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For guests who stayed overnight, some celebrations went on almost until breakfast. Victor and I slipped away early, tired from the excitement. Also, my shoes hurt, and I felt bloated, so at 2 a.m., I lay on our bed with my husband, who rubbed my naked back, burping me.
“I ate watermelon. It makes me gassy at the best of times, never mind while I am pregnant. I’m sorry if I spoiled the party, sweetheart.”
“I would have it no other way, Amy. We danced everyone into the dust. You were awesome, as ever. I never knew you danced so well.”
“Mom and Dad taught me as a kid. We had a lot of music playing when I was growing up. Oh, I noticed you didn’t drink any alcohol - why?”
“My high is being your husband. I don’t need any other stimulus in my life.”
“Except caffeine, Victor. We all need coffee.”
“True.”
“Will you feel that way forty years from now?”
“Undoubtedly, Amy.”
“I believe you.”
Victor lay sideways beside me, staring deep into my eyes, conveying so much love that I felt it tingle through my body like raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Being in love with my husband had been awesome, but being married to him, with all that state of happiness implied, was a far greater adventure in my mind.