BAILEY

“Can you hear it?” I ask impatiently.

Matt’s mouth hitches in an amused half-smile as he glances up at me. “I can hear the sandwich you had for lunch working its way through your bowels.”

“Charming.”

His eyes widen. “Hold on. Shh, I have it.”

My heart leaps into my throat and I reach for the stethoscope. “Let me hear! Let me hear!”

He shakes his head and his finger presses to his lips as he slowly pushes the diaphragm of his stethoscope a few millimeters to the left. I’m splayed out on my back on our bed with my shirt tugged up to my bra, trying and failing to lie still.

Matt’s expression softens, a little spark flares in his eyes, and I know he’s got it. He’s listening to our baby’s heartbeat. I’ve heard it a few times, but the moments in the doctor’s office are always too fleeting and too clinical. My OBGYN is usually busy adjusting the settings on the ultrasound machine, checking the baby’s vitals, printing photos. It’s always over before I’ve really had a good listen, but now that I’m a little over four months pregnant, our baby should be big enough for us to hear the heartbeat at home, just like this.

Matt glances down at his watch and I know he’s counting the beats per minute. He’s checking the baby’s heart rate and listening for any murmurs or abnormalities. Even in this setting, he can’t resist the urge to check up on his most precious patient: his son. He nods a few seconds later and I know everything is as it should be.

I release a deep breath—one I didn’t realize I was holding—as Matt tugs the earpiece off. His other hand stays steady with the diaphragm in place. “Here, listen. He’s moving a lot, but you should be able to hear it.”

I place the earbuds in my ears as fast as possible, but I’m not quick enough. I can’t hear a thing. Wait! I hear—

No. That’s my bowel.

I frown and shake my head. Matt adjusts the diaphragm a smidge to the left.

“There?”

“No.”

He adjusts it again and—there! I can hear it!

I grab his wrist to still his movements. Our eyes lock. My other hand flies to my mouth. There’s no doubt about what I’m hearing. It’s like a galloping horse echoing through the earpiece, the most distinct, awe-inspiring sound in the world: a tiny heart beating inside me.

“It’s so fast,” I say, amazed.

Tears collect in the corners of my eyes.

Matt nods. “I counted 152 beats per minute, and no murmurs.”

I smile then lean my head back on my pillow and close my eyes, listening. I could stay here all day. At this stage, our little boy is still so small that most of the time I can’t feel any sign of him at all. Listening to his steady heartbeat is a reassuring reminder that he’s in there, hanging out right where he should be.

I feel Matt’s hand flatten over my small bump and then he whispers something I can’t quite hear. I wink one eye open and watch him as he brushes his hand lovingly back and forth across my skin, as if he’s touching our little boy.

“Your mom is listening to your heart right now, so you have to hold still,” he says. I smile and reach down to ruffle his hair. He presses a kiss to my bump and then glances up. “I’ve been thinking about what we should name him.”

“Oh?” I tilt my head to the side and take out the earpiece. “Josie has quite an opinion on that. She presents me with new ideas every day. Half of them are just the names of characters from her books. The latest round included: Peeta, Cedric, and Dumbledore.”

Matt smiles. “I’d like to name him Thomas.”

My gut clenches. “After my father?”

“Yes. What do you think?”

“I love it,” I say, my tone betraying how touched I am that he would suggest it. “But Josie will be so disappointed we aren’t using one of her suggestions.”

He laughs. “Why don’t we let her pick the middle name?”

I groan. “The power will go straight to her head.”

Just then a chorus of screams crashes through our closed bedroom door. Josie and four of her friends are having a sleepover to celebrate her birthday. It’s been planned for weeks. She’s been talking my ear off about it. I had a very specific list of items to purchase at the grocery store after work: popcorn, chips, soda, candy, and birthday cake. I snuck apples in the cart too and Josie shoved them to the back of the fridge to make more room for soda. They’ll all need to go straight to the dentist first thing in the morning.

It’s currently half past nine, and there’s no end in sight. After making pizza and feeding them dinner, Matt and I decided to hole up in our bedroom in an effort to save ourselves and (our ears) from five very chatty, very loud high school girls. Since then, we’ve snuck out twice. The first time, Matt and I needed to steal more of their pizza. We found them sitting on their pallets in the living room prank calling boys from their grade. Hilarious. I might have had them pass me the phone so I could participate but would firmly deny that in a court of law.

The second time we ventured out, it was because they were all screaming bloody murder. Matt and I rushed out to make sure everyone’s limbs were still intact. We found all five of them huddled around Josie’s phone watching ghost videos on YouTube and trying to scare the crap out of each another. Matt and I watched one of the videos too. I pursed my lips and swatted my hand, tacking on a heartfelt “That is totally fake!”, but to be honest, I’ll be sleeping with the light on tonight and Matt will be on ghost duty.

Now, they’re at it again. Their laughter and shouts have hit an all-time high.

The stethoscope is forgotten. I need to teach this little baby how to execute a stealth mission. I roll off the bed like a massive walrus dumping itself into the ocean then scurry to the door in time to hear one of them shout, “Did he seriously just text you ‘hi’ and nothing else?! What are you supposed to say to that?”

“Josie!” another one of them shouts. “He’s the hottest boy in our grade! You have to reply!”

Matt stays on the bed, chiding me for eavesdropping. I shoo him with my hand and press my ear to the door for better acoustics. Where’s a plastic cup when I need it?

Josie’s social life is alive and well thanks to the small private school we found for her in Costa Rica. Most of the students are also expats. She goes to school with teenagers from all over the world and last I checked, she has three boys from three different countries head over heels in love with her. She’s still more into books than ever, but I’m not sure how much longer that will last.

“Eh, I don’t really want to lead him on,” Josie replies. “You know the other day I asked him who his favorite literary character was and he couldn’t name one! Not one!”

There’s some mumbling and inaudible conversation. Most of it is drowned out because Matt has turned the TV on and cranked the volume to a deafening level to teach me a lesson. I hurry over to mute it. There’s a skirmish with the remote, but I eventually wrench it free, opting to use a carefully timed fake contraction to distract him. I’m a proud little monster as I mute the TV and run back to the door. He groans, but this is important! This is teenage-girl gossip.

“Oh my gosh, wait—did Derek just text you too? Why do you even bother with him? He’s a total nerd.”

“I like him,” Josie insists, sounding a little defensive. “We’re friends.”

“Why?! He doesn’t hang out with any of the cool guys.”

“So? Who cares? He’s really funny, and I happen to think he’s the cutest boy in our grade.”

I pump my fist in the air. That’s my girl.

Go for the nerd, Josie!

I turn, brush my hands together as if to say, My job here is done, and then stroll back to the bed.

“Happy with yourself?” Matt asks, looking adorable propped up against our headboard with his shirt off. He really should never wear clothes.

I grin. “Very.”

I’m glad to see Josie seems to still have a good head on her shoulders, especially considering the whirlwind of the last two years. Moving to another country, starting a new school, adjusting to life with Matt, and now with this new baby on the way—I’ve kept her at the forefront of my thoughts, careful to make sure she’s not totally overloaded with all the change.

We’ve worked hard to ensure she feels like part of our unit. When Matt was considering proposing to me, he took Josie with him to the jewelry store so she could help him pick out a ring. He later told me she tried to pick out the biggest stone they had (worth tens of millions) and he had to talk her into something a little more realistic, one that wouldn’t cause back strain.

At our tiny wedding ceremony on the beach with close friends and family, Josie acted as flower girl, ring bearer, and maid of honor. If we’d allowed it, she would have been the officiant as well.

“I just got certified online! I think…I’m not sure. I had to enter your credit card information.”

When Matt and I were first thinking of trying to conceive, Josie accidently found my stash of pregnancy tests in our bathroom cabinet. I was making dinner and she walked out, cradling the boxes in her arms, tears running down her face.

I freaked out, assuming the worst—that she was overwhelmed and upset we hadn’t consulted her first—but then with a shuddering sob, she exclaimed, “OH MY GOD! I’m going to be an aunt!”

She didn’t really care that I wasn’t actually pregnant yet. To her, the possibility was just as exciting.

We’ve settled into life here easier than I thought we would. The clinic has taken off. Matt and I both spend our days there, continuing to train staff from all over Costa Rica and operating on patients three days a week. When the grant committee approached Matt and offered him the opportunity to stay on for another two years with full funding, we all jumped at the chance. We love our life here and even though we’ll likely move back to the States when Josie goes off to college, we’re all happy to be here now, growing as a family of three, soon to be four.

Another chorus of laughter rings out from our living room and Matt tugs me closer on the bed.

“You know we’re not getting any sleep tonight, right?” I joke.

“Well, I guess there’s only one thing we can do,” he replies with a smirk.

I know immediately what he’s suggesting.

“No. You’re terrible. We said last time would be it. No more.”

“C’mon,” he says, nuzzling my neck. “You know you want to.”

I smile and shake my head. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“You’re the one who got me addicted.”

It’s true. This is all my fault.

He’s already turning on the TV and navigating to Netflix. “C’mon, indulge your husband.”

“Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up in mock defeat.

Then we sit together, hip to hip, while the Grey’s Anatomy theme song plays on our TV.

A few minutes later, he gestures to the screen. “Oh, c’mon! Those doctors would totally get caught.”

He’s talking about the surgeons currently getting it on in a storage closet.

I clear my throat. “Matt, we did that.”

He narrows his gaze on me thoughtfully. “As I recall, we didn’t actually kiss.”

I roll my eyes. “Close enough.”

He quirks a brow. “So you don’t think there’s a difference between an almost kiss and the real thing?”

He starts to shift toward me. He has ideas brewing beneath that thick head of hair. There are teenage girls squealing with delight in the living room and I’m holding him at bay as he guides me down onto the bed. In seconds, I’m underneath him and he looks almost sinister from this angle, too intimidating for his own good.

He props a hand on either side of my head and cages me in against the blankets. I couldn’t move if I tried.

“What are you doing?” I ask, voice shaky.

His smirk makes my stomach flutter. “Proving a point.”

He bends his head and I arch up to meet him instinctively. We’ve done this a million times; my body knows just what to do—except he doesn’t kiss me. His mouth barely skims mine and he’s grinning like a fiend. I’m left…wanting.

Damn him.

“Tell me I’m right,” he taunts. “Tell me they’d get caught.”

“Ugh.” I jerk my head away. “No! You’re not allowed to critique the storyline and point out the inaccuracies the whole time. It’s a TV show—just go with it.”

He leans back, as if deeply insulted. “Pfft. I don’t do that.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you kidding?”

He laughs and makes a move to roll off me, but I grip his shoulders and force him to stop.

“Um, excuse me—aren’t you forgetting something?”

I pucker up and he rewards me with a heart-shattering kiss. Only after we’ve broken apart and I’m catching my breath does he think to ask, “By the way, I’ve been wondering—what would my Grey’s Anatomy nickname be?”

“You already have one, remember? You’re my very own Hotshot Doc.”

He frowns. “But there has to be a ‘Mc’ in front of it.”

“Okay then, how about Dr. McGivesHisPregnantWifeFootRubs?”

“Doesn’t roll off the tongue.”

“Okay…Dr. McPassesThePopcorn?”

“You see how that doesn’t work, right? It has to be pithy.”

I tap my chin. “Oh okay, yeah. I’ve got one now. Hear me out.”

“All right.”

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah.”

“Dr. Mc…”

After a long pause, he finally asks, “You don’t have one do you?”

“The good ones are already taken!”

He laughs and tugs me closer. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s just stick with Hotshot.”