Clearer (J.HALE)

04

"Settling in okay?"

I nodded, settling down on the hospital bed. "Very well, thanks."

Carlisle fiddled with the machine set up beside the bed and picked up a tube of gel. "Lift up your shirt, please."

I pulled at the fabric and slid it up my skin, exposing my stomach under the harsh white lights. I hoped he wouldn't say anything. The mixture of professionalism and compassion he seemed to carry himself with played in my favour, but he did hesitate. Two small circular scars, one above my belly button and one on my left hip, singed into permanence.

Thankfully, he carried on almost immediately.

"This might be cold," he said, squeezing the gel onto my stomach.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, surprised by the chill despite his warning.

"Okay," he said, clicking away on the computer. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

He pressed down lightly on my stomach with a small piece of equipment that looked a little like it could be used to clean windows, feeling around. The screen lit up, projecting first a fuzzy black and white picture, before settling in a mess of lines and blurry shapes.

"I can't see it," I said.

He smiled. "Hang on." He moved the reader around a little more, before nodding in satisfaction. "That shape right there is your baby."

My eyes followed his slender finger as he pointed, his fingertip brushing the edge of what looked like a very small, very fuzzy baked bean.

I frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he laughed. "I'm sure."

I looked at him. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"Huh."

As I looked closer, I noticed the vaguest deviations from the general bean shape—possibly even a distinction between a head and a body. Or I thought I did. I could have just imagined it.

"This moment is a lot less magical than people make it out to be," I mumble, squinting at the screen. "My kid looks like a baked bean."

His laugh was delightful. It immediately made me want to make him laugh more, but I didn't have anything funny to say. His glimmering eyes wrinkled at the edges and his hair bounced.

"Yes, it does, rather," he said, still chuckling.

He wiped off the gel with a tissue, very gently, and I pulled my shirt back down.

"Can you, like, give me some advice?" I asked. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"That's perfectly normal," he said, washing his hands. "Just make sure you eat well, get some gentle daily exercise. No drinking or drugs, obviously, but you're seventeen, so-

"Sixteen," I corrected, surprisingly myself with the strained tone to my voice. "I'll be seventeen next month."

He stopped, looking at me over his shoulder.

"Sixteen," he repeated, very quietly.

I offered a meek smile, which he returned.

"Well, uh," he continued, clearing his throat. "Try and drink decaf, if you can. Run any medication past me before you take it, and I'll prescribe you some prenatal vitamins."