“Don’t forget,” she says, waiting until I nod my head before looking away.

  “You know,” I say, sitting down beside her, “she won’t let you down. It’s okay to trust her.”

  “Huh?” She looks up from her phone, feigns surprise, then nods quickly. “Oh, sure.”

  “Addy,” I say, waiting until she looks up again. “She won’t let you down. I promise.”

  Her eyes fill with a deluge of tears. “S-Sure.”

  “She won’t let you down,” I say again, taking her hand in mine.

  She blinks at me as tears slide down her cheeks. “Everyone lets me down.”

  “I won’t…and she won’t,” I say. “She knows how I feel about you.”

  Her fingers curl around mine. “How—how do you feel about me?”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Aa’icagaq, you know how I feel, don’t you?”

  Beep. Beep, beep.

  “Car’s here,” she says, untangling her hand from mine and hopping up. She swipes at her eyes, opening her door before I can do it for her.

  Damn woman, you are slow to trust and hard to comfort…

  I slide into the backseat beside her.

  …but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.

  ***

  “Welcome back, Ms. DeWitt,” says the doctor’s receptionist.

  The waiting room we’re standing is on the fifteenth floor of a modern glass and chrome building and has views for days.

  “Thank you,” says Addison, her voice crisp and no-nonsense. “We have a two o’clock appointment.”

  “Of course. Please take a seat. Dr. Evans will be available in a moment.”

  We sit down in ridiculously plush, oversized chairs that make me feel like we’re in different continents. I sit up as straight as I can to peek over the arm of mine, and I can barely see the top of her auburn head. “You okay?”

  “No,” she says. “Not even a little.”

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Remember what I was telling you about the nuchal fold?” she asks, only her eyes visible over the chair arm.

  “Uh-huh. A thick nuchal fold can be an indicator of Down’s Syndrome.”

  “What if—”

  “Then we’ll love the Orange all the more,” I tell her.

  “Don’t be sweet to me,” she says. “You’ll make me cry.”

  Shit. She’s been strong all day. I don’t want her to break down now. Distract her.

  “Hey! I’ve been meaning to ask…have you thought of any names?”

  “What?”

  “Names,” I say. “We’ve never talked about names.”

  “You choose now to bring this up?” she asks.

  “I’m trying to distract you,” I confess. “I was thinking…how about Elliot? It could work for a boy or a—”

  “No,” she says. “We can’t. He said not to.”

  “He did? When?”

  “To Kieran Flanders. He told Kieran to tell me if I ever had a kid, that I shouldn’t name him or her Elliot. He said it was bad luck.”

  Frustrated that I can’t see her face when she tells me this, I kneel up on the chair cushion and look over the giant-sized armrest to look down at her. “He did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he knew? I mean…somehow? About the baby?”

  She takes a deep, but shuddering, breath and holds it for a second before responding on a whisper: “It’s possible.”

  “Is it?”

  “There’s this thing that…wait a second.” She kicks off her heels and kneels up on her seat too, facing me. “Have you heard of twinsense? Or twintuition?”

  “What do you mean…like, when twins sense each other?”

  She nods, propping her elbows on the armrest. “Yeah. Like…complete each other’s sentences. Sense each other. Feel each other. Even from far away. It’s only anecdotal. I mean, there’s no scientific, concrete evidence to prove it exists, and calling it telepathy sounds insane, but…I can’t explain it, but El and I felt it. Most twins I know have felt it at some point or another…or all the time. We all know it’s a real thing even if we can’t actually prove it.”

  “You think Elliot knew.”

  “I feel like he did. Or that he knew it would happen soon. Or maybe even…”

  “What?”

  “This is going to sound crazy…”

  “Try me.”

  “Well, I had this thought that…that maybe he and the Orange passed each other, you know? Maybe his soul was going to heaven while his or hers was on its way to us.”

  I’m Christian. I believe in souls. I believe that our child had a soul at the moment of conception, so the idea that Elliot and the Orange somehow passed each other? Not so outlandish. It does surprise me, however, that Addison believes it. Because she was raised without much religion or faith, it means that the notion must be born of her love for Elliot, and it touches my heart all the more.

  “I don’t think it sounds crazy at all,” I tell her.

  “You don’t?”

  “Nope. In fact, I think it sounds just about right,” I say. “Are you sure he said not to name the baby Elliot?”

  She nods. “According to Kieran, it was one of the last things he said.”

  “Then how about Ella if it’s a girl? And Ellis if it’s a boy? We can honor his wishes but still, you know, find something that sounds like him?”

  Her eyes fill with tears, but they aren’t heartbroken now; they’re grateful. They’re tender. “I love it.”

  I love you, I think, the thought sliding through my consciousness without fireworks or fanfare. It’s simply a fact. A known entity. An absolute.

  I love her.

  So much.

  “What?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, her eyes scanning mine.

  “Before,” I say, “at the airport…I was about to tell you how I felt—”

  “Miss DeWitt,” calls the receptionist, “the doctor will see you now.”

  Addison reaches up to dry her eyes, then grins at me. “You ready to meet Ella or Ellis?”

  I know she’s scared, but damn, she’s brave. She’s always been brave, and my heart swells with a different sort of love altogether: full of admiration, respect, and awe.

  I stand up and offer her my hand:

  “I’m ready.”

  ***

  Addison

  It’s different this time than last time.

  Last time, it was a shock to discover that I was pregnant, and I was all alone as I processed what the timing meant for me and the health of my baby.

  This time, as I lie on the table with a thin paper gown covering my bare breasts, I’ve grown accustomed to my pregnancy, and I’m no longer alone.

  Gideon stands beside me, holding my hand as Dr. Evans squirts cold gel on my stomach and rubs the ultrasound wand back and forth. And in just a second, we will find out if we’re going to be welcoming Ella or Ellis into our world. Although I am still apprehensive about the health of our baby, the entire experience is more wonderful than terrifying this time, all because of the man who stands beside me.

  He has offered me safety and acceptance, reassurance and kindness. He lights up my whole world with his smile and makes me melt from the touch of his hand. I have no idea what the past six weeks would have looked like without his strong, steady presence in my life, but I realize that I don’t want to be pregnant and alone in Los Angeles while he’s living and working in Valdez. If he must be in Alaska, then I’ll be returning to Alaska too.

  In such a short time, and asking for so little in return, Gideon has offered me sanctuary: a home, a family, love.

  Love.

  Gideon, it occurs to me, is the very personification of love.

  “You doing okay?” he asks me, leaning down to press his lips to my forehead.

  You are love, I want to tell him. You and this baby are my home, my family, my everything.

  Instead I murmur, “Mm-hm. Thank you for being here.”

  “There’s nowhere else in the world I want to be,” he tells me, his ice-blue eyes locked with mine.

  “Hmm. Let’s see here,” says Dr. Evans, staring at a monitor that shows her a picture of my womb and baby.

  “There’s the heartbeat,” she says, holding the wand on my belly as she types something on the keyboard. “It’s good and strong. Want to hear it?”

  “Yes!” Gideon and I say in unison.

  A second later, the wonderful sound of whooshing baby heartbeat fills the room. A smile blooms on Gideon’s face as he stares down at me. “That’s our baby!”

  “I told you it was awesome,” I say as tears slide from the corners of my eyes into my hairline.

  “Wow,” he murmurs, smiling as he shakes his head back and forth with wonder. “Wow, wow, wow.”

  “I love an enthusiastic dad.” Dr. Evans chuckles softly. “Okay. Bear with me a sec. I’m going to take some measurements, and then we’ll find out the sex, okay?”

  Gideon’s grip on my hand tightens as Dr. Evans mutes the sound of the baby’s heartbeat and gets to work.

  “Dr. Evans,” I say. “We’re so nervous…could you let us know…?”

  “Umm. Sure.” She glances at me, then holding the wand for a second as she records a measurement in the computer. “Organs look great so far…placement…size…”

  I inhale sharply and hold my breath, as though that’ll somehow keep the rest of the measurements as normal.

  “Arms and legs are—oh! Good view. Um…do you want to know what you’re having? The gender of your baby?”

  I smile at Gideon, who nods at me.

  “Yes, please.”

  “You are having a… girl.”

  A girl. The Orange is a girl. The Orange is…

  “Ella,” whispers Gideon, squeezing my hand. “Ella-Orange.”

  “Ella-Orange,” I say back to him, laughing through tears. “A daughter.”

  “Our daughter,” he says, leaning down to press his lips gently to mine. “Thank you, Addy.” With his free hand, he reaches up to swipe tears from his cheeks, then does the same to mine. “Thank you for making me a dad.”

  “She has a name, huh?” Dr. Evans pauses the wand again.

  “We just decided,” says Gideon. “In the waiting room.”

  “Well, I approve,” says Dr. Evans. “It’s a good, strong…” Her voice trails off and her eyebrows knit together. “Hmm.”

  “What?” I ask, prickles sliding down my spine. “What do you see?”

  She takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, then lets it go. Squinting, she rolls her chair closer to the monitor and pauses the wand. “Yeah. Huh. Okay.”

  “What? The nuchal fold?” I ask.

  The doctor types something into the keyboard, then puts the ultrasound wand back in its holder and gives me a handful of tissue to wipe off the gel. “Why don’t you get dressed and meet me in my office so we can—”

  I sit up, looking the doctor in the eye and refusing to look away. “Tell me what you saw.”

  Dr. Evans sighs, her face concerned. “We knew that there could be issues.”

  “And there are?”

  She nods. “One for sure.”

  I can barely breathe. I’ve hurt my baby. I’ve hurt my daughter.

  “Your daughter appears to have an orofacial cleft.”

  “A what?” asks Gideon, taking my hand in his and lacing our fingers together.

  “A cleft lip and palate,” says Dr. Evans. “In layman’s terms, she has a split in the roof of her mouth and upper lip. They didn’t fuse correctly.”

  “A harelip?” asks Gideon.

  “We don’t use that terminology, but yes,” says Dr. Evans.

  “Because I was drinking,” I whisper, the devastation of this development hitting me squarely in the chest and knocking the wind from my lungs.

  “It’s the sort of thing we can sometimes detect early in a pregnancy,” Dr. Evans says. “I know this news is upsetting, but with surgery, normal function and appearance can be restor—”

  “A series of surgeries?” I repeat. “On our baby?”

  Dr. Evans nods. “Cleft lip repair generally happens at three to six months, cleft palate repair before baby reaches a year old, and cosmetic repairs as necessary throughout childhood.”

  My shoulders start to shake as I process this information. My eyes burn with tears. My baby will be born with a cleft lip and palate because I was drinking so much. And now she will have to suffer through multiple—at least three—surgeries to try to fix what I did to her.

  What I did to her.

  What kind of terrible mother hurts her baby before she’s born?

  Gideon squeezes my hand, leaning down to whisper, “Hey. Hey. Come on. You’d never hurt her on purpose, Addy. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, I promise…”

  “The good news is that I can point you toward a pediatrician to help you navigate the special treatment that your daughter will require,” Dr. Evans tells us.

  “Are you positive?” asks Gideon. “About the cleft?”

  “Yes. The orofacial cleft is a certainty,” the doctor clarifies. “But that said, everything else looked fine.”

  “Her lungs are okay?” asks Gideon. “Her heart? Her brain?”

  Dr. Evans nods. “Everything else appears to be developing normally, yes.”

  Gideon looks down at me and somehow—I’m not entirely sure how, because the news about Ella’s cleft is too heartbreaking—he smiles at me like I’m still the most beautiful, amazing, cherished woman who ever lived.

  “You hear that?” he says, his eyes soft and tender as they lock on mine. “Everything else is okay. It’s going to be okay, Addy.”

  I sniffle softly, searching his face for recrimination and finding nothing but love.

  And in that moment, I know with absolute certainty it’s not just that Gideon is love, it’s that I’m in love with Gideon. I love him, and without him, this would be unbearable.

  Yet somehow, with him standing tall and proud beside me, it’s not just bearable, it’s good. It’s going to be okay. We’re already in love with Ella-Orange. Whatever curveballs come our way, we’ll bat at them together. And as awful as it is that our daughter will be born with a deformity, he’s right: it will be okay. We’ll fix this. Somehow, we’ll make it okay for her.

  “Well, I guess that’s it for today.” The doctor stands up from her seat. “I’ll need to see you every six weeks until you deliver, Addison.”

  “Then I’m going to need a referral,” I tell her, still looking up at Gideon. “Because I plan to have my baby in Alaska.”

  He gasps, his fingers tightening around mine. “Wait…what?”

  “I can’t do this without you,” I say.

  “You’ll move in with me?” he asks.

  “No,” I tell him.

  “Addy—”

  “I’m going to give you two a minute,” says Dr. Evans. “Stop by my office on your way out, Addison. I went to school with someone who practices in Anchorage. I’ll give him a call and tell him to expect to hear from you. He can point you in the right direction for a good pediatrician too.” She takes a printout from the computer and attaches it to a clipboard. “Good luck to you. And Addison, I probably shouldn’t say this, but…it could’ve been worse. Far worse. I know that an orofacial cleft isn’t what you wanted for your child, but it’s fixable. In the scheme of things, she lucked out.” She glances at Gideon before grinning at me. “And I think you did too.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking a deep breath as the door closes behind her.

  It could have been worse.

  It’s fixable.

  It’s going to be okay.

  The words circle in my head as I lean back to wipe the gel from my belly, finally looking up at Gideon as I swing my legs over the side of the padded seat. I’m surprised to find his face frustrated and hurt.

  “Why won’t you move in with me?”

  My shoulders slump. I need to tell him the truth.

  “Because I don’t want to lead you on,” I say.

  “Lead me on?” he asks, recoiling slightly, his face twisting into a grimace. “I thought…I mean, I know we’re concentrating on being parents first, but I thought there was something between us.”

  “There is!” I say, realizing our misunderstanding and anxious to reassure him. “I didn’t mean it that way. There is something between us.” I tilt my head to the side, hoping that he’ll take my news with aplomb. “I only meant that I’m not planning to stay in Valdez. I’ve decided that I can live in Alaska, but not in Valdez.”

  “Oh, really? Where are you planning to go?”

  “Anchorage.”

  “Anchorage,” he repeats.

  I nod. “Mm-hm. I’m going to move there. Permanently.”

  “Why would you—I mean…what are you talking about? You’ve never even been to Anchorage.”

  “It’s the biggest city in Alaska,” I say matter-of-factly, “but only a five-and-a-half-hour drive from Valdez or forty-five minutes by helicopter. The best doctors in the state will be in Anchorage. The best hospital. The best real estate. I can sit for the bar exam in February and find a decent job there. Alaska wasn’t my first choice, but I want to try to make a life for myself there. For me and Ella.”

  “For you and Ella,” he repeats, his lips thin, his nostrils flaring.

  And you! I want to cry, but I can’t ask him to leave Valdez. It isn’t fair. We’re not married. Technically, we’re not even a couple. And even though I love him—or maybe because I love him—I can’t pressure him to leave his home. If he wants to join me in Anchorage, the idea needs to come from inside of him or not at all.

  I gulp. “Mm-hm.”

  “You’re moving to Anchorage.”

  I nod at him, hopping off the table and going into the small, adjacent changing room. I pull the curtain closed and put my bra on, listening to him pace on the other side of the curtain.

  “So that’s it. No discussion. You’re moving up to Anchorage. When?”

  I need to sell my apartment in LA and wrap up some loose ends with bank accounts and other remnants of my life in California.

  “I’d like to find a place and be moved in by the end of the summer.”

  “By the end of—this is insane, Addison. You might not even like it there!”