#lucymmiller

You’re about to ask Sarah how many purple butterflies are on her pillowcase, an attempt to get the plastic vehicle off of the hill of your tummy, when someone knocking interrupts you.

Joel stands in the doorway of Sarah’s room, smiling when he sees you two cuddled up on her bed. “Where was my invitation?” He teases, stepping forward on the plush carpet. You don’t miss his quick glance to your stomach. 

You smile, about to tease him back, when you notice something in his hand. Something you forgot about up until this moment. 

“Is that-?”

“S’from your aunt,” Joel holds the silver camcorder up for you to see better. Its metallic paint glimmers against the early-noon light bleeding through Sarah’s sheer, pinkish curtains. He sits down on the bed, mattress sinking under his weight as you move to sit up, practically snatching it from his hands. 

“What is it?” Sarah squeezes in between you and your husband, ever the curious one. 

“It’s my video camera from high school.” You say, barely a whisper. Your fingers trace over the puffy stickers adorned onto the back of the display screen. “Where did she find this?” You smile in disbelief. 

Joel shrugs, lifting his daughter up and onto his lap with a soft grunt. “Didn’t come with a note or anything, just showed up on the front porch. Came with the charging cord too.” 

You huff out a little laugh, flipping the display screen open and pressing the on button. As if the device is frozen in time, it immediately unveils the last thing you recorded before the camcorder was tucked away in the attic of your childhood home. “Oh, geez- I don’t want you seeing this.” You cringe, hiding the display against your chest as Joel tries to peek at it. 

“Uh- might’ve already looked.” He admits with a guilty look. 

You glare at your husband, eliciting a nervous laugh from him. 

“Only watched a couple’a seconds, I swear.” 

You hum before revealing the display to the both of them, pressing play and letting it run. 

“Hey! We’re at uhm- quit that!” 

You watch as the much-younger version of you on the screen giggles and fumbles with the camera before pointing it at the mirror in front of you. 

“We’re at Lindsey’s house, gettin’ ready for prom. Look at their pretty dresses.” 

The speaker whirrs as teenage-you zooms in on the sparkly material of your friends’ attire. You sigh, looking up at Joel to distract yourself from your awful haircut from a little over a decade ago. Side-swooped bangs clipped back with a flowery-purple hairclip that matched your dress. He’s grinning so wide that his eyes almost disappear, a boyish look that shaves ten years off of him. 

“Look at your momma, ain’t she just the cutest thing-” he chuckles.

“Joel,” You groan, setting the camcorder down on one of Sarah’s pillows and covering your face with your hands. 

He picks it up and lets Sarah hold it as they both continue watching, a perplexed look on your kid’s face. You realize how peculiar this may be for the both of them– Sarah seeing a version of you before she even existed, Joel seeing a version of you before you were each other’s. 

“You two can have fun with that, I’m gonna go- I don’t even know.” You mumble, quickly getting up before the squeaky voice emanating from the device makes you curl in on yourself. 

—------- 

It’s been a year since you moved from your apartment on the outskirts of downtown Austin to the quieter, tree-lined cul-de-sac a little further south of the city. Your home. 

Joel’s words from a year ago echo in your brain as you stand in the office-turned-nursery that sits across the hall from your own bedroom. We’ll figure it out, he said then. And you did. 

Now, just a couple months from your due date, the four green walls surrounding you feel surreal to stand in, even now. 

So lost in your head, you don’t immediately register the hand that rubs at your lower back. Soothing. Always there. 

“Thinkin’ about movin’ the crib again?” Joel murmurs against your temple. 

You giggle, tilting your head to look up at him. “Now that would be cruel.” 

He smiles, detaching from you to readjust the blanket that’s fallen from the rocking chair in the corner. 

“Could build you a crib for every corner of this room.” He says quietly.

“I know.” You reply. Because he would, if you asked him to. Maybe, even if you didn’t.  

He walks back over to you in gentle strides, big palms resting on your belly. “Sorry for peakin’ at your video camera earlier. Should’ve asked first.” He kisses the crown of your head. 

You scoff, lifting your arms to wrap around his shoulders. “Please. I was being dramatic.” 

He pulls back to look at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Wish I knew you back then. Would’a been whipped for the pretty girl in the purple dress. Had you on my arm the whole dance.” 

“I think I would’ve despised you.” You tilt your head. Joel raises his eyebrows. “Don’t take it personally. Just had a thing against dating in high school.” You shrug. 

“Reckon I would’ve tried anyway.” He leans down for a proper kiss. Smug. 

“I reckon you would’ve.” You repeat in a whisper, just before pressing your lips against his. 

—------- 

“Careful now, sweetheart,” Joel calls out over his shoulder as Sarah holds the camcorder in both of her hands, the dim, red recording light turned on. She’s been glued to the thing all day, sitting on the couch, watching the videos that you double-check and deem appropriate for her to watch. She’ll have to wait a little longer for some of the other ones, you decide. 

At one point, she asked you if she could record her own video on the device, and you hesitated. “Not sure if there’s still space in this thing to record another video, bug.” Your heart clenched when you saw her deflate, so you decided to try anyway. To you and Joel’s surprise:

RECORDING… 

The word began to blink in the corner of the display screen, and you quickly handed the thing off to your kid. 

Now, while you sit on the porch steps with an icy glass of water and the latest edition of a parenting magazine flopped-open on your belly, Joel hammering together a narrow flowerbed that lines the porch railing, your mini-Spielberg wanders around the front yard with the most serious expression on her face. 

“Hi, my name is Sarah, and this is my house.” She speaks to the camera, brilliantly lifting it up to make sure your home is in-frame. “That’s daddy, and momma-” She lowers it down, pointing the lens at you both. 

She waddles closer to you, propping one foot up on the step you’re sitting on and pointing the camcorder directly at you. You have to hold back a chuckle. 

“My lil’ sister’s in her belly.” Your heart melts at the sweet drawl of her voice, unarguably something she picked up from Joel. Before you can say anything, she’s already walking over to where her dad is crouched on the grass, the rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunk of the hammer in his hand securing the final nail in the flowerbed. 

Arm lifting to block the sun from his eyes, Joel turns to look at his Sarah. “Is it still goin’, baby?” He asks, awkwardly hobbling over to her on his grass-stained knees to look at the display. He hums contently when he sees that it still is. “Should show ‘em momma’s new flowerbed.” He nods at the camera with a smile. 

To his disappointment, Sarah lets out a little hmph before turning away and deciding to film the Adler’s front yard instead. You gasp, jaw dropping as your head whips over to see your husband’s deflated expression. “Ouch, Miller. Your own blood thinks your craftsmanship isn’t worth the memory card space.” 

He looks at you, completely defeated as your kid busies herself with filming the rainbow windspinners dotting the lawn. You nearly burst out laughing as he flops down on the step next to you, a grown man sulking. He sighs loudly, seemingly on purpose, as it draws Sarah’s attention. 

She quickly skips over with stiff arms, making sure not to drop your camcorder, before nudging her way into her dad’s lap. Joel damn near melts. He smiles at you over her shoulder when she hugs him in a silent apology. 

“S’okay, babygirl.” His hand soothes up and down her back. 

Joel takes the video camera from her hands, flipping the display screen so that it faces the three of you. His arm extends with the camera and he squints his eyes. You want to tease him for his poor eyesight, to tell him that he’s gettin’ old, that he needs those readers that you got him as a joke for his last birthday. 

But as he’s blabbering to the camera about something that makes Sarah squirm with laughter, all you can think about is how perfect the three of you look, squished together in the small, rectangular frame. 

—------- 

“Joel,” you giggle, attempting to nudge your husband away with your elbow. “I’ve got carrots to cut.” 

The sound of your knife against the wooden chopping board resumes when he finally stops trying to kiss your neck, amidst your ticklish protests. 

“Should’ve let me cook tonight. Give you and the baby a break.” He sighs, reaching for a stalk of celery. 

“A break from… painting candle jars and reading parenting magazines?” You quirk an eyebrow up at him, tipping the chopping board and letting the carrots fall into a bowl. 

“It’s tiring work.” He says, dead-serious as he sets the celery down and inspects one of your upcycled jars sitting on the window above the kitchen sink. 

“Asshole.” You mutter, gently kicking his foot with yours. He laughs. 

“Sarah, honey, dinner’s almost ready- Jesus-” Joel’s hand comes up to rest over his heart in shock. You give him a weird look, then turn around, understanding why he was startled. 

Your kid, silent as ever, standing in the archway of your kitchen, camcorder pointed directly at the two of you. 

“You really love that thing, don’t you, bug?” You shake your head lightheartedly, moving to pull up a seat for her at the dining table. 

She nods, finally setting the camera down and reaching for her dinner with eager hands. 

“It’s for my sister.” 

You and Joel pause, glancing at each other, wondering if the other understood what in the world your 5-year old is trying to say. 

“What is?” Joel inquires. 

“The movies I’m making.” She replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Pregnancy hormones be damned, you nearly start crying. It seems like Joel might break too. 

“S’that right, sweetheart?” He lets out a teary laugh, hand coming up to run his fingers through her curls. “Movies for the baby.” 

—-------

Only when you’re curled up with Joel in bed do you watch all of Sarah’s videos. 

The first one you watch, it’s you and Joel in the kitchen just hours prior. Your two figures are silhouetted by the warm lighting of your kitchen, your giggles echoing from the old speaker as you cook. 

The second one, Sarah’s voice comes through. The camera shakes as it passes from your hands to Sarah’s tiny ones. 

“Hi, my name is Sarah, and this is my house.” 

“That’s daddy, and momma- my lil’ sister’s in her belly.”

Your heart aches like it did when you first heard her say it. You move your head against Joel’s chest to look up at him, and the ache grows stronger when you see him tearing up. 

“Sap.” You tease, never ever giving him a break. 

“Can’t wait to show these to her.” He sniffs. 

You don’t have to ask to know who he’s talking about. 

When you press the button to go to the previous video, you’re met with a still-frame of teenage-you, all dressed up for her last prom. It feels like a shock to your system, like dunking your head in ice-cold water. 

But when the shock subsides, you can’t help but feel a little pride. 

You remember how unsure you were about your future at the time. You were terrified, and there was so much pressure on you to make scary decisions that you thought would change your life, for better or for worse. 

The display screen blinks to black, the aged battery giving up for the day. It remains steady in your hand. 

What you see now is just you. A little older, a lot wiser. But, it’s still you. 

The decisions you made then, as scary as they seemed, led you right to where you are now. In your home, in Joel’s arms, in the room next to your daughter’s, with your second one coming soon.

HOWEVER, let’s say—in a hypothetical world—that she and joel did get married… yes, she keeps her last name, doesn’t change it (something joel doesn’t mind one bit, and frankly figures from the start) but when they’re alone… she likes when he comes up behind her when she’s baking, presses his lips just behind her ear as he holds her waist and murmurs smells good, mrs. miller. or when he’s got her folded in half with his cock buried so deep inside her she can’t think and he’s so smug, grinding until she whimpers his name, cooing, s’that the spot, baby? gonna come for me, mrs. miller? need my pretty wife to come for me.