Chapter Text
Late September was a bridged gap between the last surges of summer, thick and heavy as it meddled with the brisk welcome of fall. The atmosphere over Cousins Beach was a haze of the go between. Claps of the waves echoed through the barely cracked window of the beach house bedroom.
Whips of sandy air lapped between the folds of the glass, as sprinkles of saltwater evaporated into the dark night sky. Hues of deep indigo and navy blue curled along each other into the future of what the morning would bring. The sunburnt orange glow of the sun peaked beneath the rolling waves of the ocean, not yet ready to relieve the moon of it’s crisp and clear silver incandescence. In the matter of a few hours, Conrad Fisher would be rustling awake to attend a laundry list of responsibilities at the hospital. His breathing was deep and rhythmic, a peaceful countenance as he was undoubtedly unaware of what was transpiring in the room next door.
Belly had become an expert at escaping without a measured noise or sensation that she had fallen away from the bed the couple shared. Every night for the last handful of days, this was where she found herself: perched upon the pads of her knees, nearly rubbed raw from the position of kneeling onto the cool tile of the bathroom floor. Her hair, damp with internal heat, stuck to the ridges of her forehead, a ring cladded hand carefully stroking it behind her ear.
Her forehead glistened in a layer of clammy perspiration, teeth gnawing on the flesh of her bottom lip. Her cheeks flushed a shade of pale blush, as if she were moments away from heatstroke. Dark, doe eyes squeezed to a close as her focus was fixated on her diaphragm, each breath an attempt to calm her nerves that fortified her. Belly Conklin was confident that at the very slip of stirring awake, the soft brunette would be awoken with alarm and worry etched into his every feature.
For now, he was completely comatose. Exactly how she wished him to be as to not interrupt his slumber. The company of their American shorthair kitten — lovingly monikered Cocoa — was a reasonable substitute. The green eyed furball curled himself into the base of Belly’s feet, his fluffy tail brushing against her ankles. The supportive affection anchored Belly to the ground, while the ripples of anxiety flushed her like an overwhelming wave in anticipation of it crashing to the shore, nearly enveloping her.
The sensation of standing in the ocean couldn’t seem to release her from its clutches. Her copious swim sessions in the open water lasted hours at a time. She anticipated it to be residual effects of the excessive sun exposure, her body’s secret language that was screaming at her to slow down. It was no surprise when each day she brushed onto shore, she spent that same night hunched over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach in a marathon of sputtered coughs and chokes.
A few days prior, she chalked the sickness up to a case of lobster rolls gone sour, while food poisoning seemed to be the necessary conclusion. The day after, dehydration from brain fog, forgetting to sip on water throughout the day while studying intensely for the GREs.
Now, it was an excuse of pinning it on the motion of the ocean, that was performing an acrobatic number on her nerves. Fingertips clamped onto the porcelain before her, rocking tired and feeble knees back and forth in an attempt to subside the nausea that gripped her throat with its acidic, fiery pull. Her stomach curdled in an immovable pass, back arching as her lips watered. Thankfully, the overhead fan drowned out the noises made in the stall, manicured fingers tipping the knob to flush, while hollowed meows hushed around the open air.
They would always have Paris, she held onto that shift in her life like an oath. In many ways, it was the push she finally needed to bloom into the person she needed to meet. It was messy and unpredictable, but necessary all the same. Cousins would always be her home, but Paris had the tug of a temporary safe haven. The beach house didn’t take long to find her, in the form of the boy of her preteen dreams, her lifelong crush and ex boyfriend Conrad Beck Fisher.
He was patient and understanding, never one to push Belly into submission of what he wanted her to become, unlike her ex fiancé. She was in a flurry of confusion before Paris. Once her hues met with his, it was as if she were bridging toward home. It wasn’t just a building or a city, it had two devastating green eyes, dark strands of chestnut hair and a freckle just above his lip. The same one who was currently so blissfully unaware of her struggling feet away from him.
Their relationship had been trialed and tested through unbelievable tasks. And in the end, the two were even stronger than before. All their lives, the two were intertwined, an invisible string tying them together. So much had metamorphosed between them. They were no longer two naive and young teenagers from legends past. They were two young adults discovering life’s highs and lows together. Two young adults who now resided in the beach house that restarted Belly’s heartbeat every June to September. Now, they were living for all seasons.
The couple was settled in life — stable, and comfortable — most of all, in an intoxicating euphoria that followed them everywhere they pondered. It hadn’t been but a few weeks after Conrad had asked for Belly’s hand. Laurel was his first stop in the permission tour and she was transparent in her agreement of giving the love of her daughter’s life her blessing. The ring — Susannah’s ring — that decorated Belly Conklin’s finger represented the promise of their future, an unspoken vow to love and to hold each other up for all times.
The ring wasn’t a materialistic symbol of their label. Belly could never measure their love in the carats of a diamond. The simple act of receiving the jewelry that belonged to his deceased mother was what she held near to her heart. She didn’t need flashy accessories to weigh the appreciation and love that was shown from him everyday since Paris. He would always be her Conrad, her first everything. The first boy she ever slow danced with, ever cried over, ever loved. The one who taught her how to ride a bike, who taught her the concept of infinity, who taught her how to love. He was the one that would stick.
The warmth of their kitten’s tail provided a needed tie to reality, his tongue gently licking her calves that released her from her inner most thoughts. The young woman opened with a sharp, icy inhale before her brown doe eyes finally fluttered in adjustment to the dimly lit overhead light of the bathroom. The cool sensation of the tiles below her legs ushered goosebumps to offset the slick sweat of her brow. Her gaze lazily met the silhouette of their trusted cat, a careful upturn of the corners of her lips that developed into a smile that couldn’t quite reach her eyes. The same eyes that were increasingly tired and lacked from rest.
Pastel pink fingernails sifted through the soft pallet of fur as Belly awaited for the knot to subside. She bundled her fingerprints into his coat, silky and smooth, while thumbing against his preferred zone behind the ears. Hums of purrs exuded from his form in satisfaction, his head turned upward to meet Belly’s reddened features. Eyes were wide and fixed upon one of his two owners, tongue hung lolling to the side of his mouth.
The minutes of the hour of two o’clock passed onward, her attempts of quelling the storm swirling inside of her finally showing an accomplished mission. She managed to pull her bones together, gathering herself up with the help of the nearby sink to pull her right side up. Her movements were slow and calculated, as if a second of quick motion would undo the progress she had in one twist of her stomach. Her dainty hands mustered as much energy to mask what she had lost in the gleaming white seat, standing to her wobbly feet. Her free hand grasped her warm tresses up off her neck as the subtle breeze of the ocean air aided her.
Soft pink lips released air that was once trapped in her lungs, eyes paired up to the reflection of the bathroom mirror in front of her, the back of her small hand pressed slack against the lack of colour in her cheeks. The possibility fluttered along her like a lightbulb, now full and bright as it hung above her head. Could she be pregnant? While the couple wasn’t exactly planning the future of a family, they weren’t necessary preventing the outcome either. The couple had a couple of scares that formed into an evaporated memory, hidden away into oblivion.
A deep exhale exited from her mouth, a shaky, unstable hand settled against her slender stomach. There was a plausible deniability that feigned over her, disbelief clouding her judgement. Another breath passed by her as a desperate bid to one of two options: reunite with Conrad in bed, or use one of the back up tests in the drawer to dispel a scenario that now dominated her mind.
Carefully and soundlessly, she rummaged through the contents of the drawer, peering into the vicinity that was filled with obsessively straight deodorant cans, unopened boxes of moisturizer and bottles of matched perfume and cologne. Reaching further into the confines of the drawer, her fingers finally curled around the box that inhabited a skinny stick of plastic, life changing and yet so nonchalant.
Her free hand tugged at the hem of Conrad’s oversized Stanford tee that curved around Belly’s torso like a weighted blanket, flesh bitten off of the edge of her lips as she contemplated what was the potential of a life-altering answer to the future. Before a second thought, she perched herself up on the porcelain seat, pads of her knees with a rush of relief as she sat. Silently opening the cardboard box, dark hues scattered along the writing of instructions provided on the insert, the thin plastic test fumbling between thumb and pointer finger.
The next three minutes of time passed by like molasses out of a jar, measured in slow motion. the seconds flickering by as if to taunt her, leaving it up to the universe with an emphatic yes or no to the question that now couldn’t escape her thoughts. A growing nervous wave washed over her, an anxious thud of her heart as the skin beneath her fingertips were haphazardly picked raw in anticipation. She stood weakly while rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, delicate pads of her fingertips thrumming against the granite of the sink.
Irises peered over to the word in bolder black lettering, unmistaken of the validity of the answer: pregnant.
Hues welled up with emotion she couldn’t quite decipher, an overwhelming beat that left her hollowed out and near empty. Her fingers threaded along the fabric of the tee shirt of her fiancé’s, a tug that kept her feet in reality. Her blank stare fell to the mirror once more, shoulders now folded backward as she allowed her digits to gently press against the skin of her abdomen, thumb light as it soothed carefully circles alongside. There wasn’t any notable difference in her body at that moment in time, it was still so surreal. His clothes hugged her in a way she wished it always would. A comfort she had being close to him when he was far away. The same curves of her silhouette were unchanging from the moment she took the test to the moment after.
Until it wouldn’t be. In one swift moment, she reopened the drawer, laying the capped test inside. A tired exhale surpassed her rosy, nearly chapped lips as she retreated from her abode of the bathroom, ushering Cocoa to the outside world. Her petite stature fell along the path to the king sized bed, resuming her previous position as she climbed back into the crème white bedsheets. She rustled in subtly careful movements until she was comfortable, Conrad’s tanned and lanky frame melting into her. His arm brushed along the skin of her shoulder, fingertips dangling to the angle of her bicep.
The soft hum of his breathing allowed Belly to relax into his touch, while Cocoa skillfully propped himself up onto the bed, making his territory at the couple’s feet of the mattress. The future doctor in training wasn’t outwardly disturbed, inhaling the scent of his partner’s hair, lips pursed and clung to the flesh of her temple in an aimless, intentional sleep-filled connection.
The two became one as they both melted into the pillowcases below, Belly resting her exhausted cheek to his chest, her ear pressed firmly along the syncopated thrums of his heartbeat. The sounds of the oceanic crashes of waves outside flooded in with background noise as Belly found herself slipping into unconsciousness as Conrad’s firm grip loosened all while his thumb padded along the bend of her elbow. Her breathing deepened into a peaceful sleep, smudging the lines of her focus.
“I love you, Belly,” his husky tone, true and full punctuated into the silence. Her inner thoughts echoed while her mouth couldn’t quite form the response, though her mind murmured it for her: I love you, Conrad. Infinitely so.