what now? | outerbanks

• sixty-eight •

Sarah

"Come on, sleepyhead." The words cut in and out of my ears as I wake up, adjusting to my surroundings.
"No," I grunt into my pillow. I'm half awake already, barely aware of the fact that he's been trying to wake me up for the last few minutes, humming my name sweetly and dragging his fingers up and down my arm.
"You've been asleep for, like, ten hours!" I don't open my eyes yet, but I can hear it in his voice that he's smiling.
"Exactly," I mumble. "Don't ruin a good thing." The truth is, I'm not comfortable at all. I was at one point last night, but now, after sleeping longer than I have any other night of my pregnancy, I'm a wreck. My body is tangled with the pregnancy pillow, limbs flailed around the plush material, my hair is stuck to my cheeks and forehead with sleepy sweat, and the shirt I was wearing before is now on one arm out of two, and is only covering half of my bare body.
"You're melting," he chuckles, tugging at various hems of the shirt to unstick it from my skin. "You're gonna start to bake if you stay wrapped up in this any longer."
"But I'm so comfortable!" I whine, knowing it's not true.
"No you're not," he laughs. "You've been complaining about being uncomfortable for the past two months, and that pillow looks like it's swallowing you whole, which is impressive considering how big—"
I cut him off. "Watch your words," I warn. "And—for your information—this pillow isn't waking me up the one time I finally sleep through the night, unlike somebody else I know."
"Touché," he mutters, leaning forward and kissing the corner of my mouth. "Come on. Beach day."
This wakes me up. I open my eyes wide, raising my eyebrows. "A beach day? With me?" I gesture to my big belly. "You're kidding right?"
"Nope. One last thing just for us before Kie and JJ are home tonight."
"JB, I don't think you're thinking this through," I laugh. "I think I'd rather be naked than try to fit into a bikini."
"I think I'd rather that too, but that's not an option. I don't think that's allowed at the public beach."
"Can't we just lie in bed together?"
"Yes—after our beach day."
I groan, and he methodically unravels me from the pillow, throwing it onto the ground and leaving me flat on my back like a starfish. "So not cool."
He crawls onto the bed, leaning over me with his hair flopping into his eyes. "You're kind of adorable when you're mad about nothing," he says, smiling at me ridiculously.
"It's not nothing," I grumble. "I'm hot, I'm sticky, and I can literally feel my boobs growing by the second."
"I thought they already grew," he says warily.
"They did. They're still growing."
    "Fair, but that doesn't mean you're skipping beach day."
    I roll off of my back, groaning in protest.
    "Sarah, you know it'll feel good to be in the water," he insists, and he's right. I know I'll enjoy it too; it's the action of getting ready and getting there that is so displeasing.
    "Fine," I huff. "But I need to shower first. I feel gross."
"You don't look gross, but I'll help you shower. Come on." He pulls my arms so I'm sitting up, and then helps me out of the bed. It creaks underneath me, reminding me that we need to get a new—quieter—bed frame before the baby gets here.
We walk to the bathroom, where John B. lifts the shirt off of my body and throws it at the hamper, impressively making it right in. He showers me carefully, massaging my scalp and scrubbing off any sweat, making sure never to linger too long over anything. Slowly, I start to feel more human.
    When we're done and the bathroom is full of steam, John B. wraps a towel around my bare body, kissing my forehead as I lean into his chest. He's warm, and so am I—warm and clean and here. I rest there for a long time, keeping my hands placed on his chest, feeling it rise and fall. I almost forget that I'm mad at him for waking me up so early.
    "You okay?" he murmurs into my damp waves.
I don't answer right away, feeling as beautifully small as possible in his cradled arms, but I eventually hum a quiet, "Mhm."
"Good," he whispers back, pulling one arm away and grabbing another towel to dry my hair, making sure not to let me go. He's been doing that a lot lately—drying my hair, rubbing lotion on my belly, massaging my ankles, helping me with socks.
In this new season, the more pregnant I get, the more John B. leans into a more tender, doting husband version of himself. He's always been loving, impossibly soft, but now? Now it's something entirely new. It means more, it takes more. It makes me fall in love with him over and over again.
"Alright, baby," John B. chuckles once he feels me shift in his arms, "it's bathing suit time."
    I groan dramatically, hiding my face in his shirt. "Do I have to?"
    "Yes, Sarah. And none of that one-piece bullshit so you can hide everything you're scared of—we're gonna try the one Cleo bought for you the other week."
    "Babe, you're crazy for even letting her buy that. That thing's like...four sizes too small."
    He sighs. "Sarah, you were eyeing it for weeks!"
    "Yeah, that was cute, fresh baby-bump, high on anti-nausea meds Sarah. That was the Sarah that still wore too-tiny bikinis and didn't get out of breath walking through the house." I pause, ironically needing to catch my breath. "I'm different now. Things have changed. Significantly." I gesture wildly to my stomach and chest, reminding him just how different things are.
    "Just because you've changed doesn't mean you're any less beautiful," he says sweetly. "You might even be more beautiful now."
    "Oh, stop." I shove his shoulder, and he leaves me in the bathroom, going to grab the bikini. I can tell it'll cover more than the ones I used to wear so freely, but looking between it and myself in the mirror, I'm not convinced this is going to go well.
    He pulls me into the bedroom, bikini in hand, and smiles at me expectantly. I roll my eyes but don't protest when he pushes the fabric into my arms. "Do you need me to turn around?" he asks. This makes me smile—that after everything, he still gets shy sometimes.
    "You can if you want," I say. "But it's okay. I don't mind." I secretly want him to stay, just in case I need his help. I take a second to breathe, mentally and physically preparing myself for what's to come. The top is its own obstacle—straps and cups not quite meant for my body but not estranged enough to abandon. I take a few minutes securing it on my body and then pause to look at myself in the mirror. Everything is softer now—squishier and less defined—and my skin feels like a costume.
    Kie was always so good at making me feel pretty. Of course, John B. sings my praises without end, and he swears up and down that I'm the most beautiful girl on the planet. I believe him most of the time, but, also, that's his job. As my husband, he's supposed to say that. Kie, on the other hand, doesn't have to. Nobody's paying her to compliment me or to erase all of my doubts, but she does anyway. But for the past two months, Kie hasn't been here. We still talk over the phone more days than not, but it's not the same as seeing her in person. I just want her to come home, and my body is buzzing with anxious excitement that she'll be home tonight. Maybe then I'll feel like myself again.
    I hold up the bottoms in my hands, staring at them for a second and then a few more seconds at my belly. John B. must notice my hesitation because he chuckles from behind me and asks, "Need a hand?"
    I don't want to say yes. I want to do this on my own, to prove that I can be independent and do things for myself. Looking down at my feet, or the small bit of them that I can still see, though, I realize there's no way I'm bending down to get them on. "Ugh. Yes, please."
    I shimmy the towel off of my waist and give the bottoms to John B. He holds my hand as he lifts one of my feet and slides it in, keeping me balanced. He sticks my other foot in and slides the bathing suit carefully over my legs and bottom, resting them just below my belly. He's slow and cautious, just like always, making sure never to leave an unwanted graze.
    "There. All set," he sighs, retying one of the bows on the side of the bottoms.
    "I'm out of breath and I didn't even do anything," I grunt with a sharp exhale.
    "Uh—not true," he butts in. "You're making our baby, so you're always doing something."
    I hold on to his shoulders for balance as I laugh. "Wow, that was cheesy."
    "You married me," he defends. "You knew what you were getting." He kisses my lips quickly before pulling back and looking at me fully. "And I thought I knew what I was getting too, but damn."
    "Is that a, "you look huge" damn?" I ask, grimacing.
    "It's a, "holy shit" damn. You're still the beautiful Sarah Cameron I married, but right now...damn. I want to cancel beach day and kiss every inch of you right here at home."
    I shy away, turning so I'm not facing him, and wrap my arms around my waist. "John B."
"I'm serious, Sarah. I know you don't feel like yourself, but you're still the prettiest girl I've ever seen."
I look back into his eyes for a second to see that he really does mean it. "Okay, well, let's get to this beach before I change my mind and curl back up in bed."
"Sounds like a plan," he hums, kissing my cheek and walking us through and out of the house.