JACKSON

My bed sheets still smell like her.

I keep telling myself over and over again that I'm going to wash them. Every day following the night she leaves, I make a plan to do it - but then it doesn't happen. I collapse in bed after I get home from work and breathe her in, and it's almost like she's still right there.

If I close my eyes and just be, I can come close to picturing her. Dressed in one of my t-shirts and a pair of her brightly-colored underwear, laughing with her head thrown back over something I said. Messy, flyaway hair gone unbrushed, no makeup on, just April - naturally herself.

Missing her makes it hard to be angry with her, and I find myself having to go over and then re-go over everything that she's done to make me mistrust her. She kept her pregnancy from me for almost the first whole trimester; a pregnancy that could very well result in my baby. She could look me in the eye everyday for those three months and know that she wasn't telling me the truth and continue to live her life like nothing was going on.

I know she sees eight sides to everything. I know she would never intentionally hurt me, but that doesn't mean that I didn't get hurt in the process.

Growing up, becoming a parent was never something that was on my radar. It's not something I ever thought about; I never considered that one day I could be a father. I didn't have a father of my own to look up to, and to this day I try to think about that as little as I can. What kind of a dad would I be, anyway? I have no examples to take after. I have no one to ask guidance from. I wouldn't even know where to begin in raising a child.

Matthew is the better choice for this kid. He was probably raised in a big family with plenty of positive influences with values that he can pass down onto the child that April will bear to him. My family is small; I grew up just me and my mom, and most of the time she was working her ass off for our family name. I had a lot of nannies, all of whom I loved, but none of whom could replace my need for an actual parent.

As I'm lying in bed on a windy Sunday night, this is what I'm thinking about. I force myself to hope that the baby is Matthew's so I won't have a chance in failing it.

I know that's what I'd do. What other option do I have? My own father failed me. Who's to say that I wouldn't take after him?

That baby deserves someone better than me. April does, too.

I turn over on my side and stare at the empty spot where she used to lay. She falls asleep faster than anybody else I've ever known, so in bed at night I would always feel her go before me. I miss the feeling of her body twitching lightly against mine as she falls deeper into sleep, and then the little noises that she'd make at the same time. I'd always fall asleep better with her pressed up against me in some way, so now I barely sleep at all.

I reach for my phone and click it on, and the brightness practically blinds me. I turn it down and then tell myself not to go there, not to relive the memories, but I go anyway. I open the Messages icon and click on the first thread of texts that I have, which are April's of course. I don't do a lot of texting ever since I stopped with the string of different girls I used to bring home every night. Nowadays, I'm too busy missing the one girl who left me behind.

Our last text exchange was from a couple days before she left when I got home first and she was waiting on some bloodwork to go through before coming to meet me.

SENT: 7:31pm- are you going to be home soon? im so starving i might just have to make something myself

RECEIVED: 7:32pm- you can waaiitttttttt :P do not get near that oven, avery. youll burn the house down!

SENT: 7:32pm- ugh

RECEIVED: 7:35pm-so impatient. Didnt your mother ever teach you that good things come to those who wait? ;)

SENT: 7:36pm-april dont tempt me. And dont make me think about my MOTHER when you say shit like that i swear to god

RECEIVED: 7:38pm- what? I have noooooooo idea what youre talking about ;)

SENT: 7:38pm- your winky face says otherwise

RECEIVED: 7:40pm- what? ;) ;) ;) ;)

SENT: 7:41pm-i really hate you

RECEIVED: 7:45pm- sure sure :) just got my results from the lab! im dropping them off with britton then ill be on my way home to you baby ;)

I click the button the side of my phone and the screen goes black, then I plug it into the charger and lay it face-down. I debate going back into it and deleting our entire slew of text exchanges, but I don't have the strength to follow through.

In the morning, I wake up to a song that I haven't changed from my alarm.

I can't hide it from the world, no

Promise you it's for sure

Just in case you don't know

That I love you

My eyes flick open and I dig for my phone where it's gotten buried under the covers, but I can't find it quick enough and the song keeps playing.

I don't think that we need oxygen

'Cause our love's deeper than the ocean

Give me your devotion

I'll always be open

Girl, I love you

I finally dig my phone out and shut the alarm off, and my room is enveloped in silence once again. I used to love waking up to that, even though I never used to be a big fan of pop music before her. I would've never known that song existed - 143 by Johnny Rain - had it not been for April.

I heard it for the first time late on a Sunday morning. I woke up confused, wondering where it could be coming from, and when I opened my eyes I saw that she wasn't in bed next to me like I had expected. The sound was coming from the kitchen, where I also heard the clanging of pots and pans and the sound of her high and airy voice singing along.

I smiled to myself and then got out of bed, putting on pants but not bothering with a shirt, and went out to the kitchen to see what she was up to. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw her; dancing in circles with a spatula in one hand, wearing an oversized Cubs shirt of mine and drawstring pajama shorts with her hair up in a messy ponytail on top of her head.

"That is the highest ponytail I've ever seen," I said, walking up to the counter.

She jumped and spun around, a wild smile on her face. "Jackson," she'd said. "You're up!"

"What in the world are you listening to?" I asked, then picked up her phone to look. "Johnny Rain? Who the hell?"

"No, no," she said. "Don't make fun. It's a sweet song, and also really fun to dance to." She set the spatula down and came around the counter to wrap me up in as big of a hug as her tiny self could muster. "It reminds me of us."

I felt butterflies in my stomach from the look on her face; genuine sweetness and joy that I was finally awake. To me, there was nothing more pure in the world than her happiness.

I listened to the lyrics as it played through and watched her eyes shine as she sang along. It was a love song, generic at best, but I liked that she thought of our relationship throughout it. I didn't care that it was a cliche, couple-y thing to do. It was ours, and that made it okay.

She spun around some more and made her ponytail fly, and went back to the stovetop to stir up the eggs she was cooking. When the chorus played again, she pointed the spatula at me and sang along with: "That I love you."

I stare up at the ceiling now and flip through other songs in my library to set as my alarm so I won't have to relive that memory every time I wake up. I can't find anything that will jar me enough, so I change it back to a default beeping sound that will surely get me out of bed.

I get into the shower after turning the radio on, and after it comes back from commercial I realize that it's set to B96, the Top 40 station. I have my hand on the shower door to open it and change the station to sports, but once a song starts playing - I think it's something by Katy Perry - I leave it on. I never used to be the kind of guy who knew the current pop songs on the radio, but ever since April… I've become that guy. Even after she left, there's no growing out of this for me. It's not that I like this music, per se, but it reminds me of my time with her.

The good times, at least. The good times always float to the surface of my memory, whereas the bad sink to the bottom and are harder to dig up and refresh. That fact makes it harder to hate her and much, much easier to miss her.

When I get to the hospital, I find myself up on the floor where the nursery is and tell myself that I just need to come here because it's quiet and I need to have a moment of solace before my shift starts. Doctors in baby-pink scrubs pass by me silently in the hall, and I know I'm sticking out wearing my turquoise ones from the floors below, but I try to look inconspicuous.

When I get to the glass window looking into the room full of babies, I stop. I take some time just watching them; most of them are sleeping, some are trying to bust out of their tight swaddlers, but none are crying. I smile a little watching a baby boy near the front open and close his mouth as he tries to get used to his face.

"One of 'em yours in there?" A voice next to me asks, and I jump a little as I look over. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

Standing next to me is a man about my age with an impressive goatee and shoulder-length brown hair. I laugh nervously and shake my head. "No," I say, then gesture down to my scrubs. "Just a doctor."

"Shame," he says.

"Why?" I ask. "Is one of them yours?"

He beams and points, his finger pressing against the glass, to the back row. "That little lady one over from the left," he says. "Born at 5:38am. Madelyn Rose."

I smile and make a small affirmative sound. "Beautiful name," I say. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," he says, and keeps staring at his daughter. "I sure do love her. It's kinda crazy how much. I just met her, you know?" He laughs. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be talking your ear off. You probably don't care. I just…" He shrugs. "You're the first person I've seen, so you drew the short straw, my friend."

I shake my head. "No, it's okay," I say, but as the words come out I feel my throat clog with emotion. I'm now finding it impossible to turn back and look at those babies again, because of how badly I want one of them to be mine in a few months. Hearing the way this stranger is talking about his newborn daughter makes me want to be in his shoes.

"You have a nice day," I say, as I start to leave. "All the best for your family." He gives me a nod and a wave, and I make a beeline for the elevator. Once I'm inside, my chest deflates and a huge breath escapes me as I try and process all the thoughts that are going through my head.

I want to know if that baby's mine, and I know it's possible. Prenatal paternity tests are accurate after 8 weeks, which April has long passed. But the sticking point isn't how accurate the test is - it's that it would involve getting a DNA sample from Matthew, too. And in his mind, there's no reason why he would need to be supplying DNA.

Until Matthew knows the truth, there's no way that a paternity test will happen.

I make a small, incredulous sound to myself as I think ahead and play out what would happen if April doesn't get the test, and Matthew is in the delivery room when she has the baby - and it ended up being mine. I can't help but grin when I picture the look on his face if he sees a biracial child lying on April's chest.

It can't get to that point, though. He has to know before the baby is born - which means she has about 6 months left to tell him before we find out for ourselves.

APRIL

Jackson was right. It's never going to be the right time to tell Matthew.

Every time I get close, I chicken out or he does something that makes me feel so guilty that I can't bear to burst his bubble. I've never seen him this happy the whole time I've known him - not even the day we got married. And with every day that passes, I feel worse and worse about it because his happiness is so genuine. I try to join him in it, and I think I do a good job of faking, but mine is nowhere close to reaching his level.

It's like that for a few reasons; the biggest one being that I know much more of the story than he does and ignorance is bliss. Especially when you don't know you're ignorant - that's the whole point. The second reason, put simply, is because every day I force myself not to miss Jackson.

I've been carrying around the weight of my secret for more than a month now - figuratively and literally. The baby is growing every day and as of yesterday, I'm officially 20 weeks pregnant and today we find out the sex at the ultrasound appointment.

I'm already downstairs, dressed and ready, when Matthew joins me. We both have to work today, but the appointment is early so we can get it done before our shifts start. "Morning," I say, spinning around on my barstool so I can look at him.

"Hey," he says. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you," I say. "What are you gonna have for breakfast?"

He goes around the other side of the counter and pulls out a frying pan. "I was thinking eggs," he says.

I screw up my face. "You know how I feel about eggs," I say. They've been a food I've avoided since first finding out I was pregnant; I don't throw up at the smell anymore, but the thought of them still grosses me out.

"Wait, what?" he asks, setting the pan down on the range.

"I can't do eggs. And I can't be around them, either, you know that," I say.

"Oh, yeah," he says, and leans forward so his weight is braced on his hands. "How about cereal, then?"

My eyebrows raise and my eyes light up. "That sounds amazing," I say.

He turns around and opens a high cupboard that I've never tried to reach, and pulls out a bag with a brand of cereal on it that I don't recognize. "I got your favorite," he says, proudly displaying the bag. Now that I can see it better, I can see that it's the store brand of Crunch Berries, which I've never tried.

"Oh, nice," I say, then try to make my voice sound more peppy. "Thank you!"

"I knew you'd be excited," he says. "See? I notice things." He gets a bowl down from the cupboard and pours the milk in first, then the cereal. "Enjoy."

As he finds his own cereal to eat, I take a bite of mine and widen my eyes at how crunchy it is. The taste is relatively the same - but something is missing and I can't put my finger on it. Something about this off-brand isn't right, but I'm not going to tell him that. Also, it's close to overflowing because the milk went in first. Before him, I'd never met anyone who pours the milk in first, but I just roll with it.

"Taste good?" he asks, halfway through his bowl.

"Mm-hmm," I say, my mouth full.

"Are you excited for today?" he asks. "I know I am. And I'm already pretty sure what we're gonna be having."

I tip my head to one side. "Oh, really?"

He nods definitively. "I can just feel it. We're having a boy."

I scoff. "And you know this, how? You're not the one carrying it inside you."

"Well, obviously," he says. "But I remember when you first told me, I just had this feeling. You know? I think I even said 'him.' It just came out of me. I think we're going to have a son."

"A son, hmm?" I say, and he nods again and then dumps the milk in his bowl in the sink. "We'll see, I guess. I don't think you're right, but…"

He pulls his coat from the coatrack and adjusts it on his shoulders. "I really think I am right."

"Alright, alright," I say. "We'll just have to see."

We get to the hospital, and as we make our way up to OB, our fingers stay intertwined. As we're waiting for my name to be called and sitting in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, Matthew strokes my skin with his thumb and I can't stop my foot from bouncing a mile a minute. He looks down at it, grins slightly, and puts his foot overtop of it so it'll stay still, but then my knee starts jiggling.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, looking at me incredulously. "Don't be nervous. You've gotten ultrasounds before." A slight pause. "Are you nervous that I'm right and it's gonna be a boy?"

I chuckle softly. "No," I say. "I'm fine. I just have a lot of energy, so it's hard for me to sit still."

"You can get that out at work later," he says. "Just try and calm down. You're gonna make the little guy anxious, too."

"Or girl," I say. "We don't know yet."

"Right, right."

Luckily, we only have to wait a couple more minutes before a young nurse calls me in. Matthew follows close behind and then sits in a chair near the bed once I lay down on the uncomfortable, filmy paper. Even though this isn't my first ultrasound, the weird feeling of being the one on the bed instead of the one giving the exam hasn't left. I feel totally out of place lying here, my shirt pushed up to my bra line and a weird cloth down the front of my pants to catch any extra gel - totally out of place and exposed.

"Okay, April, so you're in for your 20-week," the OB, Dr. Mediratta, says, glancing at my chart. "How fun! Are you finding out the sex of the baby, or do you want me to keep it a secret?"

"We're finding out," Matthew cuts in. I nod following his words.

"I could probably tell anyway," I say, laughing a little. "I'm a doctor."

"Oh, really?" Mediratta asks, squirting some of the gel onto my stomach. Luckily, it's been in a warmer so the temperature of it isn't a shock. "What do you do?"

"I'm head of trauma here," I say, resting my head back and relaxing my neck. I lift my arms and rest them over my head to stretch my body out more. "We're both heading into work after this, actually."

"Oh, nice," she says, then asks Matthew what he does.

"I'm an EMT," he says. Mediratta nods politely, but doesn't seem to have much to say on his behalf. I see him watching her, waiting for a comment, but she doesn't say anything. He looks a little put off by it; I can only assume it's because he likes being recognized for what he does and is always talking about how people don't give EMTs enough credit.

"Okay, let's see what this little one is up to," she says, moving the sensor around. "Oh, baby is facing us today, look at that! And they have their thumb in their mouth… see that right there?" She points to the screen and I can clearly make out the shape of the baby with its hand to its face. "You've got yourself a thumbsucker."

I make a small sound in awe. "A thumbsucker," I say. "I sucked my thumb until I was 8."

Matthew laughs. "You did? That seems a little old."

"It was," I say softly. "But it's sweet."

"Alright, are you ready to know?" Mediratta asks, looking at us excitedly. We both nod. "You two are going to be having a little girl."

My whole body floods with a rush of emotion and tears spring to my eyes. I'm going to have a daughter.

"Her growth is right on track, she looks great for 20 weeks. A strong fetal heartbeat, comfortable positioning, both mom and baby are doing beautifully. You want a printout, right?" she asks. "One or multiple?"

I open my mouth to say multiple, because Jackson is currently on the forefront of my mind. But Matthew gets to it first. "Just one," he says. "Thank you."

We walk to the elevator on the OB floor side-by-side, and I'm still staring down at the printout of her when Matthew presses the button. "I guess I was wrong," he says as we step in.

"Don't sound so upset just because you were wrong," I say. "She's healthy and she's happy, that's all that matters."

He offers me a smile and then kisses the top of my head. "You're right," he says. "I don't know, I guess I just had a really strong feeling it was a boy. Caught me off guard. But yeah, I'm happy it's a girl."

"She," I correct him. "She's a girl."

"Right."

I keep her ultrasound in the front pocket of my lab coat all day and am perfectly aware that I'm subconsciously looking for Jackson around every corner. I don't see him until lunchtime; I catch him just as he's coming out of the attendings' lounge, headed for the OR board.

"Hey," I say, stopping him by gently grabbing his wrist. "Can I talk to you?"

He glances toward the board and then back at me. "Make it quick," he says.

"I just wanted to tell you…" I glance around and see a good number of people milling about - including people that we know. "Um, maybe we could talk in private," I say.

"April, I have patients," he says.

"It'll just take a minute," I say.

He sighs and looks off to the side, probably deciding whether or not this conversation is worth it. "Fine. But I only have a minute." We walk into an empty patient room and shut the door; I even go so far as to pull the blinds. Once we're completely alone, he leans against the wall and shakes his head. "We shouldn't be in here. April, you can't just get me whenever you want me. We haven't spoken in what - a month? This isn't your-"

"She's a girl," I say, and pull the printout from my pocket. I flip it around and hold my arms out straight so he can see it.

He stares at the 4x6 picture for a long time but doesn't make a move to take it out of my hands. When he finally blinks, he meets my eyes and I see that his are shining with an underlying emotion that he won't let show on his face.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asks.

My throat tightens. "I thought you would want to know," I say, and replace the sonogram in my pocket. "I just found out this morning."

"The both of you found out, you mean," he says, his tone turning vehement. "You haven't told him."

"I-"

"No. I was going to ask you, you know? I was going to ask you if you'd told him, but I already know the answer. And the answer is no, you haven't." He clenches his fists at his sides and bends his neck back. "It's been over a month since you said you would. You're 20 weeks pregnant - the baby is big enough to know that it's a girl. And you still haven't told him that it might not be his."

"I'm going to," I insist. "I keep meaning to, and it's just never-"

"I've heard you say that a million times," he says, gritting his teeth. "I don't want to hear it anymore. When you come tell me these types of things while you're still all tied up and happy with him; don't you know how much that hurts me, April?"

I open my mouth to respond, but discover that I don't have anything worth saying.

"I have feelings, too," he says. "I don't want to know that the baby's a girl. I don't want to know anything." His eyes shift down to my belly that's now poking out more than ever before. "You're being a child about this," he says. "You're deliberately not making a choice because you're scared. You're scared of who you're going to hurt. You think you're somehow saving both Matthew and me from getting hurt from this, but you've already hurt both of us. At this point, you're just being selfish, April. You're living in your own world, not thinking of anybody but yourself. But you know what? You're gonna have to deal with this sooner or later. That baby's not gonna wait."

He turns on his heel and puts his hand on the doorknob, making to leave. But before he goes, he looks over his shoulder and stares me dead in the eyes when he says, "Congratulations, by the way. On your baby girl."

When he leaves, I'm left staring at the spot he left empty. My eyes are stinging from the need to cry, and I notice that my hand has found its way to rest over my bump. My mouth is gaping; I feel like I'm in shock over what just happened. I knew that we weren't on the best terms, but I hadn't expected so much rage to come from him.

He was the one who told me that I needed to figure this out. He's told me that twice, and both times I've said I would and then not done it. Instead of telling Matthew the truth, I got back together with him. It wasn't supposed to turn out like that, but I had twisted Jackson's words inside my head and made them work for my situation.

I thought he would want to know that the baby is a girl. At least, I think I thought that. Going over it now, I can see how me telling him that wasn't the best idea. I just rubbed salt in his wound, seemingly on purpose. Because he's right. I was thinking of myself.

I walk out of the patient room and almost run into Halle. "Which way did Jackson just go?" I ask her, looking either direction down the hallway.

"I'd leave him alone, if I were you," she says, eyes down on her binder full of charts. "He's pissed. And he doesn't want to talk to you."

I roll my eyes at her. "I know that. But I need to say something to him."

She looks up from her papers. "I think you should be done saying something," she says, then shakes her head. "You really hurt him, April."

I push past her and hastily wipe a tear from my cheek. "I know that," I say, trying not to let myself cry. "I'm trying to fix this. I just need to talk to him."

"To fix it?" she asks. "I think it's a little late for that."

"Would you stay out of it?" I snap, and pull out my phone to call him. Of course, he doesn't answer. I glance at the OR board and see that he's due in surgery in 15 minutes, which means he's probably already on his way to get scrubbed.

"Damn it," I say under my breath, and set my phone down roughly on the counter of the nurses' station.

"Damn it?" I hear from behind me, and I turn around see Matthew standing there with two paper bags in tow. "What's wrong?" He kisses my cheek. "Brought us lunch. Wanna go eat?"

I take one lasting glance down the hallway, but find it empty. Jackson is gone.

My eyes drift back to Matthew and a vacant smile appears on my lips. "Sure," I say. "I have a few minutes. Let's go."