what now? | outerbanks

• sixty •

/A FEW DAYS LATER/

Sarah

    I wake up to the sound of dishes clinking and the faint scent of something sweet drifting through the house. I roll over, my hands finding John B.'s side of the bed empty. I open my eyes but shut them just as quickly when I'm met with bright, early-morning sunlight peeking through the curtains. It's still super early, which I can tell by how warm and pink the light still is.
    I'm still groggy, still half-lost in the heavy haze of sleep, when I feel a weight shift on the bed beside me. There's a sharp poke against my stomach, and then another, this time to my belly.
    I groan, swatting away at the hand. "Not ready yet."
    "Sarah," the voice whines, and I startle awake when it's a high-pitched, girly voice rather than John B.'s. "Ugh, finally. Do you know how boring it is to sit around waiting for someone to wake up? We've been waiting for, like, an hour."
    "An hour?" I ask, rubbing at my tired eyes. "Who's we? What's going on?"
    "Sofia and I got here right before John B. left so we could make you breakfast. You know, give you a little break." She kicks her shoes off and sticks her feet through the bottom end of my covers. "But you just kept sleeping. And now you're grouchy."
    I blink at her, trying to comprehend everything while simultaneously trying to seem less annoyed. "You could've not woken me up."
    "Yeah, but then you'd still be sleeping, and where's the fun in that?" She props herself up on one elbow, grinning at me. "Anyway, I was just thinking—you know how everyone says high school boys are so different from middle school boys? Like, more mature and whatever?" She waves a hand dismissively. "It's a lie. They're just taller and slightly better at lying."
    "Rough morning in Wheezie-land?" I smirk, sitting up against the headboard and turning on the lamp on my nightstand. Cleo bought the matching pair for us when we first bought the house, but I'm never awake when it's dark outside, so I don't put them to as much use as I'd like.
    "Ugh. You have no idea." She rolls her eyes, tossing back her hair with a dramatic sigh. "There's this guy in my English class, right? Alex. He's funny and kinda cute, but, like, in a stupid way. You know, like a golden retriever, or John B., I guess. But then I found out he asked Emma to homecoming and said she was his first choice, but if she said no, he was gonna ask me. Like, excuse me? I am not a backup plan."
    I make a face, totally invested in her teenage drama. "Yeah, no. You're definitely not."
    "Right?!" Wheezie huffs, crossing her arms. "I told him I'd rather stay home and do math homework."
    I laugh, reaching over to squeeze her arm. "Proud of you."
    She beams. "Thanks. Anyway, enough about me—how are you feeling? You look less like you wanna die, so that's a good sign."
    "Yeah, I'm okay," I say, stretching. "Still tired, but what's new?"
    Before Wheezie can respond, there's a soft knock at the door. "Hey, Wheeze?" Sofia calls, her delicate tan frame leaning in the doorway. "Think you can go add some final touches to breakfast? I have to talk to Sarah for a sec."
    Wheezie groans but pushes herself off the bed. "Fine, but if I burn anything, it's not my fault."
    My mind spirals for a second. Why does Sofia have to talk to me? Is something wrong? Did something happen with Rafe? It's not long before I calm down though, my heart instantly settling as Sofia sits halfway onto the edge of the bed and warms my hands in hers. Her smile glows, though small and meek, and her eyes ponder my face with deliberate intention.
    Carefully, she says, "John B. told me about the nightmares." She approaches the topic slowly, like she doesn't want to rush through anything. "And how scared you've been."
I'm embarrassed all of a sudden, imagining John B. calling Sofia with concerns. Does he think I'm a risk? Do I worry him? Then, I'm also embarrassed by how much I worry myself. I can't go a day without thinking about my mom and what happened to her. I'm her daughter and the spitting image of her—it wouldn't be shocking if the same thing happened to me.
I swallow, looking down at how my fingers wrap around the edge of my thin blanket. "It's just—I can't stop thinking about her and how she didn't make it. What if I don't, either?" My voice cracks slightly, and I take a shaky breath. "What if I end up like her?"
Sofia reaches over and brushes her fingers through a tangle in my morning hair. "You're not her, Sarah," she reminds me firmly. "I get why you're scared. It's valid, but you're doing everything right. You have a good doctor, you have people who love you, and you're strong—stronger than you think."
I nod slowly, but the fear still lingers.
"And hey," Sofia adds with a small smile, nudging my shoulder, "if you need to talk about it—about any of it—I'm here. Maybe I'm not an expert on pregnancy, but I am an expert on overthinking things to the point of exhaustion; and everyone can use a big sister sometimes."
I let out a soft laugh, and she squeezes my hand again before her expression turns a little more serious. There's more? "Also," she starts, "I know about what happened with Rafe."
I sigh an exhausted sigh, running a hand through my hair. "It's really not a big deal," I lie, despite the pain I still feel from his words.
She tilts her head, raising one brow like she doesn't believe me. "Sarah, don't pretend like you don't care. It's good to care."
"Fine," I huff. "He's so mad that I told Wheezie, but it's not like he was planning on telling her! If it were up to him, he probably would have kept the secret forever. He thinks it's all up to him."
Sofia nods, and it reminds me of the therapist Rose made me go to in seventh grade when she thought I was bullying another girl in my grade. I mean, I was—kind of—but I don't think the therapist was necessary.
"And what do you think?" she asks.
"I think she deserved to know."
"Then you did the right thing. You're allowed to feel things, and you're allowed to process things differently than him. You know, maybe he would have waited to tell Wheezie, but you're her big sister—that's an unbeatable bond. If you think it was the right thing to do, I trust you wholeheartedly." She shrugs. "Plus, Rafe gets all wound up about anything he can't control. It's, like, his default setting. You can't let him get to you. Trust me, it's so not worth it."
I laugh lightly. "You sure you want to marry him?"
"It's not always easy," she jokes, grinning, "but it's a work in progress, and I love him."
"And there is going to be a wedding, right? Because John B. and I kind of thought about doing something for real—a big party since our wedding was a little impromptu—but," I gesture to my belly, "I don't think we'll be having any big parties soon."
"Hell yeah, we're having a wedding," she exclaims, and I can't help but giggle. The word 'hell' feels so foreign and homeless leaving her mouth, like it's far too filthy and doesn't belong. "There's not much left to do. We've picked out a big, beautiful venue, and Rafe's already coordinating with the caterers and planners. All I have to do is pick out my bridesmaids and maid of honor."
I gasp, wiggling my eyebrows. "Does one of them happen to be your sister-in-law?!" I ask playfully, twirling my hair like a little girl.
"I wasn't planning on it, but the maid of honor dress only came in maternity sizes, so it'll have to do." She rolls her eyes, but then looks at me with the brightest of smiles. She leans in, wrapping me in a tight hug, and then leans down to press a light, feminine kiss to the section of my belly that isn't covered by my blanket or pajamas.
We wrap up the conversation, talking about everything Wheezie won't care about before we head downstairs. Sofia waits while I go pee and then holds my hand as we walk down to the kitchen together. It's weird being someone else's little sister, but I think I like it.
Downstairs, the kitchen smells like bacon, eggs, and slightly over-toasted bread. Wheezie is standing proudly at the stove, flipping pancakes with what can only be described as aggressive confidence.
"I told you I wouldn't burn anything!" she announces as she slides an oblong pancake onto a plate.
Sofia leans toward me, whispering, "That's her third attempt."
I laugh as we all sit down at the table, plates filling up quickly. It feels nice, normal, like we're just three sisters having breakfast—no heavy emotions hanging in the air.
    "So," Wheezie starts, her mouth full with strawberry, "what is the baby gonna call me when she's born? Aunt Wheezie?" she asks with a look of disdain on her face. "That doesn't sound great."
    "Yeah, kind of sounds like a pneumonia patient."
    "I figured we'd just stick with Wheeze," I say, looking up momentarily but then back to my plate where I'm cutting a pancake.
    "But I've always been Wheeze," she moans, dropping her silverware onto the table.
    "Because it fits you. It's who you are." Sofia takes a sip from her glass and raises her brows like she's getting an idea. "But I wanna be called Sofi."
    "Noted." I smile as I look between the two girls. My sisters. No one can calm me down like John B. can, but sometimes it's nice to hear from someone else.
    I'm not any less scared than before, and all of my issues haven't been washed away, but at least for now, they aren't suffocating. I can finally breathe.