Knocked Up(26)

Whatever the nurse said, Luke didn't hear, but then Tawny shut the door and faced him again, her cheeks still chalky.

"We should get out of here," she said.

"Please, will you tell me what's wrong?"

She glanced toward the floor, shaking her head again like he was a toddler who couldn't understand the vast adult responsibility on her shoulders. And, in some ways, he couldn't say he blamed her for feeling that way. He was still feeling totally blindsided.

"I just want to understand," he tried again, and maybe it was the faint edge of pleading in his voice that made her look up at him again.

"I've been pretty emotional lately, that's all." She lifted her hands and he spotted a small square piece of paper between her finger and thumb. Silently, she held the paper out to him.

For a moment, he didn't realize what it was. It was stupid, he knew that, but it was almost as if his mind refused to process the swirl of white and black as a photo. But then, all at once, it clicked into place. He could make out the little outline of something, the tiny little shape that was his baby.

Their baby.

He looked up at her, his mouth agape, and for the first time, she offered him something that might have been a smile.

Glancing down at the picture again, everything seemed to make sense. He could understand why she was crying, why she looked as though the weight of the world was resting on her shoulders. The reality of this person, this baby, was too overwhelming to put into words.

This was going to happen. He was going to be a father.

Working past the sudden tightness in his throat, he said, "You're right, we should get out of here. I'll walk you out."

Reluctantly, he handed the photo back to her and they made their way past the nurses' desk. The nurse he rushed past gave him a scowl but didn’t say anything as they walked through the rotating glass doors into the parking lot.

The whole way to her car, they didn’t speak a word to each other, and even if he'd had the nerve to talk, he wasn't sure what he'd say. He was too busy trying to come to grips with reality.

Then they were standing beside her sedan and she was sliding the key into the driver's side door.

"Well, I..." she started, but when her eyes met his whatever she'd wanted to say fell away.

"You're okay? To, to drive, I mean?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine." She nodded. Then, when he didn't move, she added, "I'll think about what you said, okay?"

He nodded, then closed her door and watched as she pulled out and onto the street, disappearing from his view. For the next few minutes, he stood there, the image of that ultrasound practically burned in his mind. Then, slowly, he made his way to his truck and blared the radio, hoping to distract himself from the thousand-pound weight sitting on his chest and making it nearly impossible for him to breathe. This morning, he'd been on a mission to find the girl he couldn't get off his mind and now...

Now his whole life had changed.

Was this how his parents had felt when their first adoption had been approved? One day they'd simply been Barb and Jim, and then the next they were someone's mother and father?

In the back of his mind, he could still picture his bike shop and the little apartment above it. The one that was so close, he could almost touch it. Rex would have come over on weekends and he would have been able to bring home big, extravagant gifts for the kids on Christmas and birthdays. New clothes for them, straight off the rack instead of from some consignment shop. He'd have been able to give his mother a diamond bracelet and get his father that new guitar he’d always talked about getting...

There wasn't room for a crib in that dream. There was no bathtub for the baby in the apartment, even if he could convince Tawny to move to the city. There wasn't another bedroom for a baby's toys. Not enough money to help his family and for doctor's visits and diapers and, one day, a college education for his own kid.

Was this what had happened to his parents, too?

Had they thought, before the first baby came, that his father would still be able to live his dream of being a studio musician most of the year? That he'd be able to play in some traveling bands, seeing the world the rest of the time instead of only breaking out his guitar around the campfire in their meager backyard camping vacations?

And his mother...

He thought of the lines around her face, the roughness of her hands, the way she drank her tea every Sunday morning as she sat at the kitchen table and clipped coupons from four different newspapers just to ensure they could afford groceries for the week. That was, of course, when she managed to carve out enough time to sit down at all between chasing after all the kids intent on running her ragged.

But despite everything, despite the fact that his parents worked themselves to the bone, they kept letting new kids into their house, kept giving and giving until they had nothing of their own. That was the one thing he'd never been able to understand. Why hadn't they stopped at helping one child? Maybe even two?