“How was it?” she asked, underplaying the obvious. Not for the first time, I found myself wondering how someone who spent decades squirreled away in a convent could be so worldly.
“It was fun.” I shrugged, trying to play it cool, even though we both knew it was pointless. “We had dinner and went to the beach. He built a kite with Christmas lights on it, but you probably already knew that. Thanks again for letting me go.”
“I’m not sure there was anything I could have done to stop it.”
“You could have said no.”
“Hmm” was all she said, and I suddenly understood that there’d been an inevitability to Bryce and me all along. As I stood before my aunt, I inexplicably found myself back on the beach again with Bryce in my arms. I felt an undeniable surge of heat up my neck and began to remove my jacket in the hope she wouldn’t notice.
“Don’t forget that we have church in the morning.”
“I remember,” I confirmed. I stole a peek at her as I walked past her toward my bedroom, noticing that she’d returned to reading her book.
“Good night, Aunt Linda.”
“Good night, Maggie.”
* * *
Lying in bed with Maggie-bear, I was too wired to sleep. I kept replaying the evening and thinking about the way Bryce had gazed at me over dinner or how his dark eyes had caught the firelight. Mostly I remembered the taste of his lips, only to realize that I was smiling in the darkness like a crazy person. And yet, as the hours ticked by, my giddiness gradually gave way to confusion, which also kept me awake. While I knew deep down that Bryce loved me, it still made no sense. Didn’t he know how extraordinary he was? Had he forgotten I was pregnant? He could have any girl he wanted, while I was nothing but ordinary in all the ways that mattered and a definite screwup in one of the biggest ways of all. I wondered if his feelings for me had more to do with simple proximity than with anything particularly unique and wonderful about me. I fretted that I wasn’t smart or pretty enough, and even momentarily questioned whether I’d made the whole thing up. And while I tossed and turned, it dawned on me that love was the most powerful emotion of all, because it made you vulnerable to the possibility of losing everything that really mattered.
Despite the emotional whiplash, or maybe because of it, exhaustion finally won out. In the morning, I woke to a stranger in the mirror. There were bags under my eyes, the skin on my face felt like it was sagging, and my hair seemed stringier than usual. A shower and makeup allowed me to be somewhat presentable before I emerged from my room. My aunt, because she seemed to know me better than I knew myself, made pancakes for breakfast and avoided any doublespeak. Instead, she casually steered the conversation to the date itself and I walked her through most of it, leaving out only the important things, although my enraptured expression probably made the remainder unnecessary.
But the easy conversation was exactly what I needed to feel better, and the trepidation I’d experienced overnight gave way to a warm sense of contentment. On the ferry, as we sat upstairs at the table with Gwen, I gazed out the window and watched the water, lost again in the memories of the previous evening. I thought about Bryce while I was at church and again when we picked up supplies; at one of the garage sales, I found a kite for sale and wondered if it would fly if I added Christmas lights to it. The only time I didn’t think about him was when it came time to shop for larger bras; it was all I could do to hide my embarrassment, especially when the owner of the shop—a stern-looking brunette with flashing black eyes—gave me the once-over, pausing at my stomach, while leading me to the fitting room.
When we finally got back to the house, the lack of sleep had caught up to me. Even though it was already dark, I took a quick catnap and woke just as dinner was about to be served. After eating and cleaning up the kitchen, I went back to bed, still feeling like a zombie. I closed my eyes, wondering how Bryce had spent his day, and whether being in love would change things between us. But mostly I thought about kissing him again, and right before I finally dozed off, I realized that for me, the moment couldn’t come soon enough.
* * *
The dreamy feeling persisted when I awoke; in fact, it permeated every waking hour for the next week and a half, even when I had my next sit-down with Gwen concerning my pregnancy. Bryce loved me and I loved him, and my world pretty much revolved around that thrilling idea, no matter what the two of us were doing.
Not that our day-to-day routines changed much. Bryce was nothing if not responsible. He still came over to tutor me with Daisy in tow, and he did his best to keep me focused even when I sometimes squeezed his knee before giggling at his suddenly flustered expression. Despite my frequent attempts at flirting when I was supposed to be working, I nonetheless continued to forge ahead in my studies. On the exams, I extended my pretty-darn-good streak, even though Bryce remained disappointed in his abilities as a tutor. My photography lessons didn’t change that much, either, except that he also began teaching me how to take indoor shots using a flash and other lighting, as well as the occasional nighttime shot. Those we usually did at his house, because the equipment was right there. For evening shots of the star-filled sky, we used a tripod and a remote, since the camera had to be absolutely stable. Those shots required a super-slow shutter speed—sometimes as long as thirty seconds—and on a particularly clear night when there was no moon in the sky, we caught part of the Milky Way, which looked like a glowing cloud in a darkened sky illuminated by fireflies.
We also continued to eat dinner together three or four times a week. Half of those were with my aunt, the other half with his family, often including his grandparents. His dad had left town on the Monday after our date on a two-month consulting gig. Bryce didn’t know exactly where he’d gone or what he’d be doing, except that it was for the DOD, but he didn’t seem particularly interested; he just missed having him around.
Really, about the only thing that changed for Bryce and me was the times when we were taking a break from my studies or when we set the camera aside. In those moments, we talked more deeply about our families and friends, even recent events in the news, though Bryce had to carry those latter conversations. With no television or newspaper, I was pretty clueless about the state of the world—or the U.S., or Seattle, or even North Carolina—and honestly didn’t care all that much. But I liked hearing him talk and he occasionally posed serious questions about serious issues. After pretending to think about it, I’d say something like “That’s difficult to answer. What do you think?” and he’d start explaining his thoughts on the matter. I suppose it was also possible I learned something, but lost in my feelings for him, I didn’t remember much. Every now and then, I’d again find myself wondering what he saw in me and I’d feel a sudden pang of insecurity, but as though reading my mind, he would reach for my hand, and the feeling would pass.
We also kissed a lot. Never when my aunt or his family could see us, but pretty much every other moment was up for grabs. I’d be writing an essay and take a second to collect my thoughts, then notice the way he was watching me, and I’d lean over to kiss him. Or after examining one of the photographs from the file box, Bryce would lean in and kiss me. We kissed on the porch at the end of an evening or as soon as he stepped into my aunt’s house to tutor me. We kissed at the beach and in town, near his house and outside my aunt’s, which sometimes meant ducking behind the dune or around the corner. Sometimes he’d wrap a strand of my hair around his finger; other times, he’d simply hold me. But always, he’d tell me again that he loved me, and every single time it happened, my heart would start beating funny in my chest, and I’d feel as though my life was as perfect as it would ever be.
* * *
In early March, I had to see Dr. Huge Hands again. It was to be my last appointment with him before the delivery, since Gwen would continue to supervise my care for the rest of the term. Right on schedule, I’d begun having the occasional Braxton Hicks contraction, and when I told the doctor I wasn’t a fan, he reminded me that it wa
s my body’s way of getting ready for labor. I did the ultrasound, avoided even a glimpse at the monitor, but let out an automatic breath of relief when the technician said that the baby (Sofia? Chloe?) was doing just fine. Although I was trying hard not to think of the baby as a person who belonged to me, I still wanted to know she was going to be okay. The technician added that mama was doing fine, too—which meant me, but it was still weird to hear her say it—and when I finally sat down with the doctor, he went over a bunch of things that I might experience in the last stage of my pregnancy. I pretty much stopped listening once he said the word hemorrhoids—it had come up during the pregnant teen meeting at the Portland YMCA, but I’d forgotten all about it—and by the time he finished, I was downright depressed. It took me a second to understand that he was asking me a question.
“Maggie? Did you hear me?”
“Sorry. I was still thinking about hemorrhoids,” I said.
“I asked whether you were exercising,” he said.
“I walk when I’m taking pictures.”
“That’s great,” he said. “Just remember that exercise is good for both you and the baby, and it will shorten the time your body needs to recover after delivery. Nothing too intense, though. Light yoga, walking, things like that.”
“How about riding a bike?”
He brought a giant finger to his chin. “As long as it’s comfortable and doesn’t hurt, that’s probably okay for the next few weeks. After that, your center of gravity will begin to shift, making balance more difficult, and falling would be bad for both you and the baby.”
In other words, I’d be getting even fatter, which I knew was coming, but it was still as depressing as the idea of hemorrhoids. I did like the notion that my body might get back to normal faster, though, so the next time I saw Bryce, I asked if I could bike along with him on his morning runs.
“For sure,” he said. “It’ll be great to have company.”
The following morning, after waking up way too early, I put on my jacket and rode to Bryce’s house. He was stretching out front and he jogged toward me, Daisy at his side. As he leaned in to kiss me, I suddenly realized I hadn’t brushed my teeth, but I kissed him anyway and he didn’t seem to mind.
“You ready?”
I thought it would be easy since he was running and I was on a bike, but I was wrong. I did okay for the first couple of miles, but after that, my thighs started to burn. Even worse, Bryce kept trying to have a conversation, which wasn’t easy since I was huffing and puffing. Just when I thought I couldn’t go any farther, he stopped near a gravel road that led toward the canals and said that he had to do sprints.
I rested on my bike seat, one foot on the ground, and watched as he sprinted away from me. Even Daisy had trouble keeping up, and I watched his image grow smaller in the distance. He stopped, rested for a short bit, then sprinted toward me again. He went up and back five times, and even though he was breathing a lot harder than I’d been and Daisy’s tongue almost reached her legs, he immediately started jogging again after he’d finished, this time in the direction of his house. I thought we were done, but I was wrong again. Bryce did push-ups, sit-ups, and then jumped up and down from the picnic table in his yard before finally doing multiple sets of pull-ups using a pipe hung beneath his house, his muscles flexing against his shirt. Daisy, meanwhile, lay in place, panting. When I checked my watch after he’d finished, he’d been going nonstop for almost ninety minutes. Despite the cool morning air, his face was shiny with sweat and there were wet circles on his T-shirt as he approached.
“You do this every morning?”
“Six days a week,” he said. “But I vary it. Sometimes the run is shorter and I do more sprints or whatever. I want to be ready for West Point.”
“So every time you arrive to tutor me, you’ve already done all of this?”
“Pretty much.”
“I’m impressed,” I said, and not just because I’d enjoyed the sight of his muscles. It was impressive, and it made me wish that I could be more like him.
* * *
Despite the addition of regular morning exercise, the pounds kept coming and my tummy kept growing. Gwen continually reminded me that was normal—she began dropping by the house regularly to check my blood pressure and listen to the baby with a stethoscope—but it still didn’t make me feel better. By the middle of March, I was up twenty-two pounds. By the end of the month, I was up twenty-four, and it was pretty much impossible to hide the bulge no matter how baggy the sweatshirt. I began to resemble a character from a Dr. Seuss book: small head and skinny legs with a bulging torso, but without the cute look of Cindy-Lou Who.
Not that Bryce seemed to mind. We still kissed, he still held my hand, and he always told me I was beautiful, but as the month wore on, I began to feel pregnant almost all the time. I had to balance just right when I sat down to keep from plopping into the seat, and getting up from the sofa required momentary planning and concentration. I still went to the bathroom practically every hour, and once, when I sneezed on the ferry, my bladder actually seemed to spit, which was absolutely mortifying and left me feeling wet and gross until we got back to Ocracoke. I felt the baby moving a lot more, especially whenever I lay down—I could also watch it moving, which was really trippy—and I had to start sleeping on my back, which wasn’t comfortable at all. My Braxton Hicks contractions were coming more regularly, and like Dr. Huge Hands, Gwen said it was a good thing. I, on the other hand, still thought it was a bad thing because my whole stomach tightened and I felt all crampy, but Gwen ignored my complaint. About the only terrible things that hadn’t happened were hemorrhoids or a sudden starburst of acne on my face. I still had the occasional extra pimple or two, but my makeup skills kept it from being all that noticeable and Bryce never said a word about it.
I also did pretty well on my midterms, not that either of my parents seemed all that impressed. My aunt, though, was pleased, and it was around that time that I began to notice that she kept her own counsel when it came to my relationship with Bryce. When I’d mentioned that I was going to start exercising in the mornings, all she’d said was “Please be careful.” On those nights Bryce stayed for dinner, she and he chatted as amiably as ever. If I told her that I would be taking photographs on Saturday, she would simply ask what time I thought I would be back, so she would know what time to have dinner ready. At night, when it was just Aunt Linda and me, we talked about my parents or Gwen or what was going on with my studies or at the shop before she’d pick up a novel while I perused books on photography. And yet, I couldn’t shake the sense that something had grown up between us, some kind of distance.
Early on, I hadn’t minded it so much. The fact that my aunt and I rarely spoke about Bryce made the relationship feel a little secretive, vaguely illicit and therefore more exciting. And while not encouraging, Aunt Linda at least seemed accepting of the idea that her niece was in love with a young man who met her approval. At night, when it was time for me to walk Bryce to the door, more often than not, she would rise from her spot on the sofa and head to the kitchen, giving us a bit of privacy, enough for a quick kiss goodbye. I think she intuitively knew that Bryce and I wouldn’t go overboard. We hadn’t even gone on an official second date; really, since we saw each other pretty much all day every day, there wasn’t a reason to. Nor had we ever considered sneaking out at night to see each other or going somewhere without telling my aunt in advance. With my body beginning to shape-shift, sex was absolutely the last thing on my mind.
And yet, after a while, the distance began to bother me. Aunt Linda was the first person I’d known who was completely on my side. She accepted me for who I was, faults and all, and I wanted to think I could talk to her about anything. It all sort of came to a head as we were sitting in the living room near the end of March. We’d had dinner, Bryce had gone home, and it was coming up on the time she usually went to bed. I cleared my throat awkwardly, and my aunt glanced up from her book.
“I’m glad you let me liv
e here,” I said. “I don’t know if I’ve told you enough how thankful I am.”
She frowned. “What brought that on?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve been so busy lately that we haven’t had the chance to be alone so I could tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
Her expression softened and she set the book aside. “You’re welcome. You’re family, of course, and that’s the reason I was initially willing to help. But once you got here, I began to realize how much I enjoyed having you around. I never had children of my own, and in some ways, I feel like you’ve become like the daughter I never had. I know it’s not my place to say such things, but I’ve learned that it’s okay at my age to pretend every once in a while.”
I moved my hand over the bulge of my stomach, thinking of everything I’d put her through. “I was a pretty terrible guest in the beginning.”
“You were fine.”
“I was moody and messy and zero fun to be around.”
“You were scared,” she said. “I knew that. Frankly, I was frightened, too.”
That, I hadn’t expected. “Why?”
“I worried that I wouldn’t be what you needed. And if that happened, I worried that you might have to go back to Seattle. Like your parents, I just wanted what was best for you.”
I fiddled with a few strands of my hair. “I still don’t know what I’m going to say to my friends when I get back. For all I know, some people already suspect the truth and they’re talking about me, or they’ll spread rumors that I was in rehab or something.”
Her expression remained calm. “A lot of the girls I worked with at the convent were afraid of the same thing. And the reality is, those things might happen, and it’s terrible when they do. And yet, you might be surprised. People tend to focus on their own lives, not someone else’s. As soon as you’re back, doing normal things with your friends, they’ll forget the fact that you were gone for a while.”
The Wish Page 26
