“Just thinking.” Quinn watched the water drip from her hands into the sink. She reached for a towel. “Remembering when I found out I was pregnant with Lincoln.”
Annie’s expression softened. She had been there. She knew.
“Forty-one years old. High-risk. All those warnings about what could go wrong.” Quinn dried her hands slowly, the motions automatic. “You remember. The blood work. The protein levels. Everyone talking about the amniocentesis like Down Syndrome was inevitable.”
Her voice caught. She hadn’t meant to go this deep, but the memories were right there, as vivid as if they’d happened yesterday instead of three decades ago.
“I remember sitting on the shower floor, crying. Baby found me like that. Shaking. He thought I’d decided to have an abortion. That the risk was too high.” She had to pause, breathe through the tightness in her throat. “He climbed into that shower fully clothed. Sat down in the cold water like it was nothing. I knew he supported me no matter what.”
“And you decided not to have the test.” Annie smiled. “I can’t tell you how much I respected that.”
“I decided it didn’t matter.” Quinn’s voice steadied. “I wantedthatbaby. However he came to us. Whatever he needed. I wasn’t going to let a test tell me whether my child was worth having.”
“No matter what,” Annie said softly. “Together.That’s what you guys said in my office.”
“You remember.”
“I remember.” Annie squeezed her arm.
“Different challenges than we expected, in the end.” Quinn glanced toward the doorway, toward her son. “But we faced them the same way. Together.”
“Look at him now.”
Quinn did.
Through the kitchen doorway, she could see Lincoln still at the dessert table. Marie had finally wandered off and Lincoln stood alone, straightening something. A plate, probably. Two degrees off center, which would have bothered him until he fixed it.
He looked settled. At ease.
Not performing comfort the way he sometimes did in social situations, going through the motions of normalcy because he’d learned that was what people expected. Actually at home here. Actuallyhimself.
“He’s going to find someone,” Annie said, following her gaze. “Someone who sees him.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Annie’s certainty was soft but absolute. The kind that came from decades of watching people, of understanding what they needed even when they couldn’t articulate it themselves. “The right person won’t need him to be different. They’ll just need him to be Lincoln.”
Quinn wanted to believe that. Wanted it so badly it ached.
She looked past Lincoln to the wider gathering. Their children, grown now. Grandchildren running around, Graham toddling after someone, Denise being passed between eager arms. The next generation finding their way, building lives of their own.
That was what mattered. Not the training or the skills or any of the things Lincoln could do with a computer. The fact that he had people who loved him exactly as he was.
The kitchen door swung open, and Baby stuck his head in. His eyes found Quinn immediately, the way they always did.
“Gabe and Dorian are arguing about truck engines again. He held out his hand to her. “Save me.”
Quinn laughed and crossed to him. “You love arguing about truck engines.”
“I love arguing about truck engines with people who know what they’re talking about.” His fingers closed around hers, warm and familiar. “You okay? You disappeared.”
“Just reminiscing with the girls.”
“Dangerous activity.”
“Yeah, but the best kind.”
They drifted back toward the main room together, and Quinn found her eyes seeking Lincoln again. He was still at the dessert table, but Marie had returned, tugging at his sleeve, pointing at something. Lincoln crouched down to her level, listening with that focused attention that most adults couldn’t manage.
