Page 44 of Pregnant in Plaid
Sunday night—our last night before the week really starts rolling toward the wedding—we end up on the couch again. It's becoming our thing, I realize. The fire, the quiet, her curled up on one end while I read or work.
Tonight, I'm reading the pregnancy book. She's supposedly napping, but her breathing hasn't evened out yet. She's awake.
"Trace?" she says quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Read to me?"
I look up. "From the pregnancy book?"
"Yeah. I want to know what you're learning."
So I read to her about the third trimester. About contractions and how the baby is developing now. About what to expect in the coming weeks as we get closer to the due date.
Her hand rests on her stomach the whole time, and I watch her face as I read. Watch the way her expression softens when I describe how the baby can hear voices now. Watch her smile when I mention that the baby is probably already recognizing familiar sounds.
"That means the baby knows your voice," she says.
"Maybe."
"Definitely. You've been talking around me for days."
"Talking to you," I correct. "Not around you."
"Either way." She shifts, getting comfortable. "Keep reading."
So I do. I read until she actually does fall asleep, curled up with her hand on her stomach and a small smile on her face.
And I let myself imagine this is our life. Not just for a week or a month, but forever.
Her here. Me here. The baby between us.
A family.
God, I want that. I want it so badly it aches.
Not much time until the wedding.
Not much time to show her this could work.
Chapter 8
Patrice
Iwake up on Trace's couch Monday morning with a blanket tucked around me and sunlight streaming through the windows.
For a second, I forget where I am. Then everything crashes back—Alaska, the job falling through, staying with Trace, sleeping on his couch like some overgrown burrito.
The pregnancy book sits on the coffee table where he left it, a bookmark stuck partway through. I pick it up, flip to where he stopped reading last night.
He wasn't just reading to me. He'd highlighted sections. Made notes in the margins.
*Check hospital bag list.*
*Ask Dr. Martinez about this.*
*Patrice will hate this technique—too complicated.*
