He had hours before anyone else in the house would be awake, but falling back asleep was impossible. Homer stared at the water stain on the ceiling and tried to think about logistics. Did I pack enough T-shirts? Should I get more deodorant? Do the red sneakers smell better than my running shoes? It wasn’t long, however, before his mind turned to Mia. Sometimes, he thought about random things, like how her smile stretched across her whole face in a way that made it impossible not to smile back and how amazing her hair looked when thick clouds pressed the humidity against the earth and the dense air made all the strands around her face curl. How the muscles in her legs popped when she walked in sand. How smooth the skin in the dip between her shoulder blades would feel under his fingertips. Other times, his thoughts led him to places he didn’t like to go. To remembering how much he liked her and how sometimes liking her hurt even more than being caught in a riptide. Homer picked up a throw pillow and pressed it to his face, silently repeating, She’s pregnant.
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