practically see Jeremy’s antennae rise from the top of his head and tune in to Nurse Goodbody, and that irritated her more than it should have. After all, that he was the father of her baby didn’t mean there was anything between the two of them, nor would there ever be. And she was likewise certain that there was nothing about fatherhood that would ever shut down his legendary libido. But at least he could have the good grace not to look at other women as if he’d popped into his favorite club on ladies’ night.
Bernie grabbed her purse and rose from her chair, and when Jeremy rose right along with her, suddenly she was the one who was hit with the reality of the situation.
“Where are you going?” she whispered.
“With you.”
“No. You can’t go back there.”
“Sure I can. I’m the father.”
“And I’m the mother. It’s my body. I get to choose who sees it.”
“But there’s something in that body that’s half mine.”
She leaned in closer. “And in a few minutes, this body will be half naked.”
He shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ve seen you half naked.” He paused. “Will it be the same half?”
She didn’t want to stand here and argue with him. She just didn’t. And since the other people in the room were starting to stare, Bernie decided it was time to just get it over with.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered. “Come on.”
“How y’all doing today?” Nurse Goodbody said, her smile revealing pristine orthodontia.
“Just dandy,” Bernie said.
“Right this way,” the nurse said, leading them down the hall. Bernie glanced at Jeremy, whose gaze was trained dead center on the nurse’s ass, which was proof positive that to him, even a doctor’s office might as well be a singles bar.
“Just think, Bridges,” she whispered. “In just a moment you’re going to experience the miracle of pregnancy.”
“Can’t wait.”
“I can practically feel the estrogen in the air, can’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s my favorite hormone.”
Bernie sighed. There was only one place on earth more estrogen-filled than an obstetrician’s office, and that was Jeremy’s bedroom. The last place he’d ever be uncomfortable was around a bunch of women. And the fact that most of them were pregnant didn’t seem to change his perspective one bit.
They followed the nurse into an exam room, where she motioned for them to sit. She spread Bernie’s chart out on the desk. “So you’re here for your first ultrasound?”
“That’s right,” Bernie said.
“How exciting. The two of you seeing your baby for the first time. You’ll even get a photograph to take home with you!”
“Did you hear that, Bernie?” Jeremy said. “A picture of our baby. Imagine that.”
“The baby’s the size of my little finger,” Bernie snapped. “A black-and-white blob on a blurry screen. You’ll barely be able to tell what’s baby and what isn’t.”
“Oh,” Jeremy said, looking distressed. “So I guess this means we won’t be putting the photos on our Christmas cards?”
Bernie closed her eyes. Maybe this had been a mistake. A big one. She’d given him carte blanche to get in the big, fat middle of this situation when what she really wanted was for him to go away and never come back. But she knew if she continued to act irritated that he’d shown up, he’d only irritate her by pretending to enjoy it even more.
The nurse took Bernie’s blood pressure and her temperature, then asked her to step on the scales. “One hundred and forty-five pounds,” she chirped, and Bernie cringed.
“I’m sure that’s just water weight,” Jeremy said.
“Bite me,” Bernie said.
Jeremy turned to the nurse. “This is what I get for trying to be supportive.”
“And I’m sure deep down she appreciates it,” the nurse said, patting Jeremy on the knee. “It’s just those pesky pregnancy hormones,” she whispered. “They make some women a little testy.”
Jeremy gave her a million-dollar smile, and just like that, he was elevated to generous, supportive partner and Bernie became the bad guy.
The nurse rose and led them to an exam room. “Undress from the waist down,” she told Bernie. “Put on the gown, open in the back. The doctor will be with you in a moment.”
As the nurse shut the door behind her, Bernie headed for the small curtained changing room. She took off her clothes and put on the paper gown. It rustled as she wrapped it around herself as best she could, refusing to think about Jeremy sitting in the other room. She was not going to be self-conscious about this.
She came out of the changing room, clutching the gown closed behind her. Jeremy was sitting in a chair beside the exam table. With an amused smile, he watched her shimmy up onto the table at the same time she made sure the two sides of the gown were adequately pulled together before she grabbed the paper drape and placed it over her lap.
“Damned paper gowns,” Bernie said.
“I know,” Jeremy said, tilting his head. “You can see right through them.”
Bernie’s heart skipped a beat or two. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“On other women, maybe. Unfortunately, we were far too goal-oriented during a certain encounter for me to remember much of anything I happened to see.”
She turned and gave him a deadpan stare of disbelief. “Do you ever think about anything but sex?”
“Sure. Sometimes I think about… uh… well, let’s see. Oh, yeah. Football.”
“Imagine that. A man who thinks about sex and football.”
“Which makes me think about the Cowboys. Which makes me think about the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. Which makes me think about—”
“Sex with Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.” She shook her head. “So when you’re not having sex, you’re fantasizing about it.”
“When it comes to the Cowboy Cheerleaders, it’s not a fantasy.” He smiled. “It’s a memory.”
Just then the exam door opened and Dr. Underwood came in. She was pushing fifty, with prematurely gray hair cut short. She wore gray slacks, sensible shoes, and a white coat over her navy-blue blouse. No frills, just competence. Bernie liked that in a person.
“Hey, Bernie,” she said. “How are you feeling? Morning sickness letting up?”
Just the mention of it made Bernie’s stomach turn over for the hundredth time that day. “The barfing’s better. But I’m still a little queasy.”
“If it keeps up, let me know. I’ll write you something for the nausea.” She turned to Jeremy and stopped short. “And you are…?”
“I’m the father,” Jeremy said, holding out his hand. “Jeremy Bridges.”
Dr. Underwood looked a little confounded as she shook his hand. Bernie didn’t think it was because she recognized the name. It was because she recognized that somebody who looked like Bernie and somebody who looked like Jeremy rarely ended up combining genetic material.
A few moments later, she was on her back on the table. The doctor lifted her gown to expose her abdomen. Bernie distracted herself from Jeremy’s gaze by telling herself that he wasn’t seeing anything more than the average woman showed on the average beach.
The doctor squirted some cold, goopy stuff on her abdomen, then grabbed a thing that looked like a microphone that was attached to the scanning machine by a cord.
“What’s that?” Jeremy asked.
“A transducer. It sends out high-frequency sound waves and then listens for the returning echoes from whatever’s inside the body. That forms an image on the screen.”
She spread the goop around with the transducer, and then stopped and pressed it gently into Bernie’s abdomen. Sure enough, a blurry image popped up, but nothing in it looked remotely like a baby. Dr. Underwood moved the transducer around a little more. Finally she pointed. “There’s your baby. See?”
Bernie looked closely, finally reaching the conclusion that she’d have to take the doctor’s word for that.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Bernie asked. Boy, boy, boy, she said to herself. A boy she could deal with. She’d take him hunting and fishing and teach him to play basketball. But what if she had a girl who wanted to play with Barbies and dance in a tutu?
“It’s a little too early to be able to tell,” the doctor said. “In a month or two—”
She stopped short, staring closer at the screen, then rubbed the transducer around a little more. “Well, lookie there.”
“What?” Jeremy said.
“Just a minute… let me make sure… yep. Okay, if you’ll look closely…”
Bernie and Jeremy both leaned in.
“… there’s your baby.”
“Uh… okay,” Bernie said, taking her word for it all over again.
“And right there,” she said, pointing to another blob on the screen, “is your other baby.”
Bernie’s heart seized up. “Wh-what do you mean?”
The doctor just stared at her, slowly raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, no,” Bernie said, her voice suddenly edged with panic. “No. Don’t tell me that. Please don’t tell me—”
“Congratulations, Bernie. You’re having twins.”