Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(59)

Dr. Ingraham starts his thing. The ultrasound goop is on my belly, cold and slimy. It’s an abdominal ultrasound this time. He runs the device over my stomach and presses down on my abdomen to get a clear view. I can feel a weird pinchy sensation down below when he inserts the catheter, but otherwise, the biggest feeling is the urge to pee and my sore tush.

“Everything looks good. I’ve placed the catheter,” Dr. Ingraham says.

I keep my eyes on Josh and look at his familiar face, his dark eyes, his long eyelashes, his permanently upturned lips. He keeps ahold of my gaze, and just like his grip, his eyes are warm and reassuring.

He nods at me, as if to say, “it’s okay, you’re doing good.”

I blink back the threatening tears. We made a baby.

Josh and I made a baby.

All the hoping, all the wishing, it’s right here, right now.

“Okay, I’m placing the embryo in your uterus.”

Josh’s thumb stops circling my palm.

I hold my breath.

Please God, please God, please let this baby stick, let this work, let me meet her someday.

Let it work, let it work, let it work, let it-

“All set,” Dr. Ingraham says.

I let out all my breath in a rush and draw in air.

“Okay?” Josh asks me.

I nod and he gently pulls his hand from mine. I frown, because it doesn’t feel as okay now that he isn’t holding my hand anymore.

I turn my head away from him and lick my dry lips.

“You’re welcome to empty your bladder now, then the nurse will take you to the recovery area and you can put your feet up for twenty minutes,” Dr. Ingraham says. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them into the medical waste bin.

“Thank you,” I say, which is the first thing I’ve managed to say since Dr. Ingraham came into the room.

Peeing is sweet, sweet relief, even though I’m terrified that somehow peeing will dislodge the baby (anatomically impossible), or walking will shift it around (also anatomically impossible), or that I should’ve worn Hannah’s crystals to work some metaphysical energy mojo to help the baby stick (anatomically improbable?).

I lay back on a cot in the recovery area. Josh and I are in the same curtained area where I recovered after the egg retrieval. There are at least six beds and curtains separating each. This is a busy medical practice. I smile when I remember the wall quote—ten thousand babies and counting. I hope that mine is including in the “and counting.”

“So, you ready for the dirty talk?” Josh asks.

I scoff. “Not necessary.”

He leans forward in his chair and rests his palms on the edge of the hospital bed. A lock of hair falls over his forehead and I stop myself from reaching up and pushing it back.

The serious, reassuring Josh that was there in the embryo transfer is gone. His usual expression of perpetual amusement is back. And also, a stubborn look that reminds me he felt challenged when I said that sex with him “wasn’t terrible.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to offend your man-sensibilities. I’m really sorry. Sex with you was A-OK. It was perfectly adequate. You don’t have anything to prove.” Oh lordy. I almost smack my head. What am I talking about?

He gives me a look that tells me I’m spouting nonsense.

“Gemma, this isn’t about proving anything. Your friend said you need to orgasm after the transfer to increase your odds. I’m going to help you out.”

I cough into my hand.

“Ready?” he asks.

I shake my head no. There are other women only a few feet away, laying on their own cots, separated by flimsy curtains. There are nurses, medical assistants, doctors, and who knows who else walking through. We could be interrupted any minute.

I’m not ready.

And…and…Josh and I aren’t a couple.

I’m going to the Hamptons with Ian, I’m something, not exactly dating, but something with Ian.

Josh and I…we’re…

“I’m going to rub lime Jell-O all over you.”

What?!

I snort and cover my mouth with my hands.

That is not dirty talk. Unless messy eating is dirty.

Josh has on a smile that’s dripping sex and he’s looking at me with the steamiest expression I’ve ever seen. The patterned curtain behind him flutters and another couple enters the cot beside ours. Josh doesn’t notice, he just leans closer to me and says, “And after that lime Jell-O is slathered all over your body I’m going to take a straw and suck it up.”

I start to giggle.

I can’t help it, he’s ridiculous. He’s so ridiculous.

He leans in and puts his lips close to my ear, so close that when he starts talking my hair flutters from his breath and I can feel the vibrations of his voice all the way down to my core.

“When I can’t suck up anymore, I’m going to use my tongue, and I’m going to lick you, and suck you. I’m going to find all those nasty carrot bits and the chopped apples that shouldn’t be in lime Jell-O and I’m going to lick them off you.”

Oh lord. I’m laughing, but at the same time, the reverberation of his voice sends warm spirals of wanting all through my body. He’s rumbling into my ear and he’s so close that sometimes his lips brush against my earlobe, and when they do a zing of pleasure pulses through me.