"What other factors?"
"You have a history of premature labor, and…"
"What other factors are you talking about?"
"Something that I didn't catch during our first appointment."
"Like what?"
"You had placenta previa with Harmon, right?"
Her nostrils flare, "What other factors? Just tell me! Stop avoiding the question."
"It is only going to increase your burden, and make your decision even more difficult to make."
"What are you talking about?
He points to another area on the screen. She squints trying to make out what he's showing her. He moves the probe, and it becomes much clearer. She swallows hard.
"What is that?"
"B."
"B? What do you mean B? There should be no option B."
"Baby B."
"Excuse me?!"
"It looks as if you're carrying twins."
"Twins?" She furrows her brow.
"Indeed."
She feels her blood pressure rising, "You're sure?"
"Yes."
"There is a second baby?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
He shrugs, "It doesn't seem cooperative in revealing that. We can find out for certainty in a few weeks at your anatomy scan."
"You have got to be kidding me. There is no way that this is even remotely possible."
"There are options."
She cocks an eyebrow, "Options? What options?"
"You could reduce the number. It's called selective reduction. Of course there is risk associated with that. Hemorrhage, miscarriage of the other fetus, sepsis, death. I usually only recommend it for higher multiple pregnancies, but due to your age you would be a candidate."
"You are suggesting that I choose to abort a fetus, and keep the other one? To what end?"
"It increases odds for…"
She shakes her head, and cuts him off, "I don't care what odds it increases. Did you not just tell me that it would increase risk of miscarriage, hemorrhage, sepsis, and death?"
"Yes," he confirms.
"You have to be out of your mind if you think that I would choose one of them over the other."
"It is just an option."
"It's not an option for me," she argues.
Tony's eyes widen. He stares into her honey colored orbs trying to comprehend what he's just told her.
"What are you saying?"
"There is more than one," she admits.
"There are two of them?"
"Yes," she reveals.
"And they're certain of that?"
"I saw both of them. I heard both of their heartbeats."
"No wonder you're in denial."
"I don't even know how to fathom having another child at this point in my life. I don't know how I am going to fit another person into my life, let alone two."
"You're scared," he realizes.
She simply nods.
"Why?"
"Everything he said was true. I am too old."
"You are not that old."
"In the pregnancy world it is considered a geriatric pregnancy."
"So, what? You're healthy."
"Harmon was born five weeks early."
"That was probably a fluke."
"Twins already have increased likelihood of being born prematurely."
"Everything will work out."
"You don't know that."
"Why are you so scared?"
She shrugs.
"Are you scared that something will happen, or that nothing will happen?"
"There is something else that you should know."
She stands in her kitchen, loading her fridge full of Tupperware containers. She is dressed in her uniform. Reed hangs from her hip. Harmon races Matchbox cars through the kitchen. She closes the fridge, and places Reed on the counter. She hears the sliding glass door open, but she doesn't flinch. She hears footsteps, but she doesn't deviate from the task at hand.
Harriett appears in the kitchen, wearing street clothes. She reaches for the one year old sitting on the kitchen island. She stands staring at her friend, in silence.
Sarah looks beyond exhausted. There are heavy dark circles underneath her eyes. Her face is red from the buckets of tears she's cried in the last week. Just earlier today she laid her husband to rest. It's Harmon's second birthday. There are no festivities, only feelings of immense sadness. Mac looks sallow. It has only been a couple of days since Bud dragged her from a bar, kicking and screaming. Harriett doesn't consider asking Sarah if she's okay, knowing that she is not.
"Do you want me to take the boys for a little while?"
"No, I need to bake a cake."
"I can make a cake."
"I don't feel much like celebrating, but he shouldn't get shafted because of it," Mac insists casting her gaze downward, at Harmon who crawls around at her feet.
"We could always wait until next week to have cake, and ice cream for him. He'll never know the difference."
"I'll know the difference."
"I think that he will understand."
"I don't know if I ever will," she admits.
"We could just go buy him a cake. You can come over, and it will be low key. I know that you really don't want to be bothered with another crowd of people."
"I never thought that they were going to leave. I appreciate all of the support, and I have enough casserole to last for the next year, but I just want to be alone."
"Do you want me to take the boys?"
"No. I didn't mean it like that. Alone, here, with them."
"I'll go."
"You don't have to go. I didn't mean you."
"I know that it seems like you're never going to get through this, but you will."
"How? I don't know if I can do this on my own."
"You're not alone."
Mac swallows hard.
"Mac?"
"I'm fine," she lies.
Harriett eyes her suspiciously, "Are you sick?"
"Nothing that won't pass," she insists.