what now? | outerbanks

• one hundred nine •

Kiara

    Sarah didn't take longer than ten minutes. She came back once to get John B. so the two of them could pick up JJ's truck, then came back again for good. They tried to convince me to sleep, but sleep was an impossible task.
    "Go to bed," I say for the fifth time. "I got her."
    Sarah sighed. "I know you do, but I just hate to keep you up."h
    "I don't think I could sleep if I tried."
    Sarah decides to feed Willa one more time before she goes back to bed since it's still a little too early for a bottle. When she finishes, she looks even more exhausted, and this time, she doesn't argue when I tell her to go upstairs.
    "Sleep," I press. "I'll see you in the morning."
I wait to hear the bedroom door close upstairs before I move again. I change Willa and set her, warm and sleeping, down in the bassinet, and I can't help but stare for a while. She's a perfect mix of Sarah and John B., of my two best friends. She's everything I've ever dreamed of, and she's not even mine.
I brush a light hand over her belly, the tiny mound rising and falling faster than I'd expected the first time I held her. She has this deep, dark gleam of hair coming in that Mrs. Heyward swears will fall out and grow back in blonde.
One month.
She's already one month old, but she still barely fits into the newborn onesies everyone bought. There's extra room at the fingers and toes, a little hiccup where the zipper should lie flush against her chest.
I think back to this afternoon, the six of us there together, celebrating this first tiny milestone. A whole month of keeping someone alive. Rafe, Sofia, and Wheezie were there too, but for me, it was the six of us being together that mattered most.
I let the memory settle in my chest. Pope trying not to cry when Sarah broke down in thanks for everything he's done to help. Cleo making sure to take plenty of pictures even after Sarah apologized for looking a mess. Which, of course, was silly to say because she looked just as beautiful as she always does. John B. finally taking a breath and catching a break for the first time in weeks. And JJ. JJ was happy. He was cracking jokes about the next couple to give in and have a baby and laughing way too loud when Willa obviously chose me over Rafe.
So what could have happened to make him go from that to wallowing in drunk self-pity in the span of a few hours?
The anger starts slowly boiling back up in my chest, so I stand from the sofa and search for something to do. Of course, in the house of a newborn and two trying parents, there's no shortage of things to do.
I wash the dirty bottles and run the dishwasher. I pick up all of the burp cloths I find strewn around the house and clean the sticky counters. I track down a fancy platter, one that looks like an heirloom, and try to display the leftover cupcakes how I'd imagine Sarah might if she had the time.
    When I finally sit back down, I notice that my phone is still face down on the coffee table. I don't flip it over. I don't want to see if he's texted. I don't want to see if he hasn't.
    Willa makes a sleepy little grunt, and I have to fight the urge to pick her back up, knowing it's wiser to let her sleep as much as possible.
    I hardly sleep at all. I stand up and peer out the windows, noting that our house lights are still on but that there isn't any movement from what I can see. I fold some more laundry I find tucked away in the guest room. By the time I finally close my eyes, the sun is already starting to wake.
    And when morning comes fully, it's taunting. It's taunting because I know that today, I have to face him again. I have to fight again and try to prove my point without giving in. I have to stand my ground. But all I want to do is stay here and pretend like nothing is wrong.
    John B. comes down first, taking each step quietly like he's afraid to wake me up. Lucky him, I was never asleep. And while Willa is asleep, it's almost time for her to eat again, so I'll have to wake her up anyway.
    "Mornin'" he whispers when he realizes I'm awake.
    I nod back.
    He walks closer and peers over the side of the bassinet. "How'd she sleep?"
    "Pretty well, actually. She woke up once, but I think she could just tell she wasn't close to you guys." I check my phone. "I'll bring her upstairs for Sarah to feed soon. I wanted to let them both sleep as long as possible."
    John B. laughs as he rummages around in the fridge. "Sarah's been awake for half an hour. Said she couldn't sleep with Willa that far."
"Of course she did," I chuckle.
    He pulls out a carton of eggs from the fridge.
    "You don't have to make anything," I say quietly.
    He shrugs. "It's the least I can do."
I walk to the kitchen and lean against the counter. "You're gonna burn those," I say plainly.
"Am not," he quips.
"We literally had to call the fire department once because you and JJ tried to make toast on the stove."
He throws his hands down at his side, exasperated. "We were sixteen!"
I shrug. "And as far as I'm aware, you haven't taken any cooking classes since then."
"No, but I became a husband. And a dad. So, I'd say I'm pretty experienced." Across the room, Willa lets out a long, aching whine. "Speaking of, I think someone needs to be brought upstairs to her mama."
"I'll take her up," I murmur.
John B. looks up as I slide my hands beneath Willa's tiny body, a bowl in one hand, a fork in the other. His eyes soften immediately. "Tell Sarah she looks hot," he hums.
I grimace, already turning toward the stairs. "Will not," I whisper. "You guys are sickening."
He laughs under his breath and goes back to whisking his eggs.
Willa whines again, mouth turning downward and cheeks flushing pink. Her mouth roots against my collarbone.
"I know," I sigh. "Almost to Mama."
The hallway upstairs is silent. Sarah and John B.'s bedroom door is cracked open, and I nudge it open with my foot.
Sarah is sitting up already, but her head is tilted back against the headboard, eyes shut, brows relaxed. I almost walk right back out. Maybe she fell back asleep. But as soon as she hears me cross the threshold, her eyes open back up, slow and bleary.
"Morning," I whisper.
She flips on the lamp. "Mornin'."
    I swing by her side first to pass off Willa, sliding the fussing newborn into Sarah's half-asleep arms.
    "How did she do? I could hardly sleep; I was so worried."
    "She was fine," I assure with a laugh. "She woke up once just to let me know she was annoyed, but she went right back down after."
Sarah lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Good."
Willa roots again, more insistently this time, and Sarah smiles down at her. "Okay, okay. I hear you."
I flop down on John B.'s side of the bed as Sarah adjusts her t-shirt, movements finally steady and somewhat practiced. Willa latches almost immediately, and I sigh my own sigh of relief, knowing how much of a struggle it was in the beginning.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then, Sarah looks up at me, tilting her head. "You didn't sleep."
I furrow my brows and whip my head to look at her. "What? I didn't even do anything!"
"I can just tell," she shrugs. "You didn't sleep."
"I did... a little."
"No you didn't."
I throw my arms to the side, and they land into the cloudy comforter with a whoosh. "Well, I tried. Okay?"
She frowns. "Kie..."
"I'm okay," I say quickly. "Really. Cleaning took my mind off of everything."
Her eyes widen. "You cleaned?"
"John B. seemed really stressed out!" I reason.
Sarah lets out a surprisingly amused laugh. "That doesn't mean you have to clean my house! Kie, you needed rest!"
    "Yeah, but..." My sentence trails off because we both know she's right. I did need rest. I still do. "Cleaning helped take my mind off everything, I swear."
    "I know," she sighs, "but that's my job. I mean, I haven't gone anywhere besides your house, Pope's, and the pediatrician in the last three weeks. The least I can do is straighten up a little."
    "Sarah, you've kept her alive for a month," I say, nodding toward the suckling Willa. "I think we can let a little mess around the house slide."
    She shakes her head. "Three weeks. The hospital did most of the work week one."
    "Three weeks," I repeat. "Whatever. Meanwhile, JJ gets in his feelings for one night and is closer to death than anyone in this house."
    I mean it as a joke. I laugh. Sarah doesn't.
    Her smile fades. "Kie..."
    "I'm fine," I say quickly. I wave a hand like I can physically brush the lie away. "Really. It's fine. Just another bump in the road."
    She stares at me for too long. I think she's doing it on purpose, letting the silence stretch. Making me sit with my thoughts. Willa doesn't care; she grunts anyway.
    "You know, you can't just brush this off," she says softly. "I know you love him. I do too. We all do. And I know he's changed a lot, for the better, but last night wasn't just... a bump in the road."
    "He was just drunk," I mutter. "And sad."
    "And reckless," she counters. "And spiraling. That scares me, Kiara. And I think it should scare you too."
    I swallow. "He's been working on self-control."
    She nods immediately. "I can tell. And he has it. Sometimes. But sometimes isn't enough." She shifts the baby's head into the crook of her elbow and pats her bottom in a steady rhythm to keep her from fussing. "I don't want you to forgive him so fast that you forget how bad this felt. You don't have to punish him, but you do have to hold him accountable."
    I stare at the comforter, trying not to cry. I didn't realize how wise Sarah's become. "I don't want to lose him."
    "You won't," she says without hesitation. "You guys really do love each other. But loving someone doesn't mean letting them scare you like that and then pretending everything's okay."
    Before I can respond again, John B.'s voice rings from downstairs like a school intercom announcement. "Breakfast's ready! And it's perfectly not burnt, ye of little faith!"
    "That's our cue," Sarah says with a laugh.
    We sit in silence for just a minute more while we wait for Willa to finish on one side, and when she does, she pulls off with a disgruntled pop! Sarah pulls her hair into a low, loose knot, as if she's trying to look presentable for the person who's seen her past her worst. After smoothing Willa's onesie and finding a clean burp cloth, we're on the trek to the kitchen.
    "Don't drop her. Don't drop her. Don't drop her," Sarah repeats as we walk down step-by-step.  Willa's head is tucked under Sarah's chin, body vertical, with her little toes barely reaching past her chest.
    I cock my head. "Have you... dropped her here before?"
    "No," Sarah chuckles. "But I read a story once about a mom who slipped and crushed her baby's arm, and I haven't stopped thinking about it since."
    I gasp. "Sarah, what the hell? Where are you reading these things?"
    "Instagram," she shrugs. "At three in the morning, once I've changed five diapers and spilled two ounces of milk on my nightstand."
    "No more Instagram for Mama," I whisper, rubbing the underside of one of Willa's wrinkly little feet.
    "What was that? About Mama?" John B. asks when we make it to the kitchen. He pulls Sarah against him, baby perfectly squashed in the middle, and pecks her a few times on the lips.
    "Mama's hungry," Sarah deadpans. "I think this angel needs some time with Daddy."
    John B.'s arms are immediately ready and somehow in the perfect position to receive Willa, but as soon as Sarah's touch from her is gone, she
breaks down, red-faced and screaming.
    John B. groans. "Oh, come on! Are you kidding me? You couldn't even pretend for a minute?"
    "Just give her a minute, babe," Sarah says, grabbing a plate. "She'll stop."
    "I don't—oh my God," he gasps. "Sarah, look. Oh my God, look!"
Sarah stops in the kitchen, terrified. John B.'s tone makes my stomach drop too, so, of course, I look as well. Willa's face is hot and scrunched, her whole body wound tight, but then, right there in the middle of her face, her lip pushes out, loud and dramatic, like her feelings are genuinely hurt. Her chin trembles.
"Oh my God," I breathe. "Is she... pouting?"
Sarah freezes mid-step, plate still in hand, and turns slowly, eyes locking in on Willa's face.
"Oh my gosh," she chokes, dropping the plate back on the counter with a loud clatter that makes Willa equally as fussy. Sarah's eyes fill instantly. "She looks—she's sad. John B., she's actually sad."
    "I just—she just—" John B. panics, bouncing her instinctively. "Yeah, yeah. Everything's my fault. I know. Mama's better at everything."
Willa lets out a tiny, broken sound, but we can all tell she's winding up for something catastrophic.
"Nope," Sarah says, crossing the rest of the room in two urgent strides. "Nope, nope, nope."
The second Willa is back in Sarah's arms, it's like someone flipped a switch. The crying hiccups, once, twice, and then stops completely, although her lip stays poked out like a reminder: never let go of me again.
Sarah exhales shakily and presses her lips to the top of Willa's head.
    "I'm sorry," she whispers. "We didn't mean to make you cry, baby. Mama's right here."
John B. stares at them, heartbroken yet relieved. "She hates me," he says quietly.
"She does not hate you," Sarah sniffles. "She just needed me."
I blink at her. "Are you crying?"
She nods, wiping under her eyes. "She made a face, Kiara. A real one. I missed her first face."
"You didn't miss it," I argue. "You were there. You saw."
"Yeah, but not right away. And that's worse," she cries. "And I just hate that she was sad. I mean," she lifts Willa's head off her chest so we can all see her face again, "look at her!"
John B. throws his hands up. "What, so I just never hold my kid again?"
Sarah laughs through the tears, smothering Willa's face with kisses. Willa brings up her tiny hands to combat the ambush, but she hardly even grazes Sarah's face. She's still working on strength. "Nope. She's stuck with Mama forever."
I lean against the counter. "She's four weeks early and is still already playing us."
Sarah shrugs. "She's a Cameron."
"God bless us all," John B. mutters.
We finally sit to eat. Sarah keeps Willa tucked in one arm while she uses the other to pick at her plate. John B. eats too, occasionally shooting a glance over to make sure Sarah has everything under control.
Halfway through my first bite, I realize something. "Oh, shit."
Both of them look at me.
"It's my turn to open the shop. I told Pope and Cleo I could do it so they could spend time with Pope's grandparents." I check my phone. "I need to be there in half an hour."
John B. glances at the clock on the microwave, then back at me without missing a beat. "I'll go."
"No," I say automatically, "I can make it."
"You need to go home," he counters. "Talk to JJ."
I shake my head. "He probably won't even be awake yet. It'll be a waste."
He gives me a look. He's already decided. "Kie."
I think back to last night, reading the paper calendar on the fridge. "Willa has another appointment today, right? You should be there."
    I catch the flicker of panic across Sarah's face, before she catches it too and switches quickly into an almost confident smile. "I'll be okay."
    John B. knows her too well. "Are you sure? We can totally hold opening the shop off so I can go with you. I'm sorry, babe, I should've remembered."
    "No, it's okay," she says shaking her head. I know we can all tell she's a little upset, but in true Cameron fashion, she does her best at covering it up. "Really, I should be able to do things by myself now anyway. I'm her mom."
    "I know, but—"
    She cuts him off. "JB, I promise I'll be fine. Go to the shop."
    John B. hesitates, jaw tight, eyes flicking between Sarah and Willa as if he's trying to read them both at once. "You swear?"
    "I swear."
    John B. finds a hat and shoes, then his wallet and keys, and moves tentatively toward the door. He looks back once more to check that everything's in line. Rookie mistake. Sarah's already smirking.
    "Hey, baby?" she calls from the dining room.
    He's back in the kitchen faster than she can breathe again, ready to serve.
    "Can you do me a favor before you go? It'll be quick."
    He nods eagerly. "What do you need, my love?"
    "Her diaper," she says with a giggle. "Can you change it?"
    His face goes slack. "She just ate, like, not even twenty minutes ago."
    I shrug. "She's impressive."
    "I'm already late," he excuses, checking his watch.
    Sarah raises her brow, and I know then that there's no way in hell John B. is getting out of this house without changing a dirty diaper.
"Hand her over," he says with a sigh, finally surrendering.
"I love you!" Sarah calls after him as he walks to find the changing pad.
"Yeah, whatever!" he calls back.
When he returns a few minutes later, he has a fresh baby in one hand, a dirty diaper in the other, and a grimace on his face.
"You did that on purpose," he mutters.
"What," she giggles. "Was it bad?"
He deadpans. "I had to use eight wipes."
I snort. "That's cause you're an amateur. You obviously never babysat."
He stops in front of Sarah's chair and crouches, smiling softly. "I love you."
"I love you too."
"Call me. I mean it," he says, passing off the baby and heading toward the door for real this time. "Call me if you need help answering anything, or if you need an extra hand, or if shit hits the fan and you need me to call and cancel the whole appointment."
"I will," she grins. "Goodbye, John B."
He blows her one more kiss before shutting the door and driving the still-loved Twinkie down the driveway.
"I should probably get ready to leave," she says anxiously, tugging at the sides of Willa's diaper, subconsciously judging John B.'s handiwork. "Lord knows it'll take us forever to actually make it out of the door."
"I can stay," I offer genuinely. "Until you guys head out. I can watch her if that'd be helpful."
I can tell she almost takes the help, like a fish nibbling at bait, but she wants to be stronger than that. She wants to feel like she has control over the uncontrollable. Of course she does; she's Sarah.
"No," she shakes her head. "Really, you should go back home and talk to J. The quicker you get it over with, the easier it will be."
I drop my head into my hands. "I hate that you're right," I sigh.
"Just...just make sure you hold your ground, okay?"
I nod.
She reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. "I mean it, Kie. Don't let him play this off just because it's the easier option."
"I'll try," I whisper, knowing if I say anything else any louder, tears are sure to follow.
Sarah can tell. She stands. "Come here," she coos, maternal.
We embrace in a long hug. It's a special kind of hug that only a mother could provide, only this time it's my best friend, not my actual mother.
"I'll come pick you up right away," she says into my ear. "If anything happens—and I mean anything—I'll come get you, okay?"
"Okay."
She hugs me again and then walks me to the front door, baby in tow. She readjusts Willa so that her back is against her chest, and she's facing me.
"Say bye-bye," she coos, waving Willa's tiny hand. "Bye-bye, Auntie Kie!"
I lean in and kiss her cheeks, as if she herself has bid me the sweetest farewell. Still, her little eyebrows pinch and her lips stay straight, despite their natural plumpness.
"Can you smile for Kie-Kie?!" I squeal, tickling her belly.
Nothing.
"Come on, silly girl," Sarah says. "Smile for Kie-Kie."
Still, nothing.
I can tell it worries Sarah.
    Sarah huffs a quiet laugh. "She's got no work ethic."
I grin, then soften when Sarah doesn't quite meet my eyes. Willa's gaze drifts past me, unfocused, lashes heavy. She looks peaceful. Content, even. Not unhappy; just neutral.
"She'll smile," I say gently. "Probably at the worst possible time. Like, three in the morning when you're covered in spit-up."
Sarah exhales, nodding. "That would track." She presses a kiss to Willa's temple, lingering there an extra beat. "You hear that?" she murmurs to her. "You're gonna blow everyone away one day. No rush. Mama's not in a rush."
But I know she is. Just a little.
I step back onto the porch, keys already in my hand. "Text me when you're done, okay? Both appointments."
"I will," she promises. "And you text me when you're done... whatever you end up needing to do. Don't go too easy."
"I won't. I promise."