No song this time, but I would like to give a quick shoutout to my PA Pal @jbran32. Check her out. She's pretty cool, if I do say so myself.
America was eleven weeks along, almost the end of the first trimester. She was finally getting over her morning sickness. Words couldn't describe how scared I was the first time she woke me up urgently and then ran to the bathroom to throw up. It hadn't even felt real until then. That was the day I realized that I had to step up. Ever since then, I'd been reading every book I could get my hands on about pregnancy. I think I was up to number seven by then.
I was skimming through the one I'd just started reading as I got dressed. I was buttoning my shirt when I heard soft cries coming from the bathroom where America was getting changed. "Oh God," she wept.
I rushed in, fearing the worst. America had her head in her hands and leaned against the counter. Tears raced down her face. I took her wrists in my hands and pulled them away from her face so I could see her eyes. "America, what's wrong? Is it the baby?" I asked worriedly. My heart pounded at the thought of something being wrong with the baby. I don't think I'd be able to bear it.
"They don't fit," she whimpered.
I furrowed my brow in confusion. "What doesn't fit?"
She rolled her eyes like she shouldn't even have to explain it. "The pants."
"The pants," I repeated slowly, seeing that she was wearing a pair of jeans that looked like the zipper couldn't go up any more even though it was pulled to only the halfway point.
"Yes, Maxon. The pants," America looked at me like I should understand. "They're the ones you got me. Don't you remember?"
Oh. She meant the pants. Of course I remembered. They were the very first gift I'd given her during the Selection. "I do remember, darling. I just don't see why it's such a big deal. You're going to grow with our child. You'll just have to wear the maternity clothes for now, that's all."
Her face crumpled. "You just don't get it," she said. America crossed her ams and turned away from me, continuing to cry.
She was right. I didn't get it. Even if she was hormonal, America would never get this upset over a pair of jeans. It just wasn't like her. There must've been something I was missing, something I didn't see.
"America," I said soothingly and touched her arm. "This isn't really about the pants, is it?"
She looked back to me. "Of course it isn't about the pants! Since when have I been the kind of person who cries over a piece of clothing?"
I pushed a lock of hair away from her face. "Then what is this about?"
"Well, I was just thinking, if the pants don't fit, then what if we don't fit?"
"What do you mean?"
America took a shuddery breath. "The baby. Once it's born, what if we just don't work anymore? It happens. People have a baby and the stress of it drives a wedge between them. What if that happens to us?"
At first, the whole notion seemed ridiculous. America and I could handle it. Our love was strong enough to bend, but never break. We'd been together for years. There was no way that having a baby, something we'd wanted for a long time, could be too much for us.
Then, I realized that it was one of my fears as well. America was right. It happened all of the time. The stress of a baby combined with that of running a country made it even more likely that something would go wrong eventually. It was awful to think about, but it was a possibility.
"We have to trust that it won't if we don't let it."
America wasn't crying as as much, but she still looked sad. She moved to encircle my waist with her arms and nuzzled her face into my chest. "God, Maxon, the thought of it just terrifies me. I don't want to lose you."
I smoothed her hair and wrapped one arm around her. "You could never lose me, America. I will always be here."
I knew that if I ever felt us start to drift that I would do everything in my power to stop it. As much as she didn't want to lose me, I didn't want to lose her a thousand times more.
"And," I resumed, "we can't let our child be anything negative in our lives. That will only allow resentment to grow and I don't want to raise a kid in that environment. This is a beautiful thing and if we think about it any other way, it could hurt the baby once it's born. I'd feel horrible if it grew up feeling unloved."
She nodded against my chest. "You're right," she sniffled.
America pulled out of the embrace. She wiped her eyes and looked up at me, laughing a little. "When did you get so wise? I still think of you as the man who couldn't even preheat an oven."
"You're never going to let that go, are you?"
She smirked. "Never."
"I didn't think so," I smiled. I stepped closer to her and gave her a kiss. She sighed contentedly.
"Also, if it makes any difference," I added, "I think you look even sexier in maternity clothes. It reminds me that you're carrying my child, which is unbelievably hot."
Her cheeks flamed red. "Gosh, Maxon, stop."
"It's true," I murmured and kissed her again. I knew she was flattered despite what she said. It wasn't like I was lying, either. It was incredibly attractive that she was having a baby that was half me. I felt more attached to her than before the pregnancy... if that was even possible.