“Thank you.” Because tea sounded good, and the caffeine even better, she added the bag to her water, letting it steep. “Where did you get all this?” She swept her arm over the scene.
“The chairs and table are from my apartment—it’s actually my temporary dining set. The cheap tablecloth came from Duane Reade. More importantly, how are you doing? I’ve been worried about you since I saw you last.”
“I’ve slept a lot. I feel better.”
“You look good.”
“I’m a walking cadaver. But thank you anyway.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Haven’t we moved beyond that yet? Where you have to ask permission to ask me something?”
He stared into his cup of eggnog, his brow creased by a slight frown. “After we finished skating, you know, when…you started feeling bad. You said something like…Pac-Man? Or Packmin? Or…”
“Pac-Man,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Have you never heard of Pac-Man? The video game?”
“No.”
Dear God, he really is young. Or I’m getting old. She pulled out her phone, went to YouTube, selected a quick video, and handed the phone to him. He started the video and began watching.
“So Pac-Man moves through a maze eating dots along the way?”
“Exactly.”
“What did that have to do with the way you were feeling?”
“Because that’s sometimes how I think about cancer. That it’s like Pac-Man, moving through the maze of my body, eating all my healthy cells.”
As she answered, his eyes went wide. “Oh…wow. I’m so sorry I brought this up. I shouldn’t have asked…”
She waved a hand at him. “It’s not a big deal. Let’s just forget about it, okay? Are you hungry? I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and ordered from my favorite Italian restaurant. The food should arrive by eight.” Even if she couldn’t eat more than a few bites, she was hoping to enjoy the smell.
“Sounds great. Thanks for that. And before I forget, Abigail told me to wish you a merry Christmas. She said she wishes she could be here with us and that she can’t wait to meet you when she comes to New York in a few days.”
“Likewise,” Maggie said. She gestured at the gift. “Should I open it now, since the food won’t be here for a while?”
“Why don’t we wait until after dinner?”
“And until then, let me guess…You want to hear the rest of my story.”
“I’ve been thinking about it ever since you left off.”
“It’s still better if we end with the perfect kiss.”
“I’d rather hear it all, if you don’t mind.”
She took a swallow of tea, letting it warm the back of her throat while the years rolled in reverse. She closed her eyes, wishing she could forget, but knowing she never would.
“Later that night, after Bryce brought me home, I barely slept at all…”
The Third Trimester
Ocracoke
1996
Part of my insomnia had to do with my aunt. When I got home, she was still on the couch, the same book open in her lap, but when she lifted her eyes in my direction, one look was all it took. No doubt I was radiating moonbeams, because her eyebrows twitched slightly, and I finally heard her sigh. It was an I knew this was going to happen kind of sigh, if you know what I mean.
“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.