Something in my chest lurches back and my throat tugs up. I'm going to throw up again. And I do. It smells like paint thinner but tastes like boring. Hisao's offering me a cup of water. I didn't notice him coming in or preparing it. Maybe that's what they teach him in the class when they're teaching me the breathing exercises?
 
"You two doing okay?"
 
"I'm fine. He's fine."
 
Hisao only just started talking to both of us. I've talked to her for a while longer. Maybe before I knew he was there.
I switch between saying him and her so if she can hear me he knows I'm thinking about her. At least half the time. Soon the doctors will use a sonogram and look through my skin at the baby and find out which one he is. It's strange that they made machines that can see that but not more important things.
 
"What's wrong?" he asks.
 
I must be making a strange face. It's heavy and tightened. A sad face. Something in my chest lurches back and my throat tugs up. I'm not throwing up, though.
 
"What if she's like me?"
 
I haven't told Hisao but I've been studying him for years. You could say I'm an expert of Hisao if you wanted.
Right now he's thinking about whether I was thinking about not having arms or not being able to say things right. It's easier to think about what he's thinking about than what I'm thinking about. Even thinking about what he's thinking about what I'm thinking about.
 
His eyes narrow and his mouth widens and turns up at the corners. That's the face he makes when he understands me a little bit.
 
"Then she's like you. That's alright."
 
It he's a little like me and a little like Hisao, it'll be alright.