what now? | outerbanks

• forty-five •

/THREE WEEKS LATER/

Sarah

    I stare at the name on my phone for a few seconds and then press it, waiting for the phone to ring. It rings a few times, and then a chipper voice cuts through the line.
    "What's up, preggers?" Sofia asks playfully, and I laugh at the silly nickname. Over the past few weeks, she's grown increasingly excited about all of it.
    "It's kind of embarrassing, but my clothes are starting to get tighter and tighter. And I can't just keep pretending that I enjoy wearing John B's clothes, so I really need to go shopping."
"So you're just asking me to take you shopping?"
I pause, biting my lip. "If that's okay with you," I weasel out.
"I'll be there in twenty," she gasps excitedly, and the phone hangs up before I can even respond. I walk over to the full-length mirror, lifting the oversized shirt I'm wearing and running a hand over the defined bump my belly has now become. Laughing at myself, I remember previous weeks when I'd stress over how fat I thought I looked. That was nothing compared to how I look now, and the scary thing is, I'm only growing bigger.
The truth is, although I was self-conscious about it in the beginning, I've never felt more beautiful and feminine. Standing here, looking at myself and knowing I'm cradling a life, something my body was made to do, I feel impossibly purposeful.
"Hi, baby," I whisper down to my belly. We're planning to leave for Jamaica in the next week or so, should time allow, so we've been doing plenty of final packing and planning. However, ever since my appointment, the others have hardly let me lift a finger. So, in all of my free time, all I've had to do is sit with myself and my baby, growing my love for them. "Mama loves you."
    I put together an outfit with the clothes that do fit, and I wait impatiently for Sofia to arrive. My leg shakes underneath me as I sit on the edge of the sofa, praying she doesn't notice anything off about me. She thinks that this is just a shopping trip, just a regular day, but I know something she doesn't—I know there's a surprise waiting for her at the end of the day.
    Some minutes later, Sofia pulls up in her car, and I slip out the door, calling goodbye to John B. as I leave.
    "Hey, Sar!" she chimes as I enter the car. I hug her, squeezing her extra tight in my gratefulness.
    "Thank you so much for doing this," I say, a small smile on my lips. "It means a lot, Sof."
    "Well, don't thank me." She giggles to herself, rummaging through her purse, and then dramatically holds up Rafe's American Express card.
    "You did not!" I exclaim, clutching her hands.
    "Look, Rafe was pretty enthusiastic when I asked if he'd buy me something. He probably won't even notice," she says, rolling her eyes, a smile plastered to her lips.
"Not arguing to that!"
Sofia drives to the mall, and immediately something of calmness washes over me. Her every move, every word is nurturing and maternal—it's nice to have someone like that for once, instead of being that person for everyone else.
"I just don't know if I'm ready, you know? How do I know I can actually do this?"
"First, Sarah, your body was literally made for this—you don't have to know how to do it. Second, you're going to be a natural; you're the only one who can't see it." She smiles naturally through her words, and though she keeps her eyes trained on the road, I watch as her eyelashes flutter at each passing car.
    Walking into the mall, I rub a warm hand over my belly. Each time I do it, I'm shocked—shocked at how natural it feels, how much I could love someone I've never met.
    The first few stores are a wash, nothing even making it to a dressing room, but now, at the third store, Sofia is waiting outside of a curtain. I stand in the mirror, the fluorescent lights doing close to nothing for my complexion, and I frown at my appearance. It's not that I look bad, necessarily, but the dress I'm trying on is frumpy and loose. It's not me.
    "Come on, Sarah. Just let me see," Sofia calls from outside of the room.
    "It's not cute," I tell her, already wanting to rip the fabric from my skin. I look like an alien.
"I'll be the judge of that," she says, exasperated. "I won't lie to you."
With a shaky sigh, I slide back the curtain, standing in front of the tanned girl. I smooth my hands over the fabric of the dress as if it'll somehow make it sit nicer on my body. Surprise, it doesn't! Sofia's face twists immediately.
"Yeah, no. That's awful," she snorts.
"Right," I groan, turning back to look in the mirror. The material hangs in all the wrong places. My body is changing—my waist softening and my stomach rounding into an undeniable bump. The clothes I love don't fit, but everything maternity screams not me.
"Okay. Take it off. Burn it. We're finding something else." Her words are final, and she lightly pushes me back into the room, pulling the curtain closed behind me.
I fake gag as I get undressed, muttering, "Believe me—I would burn it if I could." I peel the sticky fabric off of my body, and as I reach down to grab my clothes, my stomach presses firm against my thighs. Weird. I try again, this time at a different angle, trying to avoid the obstacle I didn't know was there.
Before getting dressed again, I pause, observing my bare body in the mirror. I guess I didn't realize how big I'm actually getting. My body feels foreign. Too big and too small all at once. But then, my hands settle at the pinnacle of my belly, warm and steady, and all of the panic ebbs.
    "Alright, Mama, let's get you to a new store," Sofia demands as we dodge between cries of teenagers and parents with strollers.
    "I'm not a mom yet," I tell her, my eyes wide.
    "You are," she corrects, her voice pressing, though still soft. "You just haven't met them yet." Her words strike me, and I can tell they're going to be on my mind for a while.
Almost an hour later, we're finally in a store where maternity doesn't automatically mean potato sack. The clothes are colorful and fun, and I can actually imagine myself wearing some of them. Without asking, Sofia loads her arms with clothes and then pushes me into a fitting room with them.
"Oh my God, you look so cute," she gapes at one of the dresses I try on. "You're making me want to be pregnant."
"Be careful what you wish for," I say with a pained laugh, rubbing at the sore spot on my back.
We end up leaving the store with armfuls of bags, the shopping finally successful. On our way to the exit, we pass an ice cream shop, and I give Sofia a silently pleading look.
"Pit stop?"
"Anything for you, Cameron. Go sit; I'll get what you like."
"No, that's fine. I'll just wait with you," I tell her. She shoots me a warning glare.
"Sarah, you've been walking a lot today. You know you should rest." She's so hard to talk back to, but I try my best anyway.
"I'm fine," I start, but I decide not to continue when her face changes into that of a mother.
"Maybe you feel fine now, but one day you won't; okay? So all I'm asking is that you get off your feet for a little while," she states. It's not a question, not a suggestion, but a demand. And not even demanding in a rude way—she's just undoubtedly maternal.
I obey without another word, finding an empty table and lowering myself into the seat. I ease right in, realizing instantly how sore and exhausted my body truly is. I watch as moms walk through the crowds with their daughters' hands in theirs. It's something I've been thinking about for a while: my baby's gender.
People always say they don't care what their baby is, that it'll be the same either way. And, although I know I'd love them just as much, and it wouldn't change how I cared for them, it isn't no big deal for me. My entire life, I've imagined myself with a baby girl. A life of pigtails and baby bikinis and tiny gold seashell jewelry. And somehow, deep down, I know I'll get it.
"Cookies and cream," Sofia says, breaking through my thoughts and placing a cardboard bowl in front of me. "Your favorite."
"Oh, why thank you!" We sit there a minute or two, enjoying the beginnings of our ice cream, but I can tell Sofia wants to say something—the way her mouth keeps just barely opening to speak and then swallowing it all back down.
"So," she starts with an uneasy breath. I raise my brows at her, like I'm nervous for what she has to say. "No, no. It's not bad. I promise. It's just, um, Rafe and I have been thinking a lot about Wheezie."
"What about her?" I ask suspiciously.
"Well, she's growing into a real teenager, and we think she deserves to live in her own house, you know? Not that she's voiced anything about living with my parents, but Tanneyhill is just as much hers as it is Rafe's. We want to ask her if she wants to move back in." The silence afterward stretches farther than I wish it would.
"Oh."
"I mean, she's over all the time anyway, and Rafe's really been working on himself and his influence. I think it'll be good," she says, nodding her head with hopeful eyes.
"That's—that's big," I choke out, setting my spoon down into my ice cream and trying my best to process the information.
    "I know, and I would never jump in on anything like this without your permission. You know, she—she's your little sister, and I really have no place in this, but—"
    "Sofia," I cut in, stopping her rant. "I think it's a great idea." Instantly, her chest falls with relief.
"Oh, good," she sighs, placing a hand to her chest. "I was scared you'd kill me."
"Please, I'm not that bad."
"Sarah, I've been avoiding telling you for weeks," she laughs, a shocked look on her face. I scoff back in offense.
"What?!"
"These hormones, girl—I think we're all scared of you sometimes," she admits, and we both fall into a fit of laughter.
"Okay, fine. Maybe I am a little harsh every once in a while, but it's really not my fault!" I exclaim, gesturing towards my belly.
    We finish up our ice cream, figuring out some logistics with Wheezie moving into Tanneyhill, and then we make our way out of the mall. Settled in the car, Sofia starts driving me home.
    "You know what," I start, crossing my legs, "you can actually just drive me to Tanneyhill. I'll get John B. to pick me up from there."
    "Are you sure?" She asks, not wanting to put me in any sort of inconvenience.
    "It's fine, really. The new house is totally out of the way, and I have to pee, so the sooner we can stop, the better." She laughs at me but agrees, changing her route.
    When we get to Tanneyhill, John B's car is already in the driveway. Perfect. The plan is already coming to fruition. Sofia opens the front door for us, and we find Rafe and John B. chatting over the kitchen island, a beer in each of their hands.
    "Hi, boys," Sofia hums, setting my shopping bags down in the coat room. She insisted that she carry them and not me, which I rolled my eyes at but eventually surrendered to.
    Rafe pulls her into a hug, but I don't linger on it for too long as John B. walks up to me, sliding his hands around my waist. "Hi, baby," he coos, kissing my forehead. "How was your day?"
    "It was lovely, honey." I smile, standing on my tippy toes to kiss his lips. "Are you excited for tonight?"
"Very," he says. "But I'm glad you're finally here; Rafe's anxiety was about to make me anxious. And John Booker Routledge does not get anxious."
Rafe's voice cuts through our embrace. "Hey, guys, why don't you stay over for dinner?" He asks politely, although Sofia is the only one who doesn't know that this is all planned.
"That sounds great, Rafe. Thank you!"
"Yeah, no problem. I had some stuff catered earlier this morning—just need to pop it in the oven to warm it up," he says, rummaging through the fridge.
About an hour later, the four of us are sitting around the smaller of Tanneyhill's many dining tables. John B. has one hand laid comfortably on my thigh, and Rafe's arm is hung naturally around Sofia's shoulder.
"I can't believe you haven't found out the gender yet," Sofia gushes, a smile across her face. "I'd have peeked the second I got that envelope!"
"Well, I gave it to Kiara before we even left the room, and she hasn't let me see it since. She's been guarding that thing like her life depends on it," I laugh, wiping the corners of my mouth with the white cloth napkin Sofia set the table with.
I see Rafe's shoulders tense ever so slightly at the mention of Kie, but he kisses Sofia's temple and washes any of his worries away. There's a lull in the conversation here in between silverware scrapes and small sips from glasses. The perfect opening.
"Can I say something?" Rafe asks.
"Of course, Rafe," Sofia hums lovingly from beside him. He clears his throat, running his finger back and forth against the rim of his glass.
"I've been thinking about this a lot lately," he says, looking her directly in the eye. She doesn't know what's happening yet, but I can tell that something in his tone makes her sit up a little straighter.
Already, I can feel tears behind my eyes, and I do my best to keep them there, not wanting to spoil anything. Fuck hormones.
"Every day, you amaze me, and every day, I understand more and more why I chose you." He holds her hands in his, and her breath hitches. Suddenly, he stands from his chair and kneels next to her.
"Amor," she whispers under her breath, slowly putting the pieces together.
    "I know I haven't always been easy to love, and I know we've had our moments—but I'd do it all over again if it meant I'd end up with you. You're my peace, Sof, my refuge. Seeing you with Wheezie and Sarah, I just, I couldn't love you any more than I do." He brings her hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. My eyes brim with tears. "So, I'm asking you right here, right now: will you marry me?"
    Sofia just about leaps out of her chair at the question, pulling Rafe into her arms and kissing him deeply. "Of course, of course, of course," she breathes out between kisses. Tears run down her face, but she laughs through them, her smile bigger than I've ever seen it. She turns to me, a finger pointed.
    "You knew!" She accuses, a smirk taking over her face. "This is why you asked me to go shopping!"
    I grin and shrug my shoulders. "Had to get you out of the house somehow. But, I really did need clothes too," I tell her.
    "It's true. She's already messed up at least half of my shirts," John B. adds, to which I lightly slap his shoulder. I stand up, walking around the table to hug the couple.
    "Ugh, I am so happy for you, Sof. You're going to be a beautiful bride," I mutter into her hair, a few stray tears finding their way as well. I hold her hand dearly, observing the ring I've only been able to see a few times in my life. It puts a strange feeling in my stomach, thinking about how it once belonged to my mom. I hope she's glad to see it out to use again.
    I move to hug Rafe, my arms hugging him tight. I feel small in his arms, waves of fragility reminding me of what they've done to me in the past. But, tonight especially, his growth is undeniable.
    "I'm so proud of you," I whisper. He doesn't respond, but I know he hears me, his grip tightening just enough to show his acknowledgment. And it's true. More than anything, I'm simply just proud.

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ahhhh! how exciting!
and even more exciting—next chapter is gender reveal!

vote and comment like always 💕🌟