what now? | outerbanks

• one hundred one •

Sarah

They spill in all at once, all four of the pogues, like they've been waiting in the hall just to make an entrance. JJ pushes the door open with whispered trumpet sounds, Pope is right on his heels, Cleo slips through between them, and Kiara brings up the rear with a grin so wide it looks like it hurts her cheeks.
"Holy shit," JJ blurts, stopping short. "She's real."
"She's real," Pope echoes, smiling like the sun.
JJ claps a hand on John B.'s shoulder, shaking him like a rag doll. "Bro. You're a dad."
John B. laughs, still a little dazed. "I know."
"Like, a real one," Pope says, and then hugs him hard. "Proud of you, man."
Cleo's already making a beeline for me. "You did it," she whispers, her voice caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. She leans down to wrap me in the gentlest hug I've ever gotten from her. "I'm so proud of you, Mama."
Kiara's right behind her, crouching at the edge of the bed. She's teary. "You okay?" she asks softly, like she already knows the answer.
"No," I whisper. My voice shakes. "But she makes it worth it."
Her glance turns sideways. "Did... John B. braid your hair?"
"Yeah...?"
She grimaces. "I can tell," she giggles. "Let me redo it."
    Her fingers are gentle, undoing the uneven braids John B. had managed with shaking hands. It feels nice—so normal—even though nothing about me feels normal. The soft tug at my scalp and the careful way she smooths my hair make something ease in me. I imagine that one day she'll be sitting, doing the same thing for Willa, reminding her over and over again how loved she is.
    When she finishes, she hesitates only a second before holding out her arms. "Can I...?"
    I nod, and she gathers my daughter nervously, eyes wide and watery. "Oh my god," she breathes, rocking slightly. "Sarah, I—" Her voice catches, and she laughs through tears. "I can't. I can't handle this. She's literally a doll."
    "Careful," JJ teases softly, like even he knows loudness feels wrong in this little bubble. "Don't get any ideas, babe."
    Kiara ignores him completely, cooing as the baby blinks up at her. "I love you already," she whispers, and it's so raw it makes my throat tighten.
    She finally, reluctantly, passes her to Cleo, who cradles her with practiced hands and a warm grin. I can tell she's done this before. "She's gonna be trouble," Cleo declares instantly. "Gonna get whatever she wants, just like her Mama."
    Pope takes her next, moving slow, nervous but reverent, his smile going soft in a way I almost never see. "She's perfect," he says, and it sounds like he's just trying to say the right thing without having any previous practice. It means a lot that he's trying.
    JJ pretends to fumble the handoff when it's his turn, earning five simultaneous death glares. "Kidding, kidding!" he whispers, then settles her into his arms like he's afraid he might actually drop her. "Kinda scared to breathe," he murmurs after a long beat. "Feel like she might blow up."
    John B.'s face twists. "Could we... maybe... not talk about my baby blowing up?"
JJ winces. "Okay, okay—bad phrasing. I just mean she's... she's so small, man."
"She's not that small," Pope says, even though his voice is hushed with wonder.
"She's literally smaller than my shoe," JJ whispers back.
"Please don't compare her to your shoe," Cleo mutters, but she's smiling, one fingertip brushing the baby's tiny fist while she's still tucked in JJ's arms.
They all crowd close around the bed, this loose little huddle of warmth and chaos. Their voices layer on top of each other—soft laughs, whispered congratulations, a stray sniffle from Kiara as she quietly redoes the end of my braid into something neater. JJ keeps shifting his arms like the baby is made of blown glass, which earns him a gentle nudge from Pope and a smothered laugh from Cleo.
It's so much. Too much. And yet... not enough. I want to drink it in—their faces, their voices, the safe bubble of them—but my body is leaden, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier, drifting closed even as I fight it.
"I guess she's cute," JJ is murmuring again, eyes huge on her little scrunched-up face.
"Mm," I manage, trying to hum in agreement, and then I blink. And forget to un-blink.
"Aaaaand, she's asleep," JJ announces, smug as ever. "Ladies and gentlemen, the proud mother."
My eyes fly open like I've been electrocuted. "What—no, no, I'm awake, I swear," I mumble, trying to sit a little straighter even though every muscle protests.
Kiara just laughs and climbs gently onto the bed beside me, tucking her legs up like she's done a thousand times at sleepovers. "Sure you are," she says softly, looping an arm around my shoulders. I lean into her without thinking, without worrying if I'll crush something inside me. She's warm and solid, and when I wince shifting positions, she just steadies me until I'm more comfortable.
John B. is across from us, our daughter tucked against his chest like she was built to rest there. His thumb strokes lightly over her back in tiny circles, and her little face scrunches like she's dreaming about something complicated.
There's a soft knock, and then the door cracks open. Sofia slips in first, her smile gentle, her eyes bright. Rafe lingers in the doorway, shoulders stiff, like he's not sure if he's allowed to come closer.
Sofia makes her way right to my side, crouching down so our faces are level. "Hi, Mama," she whispers, and her voice is so full it makes my throat sting. "I am so, so proud of you." She smooths a strand of hair back from my face, fingers lingering like she's afraid I might break. "Your mom would be proud, too. So proud." She kisses my temple, soft and sure, and I close my eyes against the sudden ache of it.
When I open them again, John B. is standing beside her, carefully easing our baby into Sofia's arms. Sofia cradles her like she's done it forever, rocking just a little, her voice going all soft nonsense. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs, her smile going gooey. "You're just... you're everything."
She glances back. "Rafe? Do you want to—?"
Rafe's already shaking his head. "Oh, no. No, I don't think—"
"Rafe," I say quietly.
His eyes flick to me, startled. Something unspoken stretches between us—something bigger than either of us knows how to say. He nods once, quickly, and steps forward.
The baby looks impossibly small in his arms. Rafe has always seemed too big for the world, like he's all sharp corners and noise, and now he's cradling this fragile, brand-new thing like she's spun from sugar glass. My heart twists hard. This is my big brother—the same one who used to terrify me, who burned everything he touched for so long—and he's holding my daughter as if she's the only thing that matters in the world.
I see it hit him, too. His face folds in on itself, his jaw trembling, and then the tears come, silent and unchecked.
The room goes still—then JJ, eyes glinting, says softly, "Cameron let his guard down. Mark your calendars, people."
Everyone laughs, even Rafe, sniffling through it. The sound is light, clean, and for a moment the whole world feels new.
    He's still cradling her, eyes red, jaw tight as if he's holding himself together by sheer will. Sofia is leaning against the rail of my bed, still holding my hand, her thumb sweeping back and forth over my knuckles.
    It's Pope who asks, gently, "So... did you guys pick a name?"
    Everyone goes still, their gazes tipping toward me and John B. like they're afraid to miss it.
    John B. glances at me, soft-eyed. "You want to tell them, or should I?"
    "I will," I whisper, almost worried it makes me sound selfish, but quickly remembering what one nurse said about this being my baby. I should feel selfish over her.
    I look at her—at her impossibly tiny hands curled into Rafe's huge ones, at the rise and fall of her chest—and then back at them.
    "Willa," I say quietly. "Willa Ripley."
    "Willa," Kiara echoes, her face crumpling into something starry. "Oh, Sarah. That's... perfect."
    "Willa," Pope says again, tasting it, smiling slow.
    Rafe's eyes flicker, sharp with something that looks like recognition and grief and love all at once. I can see it land in him. Willa, for our mom's maiden name, Williams. For the woman he loved so much and lost too soon. He swallows hard and ducks his head like he's hiding, he's moved beyond what he'd like to admit, but I don't press. He's already come such a long way.
    "Ripley?" Cleo asks softly.
    John B. grins faintly, brushing his thumb over the back of my hand. "For her middle name. Something adventurous. Something her own."
    JJ, who's been suspiciously quiet, suddenly lets out a low whistle. "Willa Ripley," he says, nodding. "Sounds like a total badass. Future surf champion for sure."
    Everyone laughs softly, like bubbles rising. Even Willa coos, sweet and fresh and untainted.
    Willa.
    It's perfect.
    It fits her.
    Rafe shifts, easing her back toward John B., and as soon as she's nestled against his chest again, the room exhales.
    Rafe leans down and kisses my forehead, soft and shaky, and everything inside me goes quiet. The last thing I register before the world slides under is the weight of her name looping through my mind like a lullaby—
    Willa Ripley.