* * *
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 was 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.