Eight | W2S

SIXTY SIX.

Our one year anniversary had come and gone. Although — on a technicality, we'd ended things around Christmas, we mutually agreed that we wouldn't count it, and instead celebrated on July twenty seventh.

It was a quiet affair, nothing too special, because both of us were anxiously awaiting the twelve week scan, the one thing that would quell both of our nerves that had been increasing as the scan drew nearer.

And then, during the second week of August, we were in the office in the medical centre, with the consultant sat opposite us.

"Everything looks healthy at this stage. Mum, Mackenzie, everything looks good. Baby is doing as well as to be expected at this point too. Before I schedule our next appointment — do either of you have any questions?" She asks us, shuffling around some paper work.

Harry and I remained silent, both squeezing the other's hand so tightly I was surprised the blood circulation was still...circulating.

She laughed awkwardly. "I'll take that as a no. Next question — for the next scan, which will be at around twenty weeks, do you wish to find out the gender?"

This was something we'd been discussing for a little while, and it had been an easy conversation.

"Yes," we both answer in unison.

She looked pleased. "Amazing. I'll get my receptionist to organise another appointment. In the meantime — if you do have any questions about anything, don't hesitate to ask. And once again, congratulations!"

The moment we stepped outside of the centre, we hugged each other tightly, not moving but just enjoying the moment.

"Baby's okay," Harry whispers breathlessly, his head resting on top of my shoulder.

"Now we just have to tell people," I remind him, our next challenge.

He shakes his head casually. "It'll be fine. We'll tell your dad first, then my family, then all the guys...it'll be okay."

The structured plan made me feel a little more at ease, as I placed a hand on my stomach. There was a definite bump now, and I could feel it. Although it was August, I pulled my coat around me properly, because we were still in London, and anyone could see us.

"How big now?" I ask Harry, because it had become a routine now, for me to ask every week.

He already knew the answer, even without looking at his phone. "Twelve weeks, baby is just over five centimetres, about the size of a plum or a passion fruit."

It was enough to calm the nerves as we made our way back to my apartment, where my dad would be arriving shortly, to discover that he would soon become a grandad.

"I'm fucking stressed," I sigh, pacing the length of my living room.

"I can tell," Harry replies amused, sat down at the kitchen island, typing away on his laptop.

"That wasn't very helpful. I'm about to tell my dad we're having a child," I remind him, as if it was something he'd forget.

Finally, Harry sways his attention away from his laptop, closing it. "I know you are."

I look at him, bemused. "Okay — why are you so calm about this? Why are you not freaking out about this?"

"Ken, what are you actually worrying about? That he won't be happy for you? Because you know that's not true."

I shake my head. "No, I know he'll be happy. I just — truthfully?"

"Always."