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AMELIA
I took a few snapshots of Claire rubbing her belly. The woman was stunning, even though she had said that she felt like she looked like a walrus. I told her that she was wrong. Pretty golden hair, olive skin, and striking hazel eyes with shades of blue. Her features were soft and delicate, almost like a fairy. Or that had more to do with the ethereal-looking dress she wore. The woman was dressed like a forest princess with a leaf crown to match, but that had been what we were going for.
“You are so stunning, Claire.” I smiled, to which she responded with her soft smile, but it was the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Take a look.”
I got up from the floor and walked over to her. I showed her the pictures I had taken. She was beautiful. Even with the light streaming in from the window, casting this golden light on her skin was just perfection.
My favorite picture was of her rubbing her swollen belly and looking down at it with so much love and adoration. But when I looked up to gauge her reaction, she had silent tears streaming down her face.
“Claire? Are…are you okay?”
She blinked, coming out of her reverie. “I’m sorry. These hormones have been doing a number on me.”
That wasn’t why she had tears, and I knew it. There was a kind of sadness that followed Claire. I could see it in the way that she moved. It clouded her eyes when she stared off into the distance.
“We can take a break if you need to.” I set my camera down on the counter and turned to her. “I have some ice cream that I have been dying to bust open.”
She brushed the remaining tears from her eyes. “I’m lactose intolerant.”
Oh crap. “How about some chocolate cake?”
A teary smile graced her elegant face. “That would be nice.”
“You can just have a seat on the couch.”
She rubbed her belly. “Thank you.”
She made her way to the couch that I had pushed to the side for me to make my DIY set for her shoot. Working out of my studio apartment was a bit of a drag, but at least I didn’t need to rent a space. I was still starting out.
I walked over to my fridge and pulled out the chocolate cake I had made yesterday. I had one of those depressive days and needed a little pick me up. Sugar was always an excellent way to heal a broken heart.
I grabbed two forks and returned to my client, who hummed gently to her belly. When I set the cake down, her eyes lit up.
“Chocolate is my favorite.”
“Mine too.” I cut a slice for her and myself and sat beside her. “How many months?”
“Nearing seven months. It feels like I’ve been pregnant for a year.” She took a forkful of the cake before closing her eyes and humming her appreciation, “Oh, my God. This is amazing. Is this store-bought.”
I couldn’t help the little sense of pride that filled my chest. “Nope. Homemade.”
“You’re kidding. You must give me the recipe.”
“Of course.” I smiled, continuing to eat the cake.
“Are you new to Chicago?” Claire asked.
I nodded while taking another bite.
“Yes. I just moved here after a terrible breakup. I felt like I needed a change. Staying in my hometown would have been too painful for me. My boyfriend was the golden boy. So, seeing him everywhere and seeing everyone’s pity, I just…I couldn’t do it. I had always wanted to pursue photography professionally, but Jacob, my ex, always said it wasn’t sustainable as a career. I guess he was right, but after the breakup, I thought, screw it. Ifelt proud of myself for taking the next step.”
“Breakups are hard.” A sense of loss in her tone caused me to look at her. I could see the sadness swimming in her eyes. But it wasn’t shallow or an ‘I’m hurt’ kind of sadness. It was that kind of sadness that consumed all parts of you. It took you hostage and didn’t let go. This kind of sadness placed you in a bottomless, dark pit that was impossible to escape.
“Claire?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay? Like, for real? Are you coping okay with everything?”
