“Who does all this?”
“The family who lives in the house,” Bryce answered. “They set it up every year.”
“They must really love Christmas.”
“No doubt,” he agreed. “I always find myself wondering how long it takes them to set all of this up. And how they pack it up, so they can do it again the following year.”
“And they don’t care that people are basically walking through their yard?”
“I guess not.”
I cocked my head. “I’m not sure I’d like strangers traipsing through my yard all month. I think I’d always be wary of someone peeking in the windows.”
“I think most people understand that’s a no-no.”
For the next half hour, we meandered among the decorations, chatting easily. In the background, I could hear Christmas music drifting from hidden loudspeakers, along with the joyful squealing of children. A lot of people were taking photographs, and for the first time, I found myself getting into the spirit of the season, something I couldn’t have imagined before I’d met Bryce. He seemed to know what I was thinking, and when he caught my eye, I thought again about our recent conversations and how much I’d already shared with him. Bryce, I suddenly realized, probably knew the real me better than anyone else in my life.
*
That night we stayed in New Bern’s historic district, not far from the park where we’d seen the flotilla. Grabbing my duffel bag, I followed the family inside the house, and Bryce’s dad showed me to my room. After putting on my pajamas, I fell asleep within minutes.
In the morning, Bryce’s dad made pancakes for breakfast. I sat beside Bryce, listening as the rest of them figured out their own shopping plans for the day. But the clock was ticking—no one wanted my aunt to have to wait in the church parking lot. After a quick shower, I repacked my things and we made the drive back to Morehead City while my hair was still air-drying.
Aunt Linda and Gwen were waiting, and after saying goodbye to the Tricketts—Bryce’s mom offered a hug—we did the church thing. Lunch and the supply run followed, and while I knew I’d mentioned that I needed bigger clothes, my aunt casually reminded me of something I’d forgotten.
“You might want to pick up gifts for your parents and Morgan while we’re out and about.”
Oh yeah. And while I was at it, I figured I should probably get something for my aunt, too. Seeing as I was living with her, I mean.
We ventured to a nearby department store and split up. I bought a scarf for my mom, a sweatshirt for my dad, a bracelet for Morgan, and a pair of gloves for my aunt. On our way out, my aunt promised to box and ship out my family’s gifts the following week.
We next visited a store that specialized in maternity clothing. How she knew about the place, I had no idea—it’s not like she’d ever needed it—but I was able to find a couple of pairs of jeans with elastic waistbands, one for now and one for when I was watermelon-sized. In all honesty, I hadn’t even known that such things existed.
I dreaded the idea of having to check out—I knew the cashier would give me that look—but thankfully, my aunt seemed to sense my concerns.
“If you want to head to the car and wait,” she said casually, “I’ll pay for these and Gwen and I will meet you there.”
I felt my shoulders suddenly relax. “Thanks,” I murmured, and as I pushed through the door, I was struck by the revelation that a nun—or former nun, whatever—was actually one of the coolest people I knew.
*
We met up with Bryce and his family on the ferry and saw that their van had a large Christmas tree strapped to the roof. Bryce and I hung out for most of the ride until my aunt strode over to let Bryce know that on Tuesday, she and I were going to take a “personal day,” so Bryce wouldn’t have to tutor. I had no idea what she meant but knew enough to stay quiet; Bryce took her comment in stride, and it wasn’t until I was back at the house that I asked my aunt about it.
I had an appointment with the OB-GYN, Aunt Linda explained, and Gwen would be joining us.
But strangely, even though we’d bought the maternity jeans, it struck me that in the last couple of days, I hadn’t thought about my pregnancy much at all.
*
Unlike Dr. Bobbi, my new OB-GYN, Dr. Chinowith, was male and older, with white hair and hands so huge he could have palmed a basketball twice the normal size. I was eighteen weeks along, and by his demeanor, I was pretty certain I wasn’t the first teenage unwed mother-to-be he’d come across. It was also clear that he’d worked with Gwen numerous times in the past and they were comfortable with each other.