Page 70 of Pregnant in Plaid
He smiles and squeezes my hand, then stands up to clear the plates.
I lean back against the couch and press a hand to my stomach. The baby kicks, as if to say,You're an idiot.
"I know," I whisper. "I know."
Later, after dinner, I'm standing in front of the mirror in the guest room—my room—in my pajamas. The baby is pressing against my ribs, and my back aches, and when I look at my reflection, all I see is how huge I am.
My stomach is enormous. My hips are wider. My face is rounder. Everything about my body has changed, and I barely recognize myself.
"I'm so big," I mutter. "I'm a freakin’ whale."
"You're not a whale."
I jump and spin around. Trace is standing in the doorway, and from the look on his face, he heard everything.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." He walks into the room and stops in front of me. "You're not a whale."
"Then what am I?"
He's quiet for a moment, and then he says, "Beautiful. You're carrying our baby. That's the most incredible thing I've ever seen."
My throat gets tight. "Trace."
"I mean it." He reaches out and rests his hand on my stomach. The baby kicks, and his face lights up. "Every time I look at you, I'm amazed. Not just by the baby, but by you. How strong you are. How brave. How you got on a plane pregnant and flew across the country because you believed in yourself enough to take the job."
"That was stupid."
"That was courage." His thumb traces small circles on my stomach. "You're not a whale, Patrice. You're a woman who's creating life, and that's the most beautiful thing in the world."
I'm crying again. Pregnancy has turned me into a leaky faucet.
"I can't reach my feet," I admit. "To put my shoes on. I tried earlier, and I couldn't do it."
"Then I'll help you." He drops to his knees in front of me and gently lifts one of my feet.
"Trace, you don't have to?—"
"I want to."
He carefully slides my socks on, then my slippers,treating me like I'm something precious instead of a crying pregnant mess who ate an entire chocolate croissant and called herself a whale.
When he's done, he looks up at me, still on his knees, and the expression on his face is so tender it makes my heart crack open.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He stands and pulls me into a hug, careful not to squish my stomach. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, steady and sure.
I'm falling for him.
The realization sits heavy in my chest, warm and terrifying all at once. His heartbeat drums steady under my ear, and the baby kicks between us like it's trying to get his attention too.
I should pull away. I should go to bed and pretend this moment didn't crack something open inside me.
But I don't move.
And neither does he.
