December
CAMDEN KENT
Laying on my side, with a feather pillow stuffed under my belly and another resting between my knees, I studied Harry's bare back through frustrating watering eyes.
I was trying to stay as quiet as possible so that I wouldn't disturb him after a long night of getting the nursery ready, but holding back the sobs I wanted to let out was starting to give me a migraine.
The tears came from a lot of places inside my brain. I was so physically uncomfortable at this point that sleeping was nearly as impossible as it was just getting around. I was tired of feeling so heavy and huge. I wanted the baby to come out, but at the same time, it made me sad to think of myself not being pregnant with her anymore.
More selfishly, it made me upset to think that Harry and I barely spent a year together, just the two of us. We never got to travel more, we didn't get to do more adventurous young couple things, and who the fuck knows when we'd ever go to the pubs again.
Most likely, we'd never have any more irresponsible nights of getting wasted and stumbling home together to have uncoordinated drunk sex, and we wouldn't be getting high on our bedroom floor with The Beatles playing in the background. I found myself wishing we would have done all of that more often, and now it was too late.
"Harry?" I sniffled, poking at his spine between his shoulder blades.
Usually, it would have taken a lot more to get a reaction from him, but on impact, he inhaled a sharp breath and lifted his head to glance around our mostly dark bedroom. I wasn't sure what time it was, but the sun definitely had yet to rise.
"What's wrong?" He breathed as he turned to see me, the words barely coherent with his thicker accent and hoarse voice.
"I'm sad," I whispered, blinking a fresh round of tears to slide across the bridge of my nose, adding to the cold wet spot on my pillow where the others landed.
"Why?" He squinted through a frown, sweeping his thumb from my temple to my hairline.
"Because we're never gonna do drugs again," I covered my mouth to cry without being too loud.
Of course, he started to laugh quietly as he scooted as close as he could manage to get to me with the pillow barriers, stamping his lips to my forehead. "I'm sure we probably could as long as we have a great babysitter."
That made me cry harder against his chest. "No, because then–then we'll be terrible parents. We'll have to be sober for the rest of our lives, and I don't want that. Isn't that awful of me?"
"It's not awful," he mumbled, scratching his fingers through my hair. "But parents really do have nights out. Gem would be happy to watch her for us."
I sniffled with bated breaths, not having considered Gemma as a potential babysitter with how close she lived and all. One hundred percent, I would trust our baby's life with her. "But we never had sex in your car."
When he laughed again, I knew it was because those two things were completely unrelated. In my jumbled thoughts of missed opportunities, it made sense. "I can still fuck you in my car whenever you want."
My deep pout remained as he pushed my hair back and adjusted his head on his pillow to see me better. "Has this been awful for you? You haven't had sex in, like, five months. I mean...you haven't...right?"
Before he could even answer, his tired eyes growing wider, I started to cry all over again. "Camden, no," he scoffed, "of course I haven't."
"I think I want a chestnut praline latte from Starbucks," I sobbed and completely ignored him, holding my hand over my eyes.
