Page 31 of My Secret Snowflake
Sebastian holds up a plastic tub while I take his picture.
“You’re grimacing,” I say. “Smile.”
“This is not a photo op,” he says.
“You don’t want to scare the sales associate,” I say.
He makes a funny expression, and I snap the picture. He quickly puts back the tub and opens up the next clue.
“What a bright time, it’s the right time, to rock the night away. Jingle bell time, it’s a swell time, to go gliding…”
Sebastian asks, “Is there a holiday department?”
“One of those gliding rocking chairs. My sister swears by it.” I check the map. “This way.”
“You really are an expert,” he says.
It’s lucky that this is not a date, because my knowledge about babies and child-rearing would probably scare away even the most ardent admirer. He’d worry I want kids immediately.
Sebastian follows me as I weave through the various departments to bring us to the glider chair section. About twenty chairs are lined up in rows.
“Dinner at my parents’ house is all about breastfeeding, potty training, and sleep training.”Stop talking about kids.What am I doing? It’s like this fake pregnancy belly has activated all my maternal desires.
“Does it make you feel left out?” he asks.
I glance at him, surprised at such a perceptive question.
“Sometimes. Mostly because I can’t contribute to the conversation. And I’m envious that my sisters are sharing these experiences together. But I’m definitelynotready for children yet,” I say. Phew. That should dispel all impressions to the contrary. “Especially if there’s as little sleep involved as my sisters say. I need to be more established in my career. It’s hard enough to be a woman in cybersecurity. I need to be in a more senior position with more control over my schedule before I have children. I’d like to actually see them.”
Another couple is trying out the gliding chairs. The husband takes a picture of his wife reclining in the chair. We say hello.
“Your turn to be in the photo,” Sebastian says.
I sink into the chair, which engulfs me like a Venus flytrap plant. My pregnancy belly rises, nearly smothering me. I try to push it down. Sebastian catches himself laughing and hands me his backpack to cover it. I stand quickly. He takes a selfie with the chair.
“Is it okay?” I ask, adjusting the belly.
“I’m not sure. It might be a little off,” Sebastian says. “Let’s move out of here discreetly and go behind that post over there so we can fix it.”
I keep the backpack in front of me.
Sebastian puts his arm around me, walking close to block the sideview. His warmth and closeness give me a gooey feeling inside. A protected feeling. Sebastian does it so easily. It’s so different from what it was like with Patrick. Sometimes Patrick forgot about me in the rush of greeting his fans. And Patrick was not that affectionate in public—he didn’t, understandably, like having his love life dissected by fans and the media. Neither did I. Especially when someone posted a particularly unflattering photo of me. But he also acknowledged that he wanted to be respectful of his fans’ feelings because some had crushes on him.
We pass by the other couple. The wife looks like she is about to take a nap in the rocking chair.
We move in tandem over to the mirrored pole. I put down the backpack.
“It’s just a smidge off, don’t you think?” I ask. I’m in front, Sebastian behind me in the reflection in the mirror, my dark hair contrasting with his blond. We look good together—almost like we are a couple. I rub my wrist, which has been giving twinges of pain lately, and adjust the pillow slightly.
“All good,” Sebastian says.
We turn around to find another one of the competing couples.
“Oh, you guys are so tall and striking,” the wife says. She stands next to a bouncy chair while her husband snaps a picture. “If you don’t have this, I highly recommend it. We used it so often for our first. Is this your first?”
“Yes,” we say in unison.
“How’d you guys meet?” She rubs her belly. “I just love hearing how people met.”
