He traced pictures on her belly with his finger, imagining shapes and portents, warnings and myths. Cave drawings. Lessons on a chalkboard. He wondered if they were getting through.
“Stop that,” she said. “It tickles.”
He sat up and she shifted, huddling into his shoulder. He couldn’t remember where they were in the movie: the one guy was crying, sobbing. Her jaw moved against his chest when she munched popcorn, synced to the beating of his heart.
He put his hand back on the bulge of her stomach, let it sit. “Do you think…?” he said, and she shushed him.