what now? | outerbanks

• eighty-six •

John B.

    I wake up to echoes of Sarah's rough voice coming from the bathroom. "Come on, baby girl. I thought we were past this," I hear through the door.
    I check the alarm clock next to the bed. Three in the morning. I groan.
    "Sarah?" I call.
    She doesn't answer, but I hear the wet sound of gagging against the toilet bowl.
    I'm up instantly, stumbling out of bed, grabbing my boxers off the floor and tugging them on clumsily as I shuffle toward the bathroom. The door's cracked open. Light spills across the bedroom floor, yellow and quiet. My chest is already tight.
    "Sarah?" I push the door open gently.
    Her face is in the toilet bowl, one hand holding her hair atop her head, the other bracing against the bathtub. She looks up at me when I walk in, like she wasn't expecting me to be awake.
    "Go back to bed," she grits out between coughs, but I'm already moving closer. "I'm fine."
    "You're not fine," I press. "You haven't thrown up in months."
    She waves me off. "It's probably just a mix of acid reflux and baby girl's restless legs."
    "Sarah, you're sweating like crazy," I say, shaking my head.
    "Yeah, John B. I'm thirty-three weeks pregnant, and it's summer in North Carolina. A girl's gonna sweat."
    "I just—"
    "I'll be fine."
    But I know better than to believe her. Her skin is clammy and flushed, and her shorter hairs stick to her neck in a sickly way. I look at her for a second time and realize that she's still naked from earlier—raw and open and vulnerable.
    "Oh," I say when I realize. "You're naked."
    She scoffs. "Well, I wasn't really planning on puking."
    Her body convulses again, skin flushing tight against her ribs, belly sucking in violently. Her cheeks are tinted red against her otherwise ghostly pale skin.
I move behind her, chest against her back, kissing lightly against her temple and shoulder. I reach for a towel off the counter, wetting it before dabbing it against the back of her neck.
She coughs and heaves like her body is scraping desperately at an empty barrel. After a minute or so, she slumps back against her heels, breath coming in less choppy than before but still labored.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, cleaning away bile and last night's dinner. "That's all of it," she sighs. "I feel better now."
"Are you sure?" I ask, moving back to her side to survey her fully. "You don't look better."
    "John B., I swear. Just—just let me cool off for a second."
    She backs up against the tile wall, head falling back as she finally catches a full breath. I watch the baby kick, and then I breathe too, knowing that she's okay.
    Sarah's still fully bare, though, so I rise to my feet and say, "How about I go get you some clothes, yeah? Think you'll be okay in here for a few minutes?"
    She nods, so I reluctantly walk back to the bedroom, still rubbing sleep from my eyes. I find her something to wear—underwear and a bra, a pajama set, and one of my old, worn muscle tees in case nothing else works.
    When I make it back, Sarah is just as flushed, skin still shining with sweat. She groans when she sees me. "It's too hot."
    "I know, baby. I know you're hot, but you need to put something on. You're naked."
    "You've seen me naked before," she whines.
    "Come on, Sar," I huff, picking up her underwear. "Pick your foot up."
    She rolls her eyes but lifts her leg just enough for me to slip the underwear on. She winces as she shifts, belly tight and pulled like stretched elastic. I move slowly and gently because I can tell she's still a little dizzy, even though she won't admit it. I move even more carefully when my hands move the fabric past the gash on her thigh.
    "Second foot," I murmur, crouching beside her. She hesitates, then lifts it too.
    I help her lean back against the cool tub for a second, just to breathe. Then I ease the muscle tee over her head, careful not to jostle her too much. Her arms snake through the armholes like they weigh ten pounds each. She lets her head loll against my chest while I guide it down over her stomach.
    "This good?" I ask.
    She nods, eyes barely open. "It's fine."
    But I can tell it's not. Her skin's still warm to the touch, cheeks blotchy and pale at the same time. She's still fighting whatever this is like she's got something to prove—to me, to herself, to the whole damn world.
    "I can carry you," I offer gently, already bracing an arm under her knees.
    She groans like I just offered to fly her to the moon. "John B., I can walk. I'm not dying, it's just the baby. She's taking up all my real estate."
    "Yeah? Well, she's been in there for quite a while, and you haven't felt like this since the first trimester."
    Sarah opens her mouth like she's got a snarky comeback loaded, but nothing comes out. Just a long, tired breath. I don't push. Instead, I take her hands and help her up slowly, one shaky step at a time. She leans into me, her forehead pressing into my shoulder for balance.
    "You're stubborn," I murmur.
    "You're bossy," she mutters back.
    "Match made in heaven," I grin, wrapping an arm around her back and walking her slowly toward the bed.
    Once we're back in the bedroom, I help her sit first, then guide her legs up and over. She sighs like she's finally admitting defeat, melting into the mattress with a shaky breath and one hand on her belly.
    "I'm not sick," she announces louder than I expect, like she's really trying to convince me.
    "I never said you were," I reply, placing a second pillow behind her head.
    Her eyes are already closed. "You were thinking it. I know you were. Really, I'm fine."
    "Okay," I say, brushing hair off her damp forehead. "Fine doesn't puke until their ribs hurt."
    She groans, curling onto her side. "John B..."
    I climb in beside her, pulling the sheets halfway over us despite her protests. She's already sweating, but I know she's going to get cold sooner than later and wake up trying to pull the covers over herself.
    "Let me." I wrap an arm around her from behind, hand splayed over the side of her bump. "Just let me hold you, Sar."
    She doesn't argue. She just sinks back into me and lets out a soft, almost imperceptible "mmm."
    I listen to her breathing, steady but shallow, and the occasional shift of her stomach under my hand as baby girl stretches and kicks. I press my lips to the back of her shoulder and close my eyes.
    "You don't have to pretend, you know?"
    I wait for a response, even though most of me knows she won't answer. I'm right—she doesn't—but her fingers slide back across the bed to find mine, and she squeezes.