She ought to be relishing this, she reminded herself. Allison had offered to watch Adam again today so Suzanne could go to her ultrasound appointment and her obstetric appointment—a gynecological double date that culminated in a shopping mall nightcap. A terrible combination, but arguably better than sitting in a sauna watching Nina Strauss sweat her way through hot yoga. Who knew if she would get another chance to Christmas shop? Enjoy, enjoy! she commanded herself, marching into Nordstrom’s boys’ department. She chose three size 6 polo-style shirts in yellow, red, and blue; a little white dress shirt and tie; a blue pullover vest and a pack of socks, then went up to the men’s department, where she bought the same for Grant in men’s large.

She fought a yearning to slip over to the baby department to buy something tiny and soft for the baby. She didn’t want to jinx the pregnancy. She wanted this child. She hadn’t realized how much until she went in for her ultrasound. She’d been nervous driving to the appointment. What if something was wrong with the baby?

Suzanne, lying on her back beside the ultrasound monitor, needing desperately to pee, had held her breath as she saw the image of the baby appear. The baby—a girl!—was perfect. She was so tiny and delicate, with her miniature forehead and nose.

Suzanne’s abdomen suddenly felt heavy. She sat in an armchair by a fern in a brass pot, an area reserved for bored husbands, and listened to the holiday pianist play “Silent Night.”

Dr. Fielding, the obstetrician Allison had recommended, was concerned about Suzanne’s cervix. He’d mentioned it twice now, once a few weeks ago, and again today. He’d had the technician who did the sonogram check its length.

“It’s a little short,” Dr. Fielding said. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“My cervix is fine,” she said to the white ceiling. She was wearing a blue paper gown, feet in cold metal stirrups, a hard position from which to be authoritative. “It never gave me a moment’s trouble during my last pregnancy.”

Dr. Fielding peeled off his gloves and helped her up to a seated position. He had a warm smile, long eyelashes, big brown eyes. He was too good looking, really, to be an obstetrician. She and Allison often discussed his cuteness, how disconcerting it was to be attracted to your obstetrician. Not unpleasant, just disconcerting. They theorized about his sex life. Was sex with his wife more like work than fun for him? Just another vagina after a day of vaginas? Allison was the one who brought it up. She was more deviant than she looked.