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Wash had been extremely careful about selecting the perfect picnic area. He had completed quite a bit of research online and had even checked out a book from the local library entitled, “Sunburn, Falling Trees & Running From Bees: The Top Ten Mistakes Picnic-goers Make & How To Avoid Them”. He read it through twice and took point-form notes before returning it.
He insisted that he prepare the food for the basket, and when he caught Connie buttering sandwiches he tried to stop her. She just raised an eyebrow at him and he resorted to nervous hovering, at least until she tasked him with cutting fruit for a salad to distract him. It did not, however, prevent him from periodically glancing over to make sure she was okay.
When they pulled up at their destination, Connie sighed with relief. He had somehow managed to inquire about her well-being at every slight bump on the road, to which she always replied, with a clenched jaw, “I'm fine, Wash”. She knew he was trying to be helpful, but when he drove like they were transporting a box of kittens in the front seat, she couldn't help feeling a little frustrated.
He cut the engine, and quickly exited the vehicle, hastening around to the other side to open her door. She stepped out and rested a hand on her hip, slightly arching her back. “Are you all right?” he asked, wringing his hands anxiously. She rolled her eyes and said, “I’m pregnant, Wash, not crippled.”
He started as if to make a rebuttal, but instead lowered his eyes, muttering something incomprehensible.
A short walk later and they had set up a blanket beneath the shade of a tall, thick oak (specially picked by Wash in his hunt for the perfect spot). Connie leaned against the trunk, one hand resting on her swollen stomach. She was wearing a yellow dress with white floral patterns, and her silky brown hair was pinned back with a flower that Wash had picked for her. She popped another strawberry in her mouth and chewed slowly, savouring the sweet taste.
Wash sat across from her, watching with a smile, eyes full of adoration and love. She smiled back, jumping a little at a particularly hard kick from the child growing inside her. “What’s wrong?” he exclaimed, his smile fading, brow creasing with worry.
“Come here.”
He moved closer and she took his hand, placing it gently on her stomach, watching as the worry melted into a smile, wider than before. “You need to stop worrying so much,” she said softly, planting a kiss on his lips. “Happy Anniversary, Wash.”