The Anniversary Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

and Helen hadn’t fallen pregnant again, but mutually
agreed that it wasn’t for them.  It seemed selfish to want more children when
there were couples who had none, but they both prayed for at least one more
child.
    “Another two and a half
months to go.”  Florence gave a long sigh and placed her hand on her distended
stomach.
    “Aren’t you enjoying the
pregnancy?” John asked, surprised.  She seemed content enough, constantly
stroking her stomach softly, looking dreamy as she hummed to it under her
breath.
    “Yes I am, but I don’t think Sydney is very much.”
    “Are you sure?”
    John and the man might not
have much in common, but surely their tastes could not be so dissimilar. 
Surely the man could not think that his wife was anything but beautiful.
    “He rarely makes love to me
now that I’ve gained extra weight,” she explained.
    “He’s just worried about
you.  All men get worried about making love to their wives when they’re
pregnant—it’s only natural,” John reassured her.  “The little extra weight
suits you.
    “But everything on me seems
twice the size it was before,” she complained.  “Even my feet feel bigger!”
    “Your feet look fine to me.”
    Actually, they looked better
than fine.  They looked dainty and soft and incredibly feminine even with
toenails cut short and free of polish.
    “What about the rest of me?”
she asked, holding her arms outstretched and looking at them.
    “Those matchsticks!”  John
laughed.  If he tried hard enough he could probably snap one of her slender
arms in two.
    “And what about these?”  She
pulled the top of her dress downwards suddenly, exposing her chest.  “They are
huge!  I used to have small, firm bubbies.  I didn’t really need to wear a bra
until well into my twenties.  Now I need all the support I can get.”
    John coughed self-consciously
and then took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee he had fetched from the living
room as she made no attempt to cover herself.
    “At least lingerie designers
make pretty maternity bras these days,” she ran her hand over her left breast. 
“I particularly like the intricate lacework on this one, don’t you?”
    “It’s pretty,” he agreed,
without looking at it too closely.
    “And look how well it
supports me.”  The next instant she had taken her breast out of the cup to
demonstrate.  “See.  Without the bra my breast would droop slightly.”
    “But only very slightly,” he
acknowledged, his eyes locked on to her uncovered breast.  God, she was the
epitome of lush womanhood!
    “Feel how heavy it is,” she
offered, bouncing it gently in her palm.  “And it will get heavier when it’s
filled with milk.”
    “No, thanks.”  John hastily
clasped his hands behind his back, away from temptation.
    “Oh, don’t be such a prude!”
she admonished, taking his hand and placing it beneath the heavy orb.  “Surely
you must have touched Helen’s.”
    Touched?  An understatement if he’d
ever heard one.  He had been at Helen’s breasts constantly during her
pregnancy.  And had been only marginally better after she had given birth.  He
had been surprised and horrified to find himself a little jealous of his twins
as Helen had breastfed them.  He had needed to be close to her, sometimes
sitting behind her and cradling both her and the feeding baby in his arms,
unless he was occupied with holding the other twin.  But even that had not been
enough—for the first few days he had felt strangely disconnected from her and
them.
    Thankfully Helen had always
been able to read him like a book—sometimes it was scary the way she knew his
thoughts before he had articulated them.  She had known exactly what he’d
needed to feel less isolated.  One night, after they had put the twins to bed, he
had been lying with his head on her lap—something he had done increasingly
since the twins were born but had never done in the past; usually he cradled her head on his lap—she