The four women are arranged around a corner table, menus ignored, hands moving through air as they talk over each other like lifelong friends. The fact that I brought them all together is deeply gratifying. My dearest friends have become friends with each other too.
Tasha sees me first. Her whole face changes, lights up. She gives me that warm smile I've known since my first week at Vendange, when she caught me crying in the supply closet over rent I couldn't make and sneaked me a shot of whiskey and a tissue without asking a single question.
"Finally!" She's already pushing back her chair. "I was about to send Lita out to drag you in."
"Please." Lita doesn't stand, but her grin cuts sharp and warm. "I don't drag anyone anywhere. I aggressively encourage."
Then I'm being pulled into Tasha's arms, while over her shoulder I catch Eve already reaching across the table to squeeze my hand the moment I'm released. Kat's smile is broad and welcoming. Lita kicks out the empty chair beside her.
"Sit. You look disgustingly relaxed and sun-kissed. I hate you a little."
I ease into the chair, surrounded by women who've held me through every version of myself I've been since coming to New York. Tasha, who’s been my confidante since the moment I stepped foot in this city. Lita, who agreed to let me share her cramped studio and called my bullshit out every time I tried to pretend I wasn't falling apart over Nick. Eve and Kat, newer friends, but no less woven into the fabric of my life now.
This is my family. Not blood. Something stronger. Something chosen.
"So, Key Largo." Eve leans forward, her stunning engagement ring from Gabe catching light. "Tell us everything. How was the resort? Did you sail? Is Nick as obsessive about boat maintenance as Gabe says?"
"Worse." I smile, reaching for the water glass already sweating in front of my place, the condensation cool against my palm. "Key Largo was great. The resort is incredible. I met a bunch of the instructors, and watching the kids learn to sail and have fun was really special. For Nick and me both. We capped off our trip with a perfect day—and night—of sailing on Nick’s boat."
“Sounds romantic as fuck," Lita quips. But she's watching me with something sharper beneath the light sarcasm. That same attention she'd turn on a canvas that wasn't working, trying to identify what was off. "You've got a gorgeous tan, obviously. But there's something else about you too. You look..."
"Relaxed?" I offer.
"Fucked to within an inch of your life, is what I was going to say." She grins when Kat chokes on her water. "What? Look at her. That's not just sunshine. That's the result of a man who knows what he's doing."
Heat crawls up my throat, but she's not wrong. Three days of Nick's hands and mouth and body, the things he whispered against my skin, the way he watched me come apart for him over and over like he'd never get tired of seeing it… and all the other reasons I have to be glowing.
"Lita, you’re just jealous," Tasha admonishes with a smile.
“Damn straight.” Lita heaves a dramatic sigh. “I really need to get laid.”
We all laugh, but I feel Tasha’s eyes on me, steady and knowing. The mom radar, she calls it. The ability she swears developed after Zoe was born and made it impossible for anyone to hide anything from her.
She's already piecing the truth together. I can see it happening as she watches me—the slight narrowing of her gaze, the way her head tilts almost imperceptibly.
The server appears at my elbow. Young, professional, a bottle of something expensive-looking in his hands. "Your wine, ladies. The Sancerre you requested."
Glasses materialize. The wine pours in a clear gold stream, filling each glass in turn. I watch the server make his way around the table—first Tasha's glass, then Eve's, Kat's, Lita's.
Then he arrives at mine. I can smell the wine’s bright fragrance from the other filled glasses, slightly mineral, the faintest whisper of citrus. He glances at me briefly, then starts to lift the bottle over my glass.
I shake my head. My hand shoots out almost on reflex to cover my glass.
"Actually." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I'll have sparkling water instead, please."
Silence falls around us.
The moment stretches. My pulse beats against the base of my throat. I'm aware of Tasha's gaze still fixed on me, watchful and patient. Now everyone else at the table is looking at me too.
The server blinks, nods. “Of course. I’ll be right back with that.”
Tasha sets down her wine very slowly. Places both palms flat on the table. Looks at me with an expression that says she already knows, has known since I walked in the door.
"Avery." Her voice is barely a whisper. "Are you—"
"Seven weeks." I nod, fighting back the sudden surge of emotion that’s climbed into my throat. "Almost seven weeks."
For one heartbeat, nothing moves.
