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chapter sixty-nine visiting a friend
𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐓 the ceiling with resting her hands on her growing stomach, biting the inside of her cheek. She glanced at Steve beside her, who was fast asleep, his soft snores filling the quiet bedroom. She turned to look at the alarm clock, and a small frown graced her features—2:14 am.
She let out a small breath and readjusted the covers, shifting her gaze to stare at the wall in boredom.
Whoever said to count sheep was a liar.
I give up.
Without making a sound, Grace slipped out of the warmth of their bed and quietly crept towards the living room. She paused at the mirror in the hallway and tilted her head, turning to the side and resting her hands under her growing bump.
Seven months. Baby Rogers had been growing for approximately seven months, two weeks, and six days, and Grace had been losing sleep for approximately seven months, two weeks, and six days.
The dark bags under her eyes were evidence of that.
Her face looked puffier than normal, and she was certain that her ankles were swollen. Oh, the joys of pregnancy.
That also meant she was able to wear sweatpants all day, every day.
That was a perk.
"Hmm..."
Grace turned away from her puffy reflection and continued into the living room, turning on the nearest lamp. She glanced around the room and let out a contented sigh. After what felt like months of unpacking, the house now felt like a home. Photos lined the wall, including one particular newspaper clipping that had finally been taken out of her wooden box.
She smiled lightly at her and Steve's past selves during the war.
They truly did not know what was in store for them...
She made her way into the kitchen, in desperate need of a late-night snack, and opened the fridge. Her face immediately fell when she looked inside. "My pickles," she said with a small pout, pulling out the empty pickle jar and staring down at it sadly. "Where are all my pickles?"
"You know, you're supposed to be asleep." She tore her gaze from the empty pickle jar at Steve, who was scratching the back of his neck while squinting at the bright light from the lamp. "You're not asleep."
"How am I supposed to sleep when my pickles are gone?" she countered, and he raised his eyebrows at her. "My pickles are gone!"
Steve stared back at her. "Well, there's a bunch of other weird food in the fridge," he said, gesturing to the appliance, and she crossed her arms. "Like sauerkraut and—"
"They're not pickles, Steve!" she exclaimed and he sucked in a breath. "I'm hungry, the baby won't let me sleep, and I want pickles." She sat down at the kitchen island in defeat. "I thought I still had some."
