what now? | outerbanks

• thirty-three •

"Sarah?"
My eyes flutter open at the sound of the familiar, the feeling of light fingers on my cheek accompanying the comforting sound. I wake up to John B's face, his body sitting carefully next to me in bed.
"Hi," I smile, despite the soreness in my stomach and the lingering taste of bile in my mouth.
"Good morning, Princess," he says, kissing my knuckles. "Well, it's technically the afternoon now, but I thought you could use a few extra hours of sleep."
"I feel like I could sleep for the whole rest of the day and still be tired," I groan, pulling the covers over my shoulders.
"I know, and I'm sorry for waking you up, but I have a surprise." He wiggles his eyebrow playfully, eliciting a giggle from my lips.
"A surprise? You don't say," I tease back. I'm excited for whatever it is, but it still takes some convincing to finally get me out of bed, the boy tugging on my arms forcefully until I do so.
He tells me to get dressed and somewhat presentable, and then calls me to the kitchen.
"Here, Sarah. Eat this," Cleo says, sliding a plate in my direction, a single piece of toast lying in the center. Just looking at it makes me queasy, the sick gurgling a juxtaposing theme to the hunger pains I simultaneously experience.
"I can't," I protest, sliding the plate back to the middle of the counter, my lips pursing in disgust.
"Sarah, you have to; you haven't eaten since lunchtime yesterday. I promise it'll make you feel better." There's something so coercive about Cleo and her words, like she could say anything to me, and I'll obey. Childishly, I stick my tongue out before dramatically taking a bite out of the square.
    Noticing the quiet house, I ask, "Where's everyone else?"
    "Pope's out by the dock reading, and I think Kie said her and J were going on a day-date."
    "Speaking of," John B. butts in, "we have somewhere to be. So, grab that plate and let's hop in the van." He grabs my hand, and I hop out of the kitchen barstool before waving goodbye to Cleo and shutting the door behind us.
    "Where are we going?" I ask him impatiently.
    "I told you, it's a surprise," he says, wagging a finger in my face, and I swat it away.
    "I'm sick, you can't tease me."
    "Oh, is that true?"
    The Twinkie rattles down the roads, and the shaking doesn't help with my stomach, but I suppress it and try to focus on other things. I say silent, thankful prayers to JJ who swore it was necessary to get the heater fixed in the van, despite our doubts that it would ever get cold enough to use, because now, the heater is on blast as the cold air blows through the tiny crack in my window.
    John B. drives the path as if he's driven it hundreds of times before, his slick and cool demeanor on full display. We move in the direction of Figure Eight, but turn before we make it to the familiar neighborhoods, the drive now pointing towards a newly developed neighborhood. It's not quite Figure Eight level, but it's many steps up from The Cut, and the houses are pretty pricey.
    Turning into the driveway of a beautiful coastal home, John B. says, "This is it." The yard is vast, leading back into its own private dock, a wide view of the beautiful Outer Banks waters. It's the perfect mix of grand and cozy; the perfect mix of my two lives.
"What is this?" I ask John B, pure confusion running through my veins.
"Well," he starts, getting out of the car and helping me do the same, wrapping an arm around my waist when we're both standing in the driveway. "Last night after you fell asleep, I stayed up for hours scrolling on my laptop for houses. I saw this one listed, and the seller messaged me back right away; said we could come check it out in the morning."
    My mouth falls agape, my eyes blinking rapidly as I try to wrap my mind around his words. "So this is ours?" I question, my voice soaked in shock.
    "Not yet, but if we love it enough, he said we can put a down payment on it as soon as we want."
    "Holy shit!" I exclaim, running up to the front porch. "John B, you're kidding. Look at this!" He walks up next to me and punches a code into the door's lock, the numbers forming correctly with a beep.
The house is warm and soft with its white walls and classic furniture. It's white and calm and beautiful, and I grow emotional as we walk around its floor plan.
I prance around the house eagerly, every new thing making me even more excited. There's extra bedrooms and shiny bathrooms with skylights, and it has the most perfect backyard. A pool and a private dock; what else could you need?
"Sarah, slow down!" John B. says, holding my hand and pulling my body closer to his, slowing my pace. "We have all the time in the world." He stares at me, but my eyes fall on something else: a fancy platter in the kitchen.
I run my finger along its pearled edges, the soft bumps undulating underhand. "My mom had one just like this," I whisper under my breath. "She only let us use it on birthdays."
I think back to my childhood, the few but special years I spent with my mother. She was lively and sweet, and her lullabies are engraved in my mind's music box forever; her voice sings me to sleep every night. She was one for antiques, for family heirlooms and expensive pieces. The platter was one of them.
"It's beautiful," John B. agrees.
"It's a sign," I clarify, the house seemingly perfect. "Baby, we have to buy it."
"Then that's what we'll do."
We finish our roam around the property, and before we even finish our drive back home, John B. is on the phone with the realtor.
"We'll take it," he tells the man on the other side of the phone. I can't hear what the man says, but John B. thanks him at least ten times, and his eyes are full of life when he looks over at me.
"What did we just do?" He breathes out, and we both fall into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of the situation.
"Only us," I joke through giggly breaths, kissing the hand he isn't using to drive.
My smile slowly fades as we drive, though, my mind racked with possibilities, suffering in silence. I'm too scared to bring any of it up to John B, so I keep my mouth shut and watch the sun aglow outside of the window. It's a beautiful day, and I should be celebrating the new step we're all of a sudden taking, but this pit inside of me seems bigger than a new house.
When we get back to the house, John B. tells me to keep this between us, not ready to tell the others yet, and then he makes me eat another piece of toast to get something in my stomach. We lounge on the couch for a little while, our bodies tangled in a sleepy cuddle as we watch our favorite movies. John B. must notice something off in me, because he sits up strangely and looks at me, tilting his head.
"Are you okay?" He asks, trying to analyze my being and pinpoint what's up, unable to put his finger on it.