"You've taken care of me for years, Jane." Her hand closes over mine on the steering wheel. Firm. Certain.
"You deserve someone taking care of you too." Her voice wobbles. "And I'm so happy that you finally have people doing that."
People.Plural.
West. Natalie. The bridesmaids who brought me into theircircle. The Prescotts who hugged me goodbye and saidsee you again soon.
I've spent seven years being the person who fixes. Who solves. Who carries.
And now people are carrying me back.
"And I'm truly so happy it's finally your turn. You deserve this." Grace adds.
I blink hard. Stare at the dashboard.
Another tear escapes. I wipe it with my sleeve and pretend it's allergies.
In February.
Grace, mercifully, pretends to believe me.
One hour later.
The car paperwork is sorted, the tea is steeping, and Grace is making a playlist for the car she is already calling "the Carriage" despite my objections.
My phone buzzes.
WEST:Landed at Teterboro. Miss you already. When can I visit?
ME:I have a car now. I could come to you.
WEST:You have a car?
ME:Long story. It’s from Natalie.
WEST:I want to hear every word. Give me twenty minutes for a hot shower and I'll call you."
I almost typed back “Okay, love you.”
My thumb stopped itself.
Cooper. Have some dignity.
Thankfully, Grace distracts me by arguing with Spotify about whether Taylor Swift or Sabrina Carpenter should open the road trip playlist.
ME:Okay, later.
The radiator clanks its approval.
I put down my phone that’s glowing with anticipation for West’s callback.
Grace beside me, shoulder to shoulder, the way she's always been. I've got keys. Funds to pay off my own debt. A portable business. And a man who engraved the day hecaught me.
Separate airports. Separate cities. Separate lives reassembling after the most surreal week either of us has lived.
Same direction.
And somehow, that’s enough.
