"Show me the details."
She shows me. The program. The campus photos.
The mountain town I've never heard of, tucked into a valley.
More photos. The town center. The hospital. The residential complex with mountain views and walking trails.
Then the cute brick storefronts. String lights strung between lampposts. A confectionary called Candy Jar, its chalkboard menu visible through the front window.
She reads the details aloud in the careful, steady voice she uses when she’s trying not to cry again.
"Jane. They have a mountain."
“Grace, the Continental Divide runs through half the state. Mountains are the default setting.”
"Not likethisone."
I smile and look at the photo over her shoulder. It is, objectively, a very good mountain.
This is Grace's thing. Her news.
"We're going to check it out," I say. "Road trip. You and me."
Her whole face lights up. "I was hoping you'd say that. This weekend?"
This could be her future.
Underneath, quietly, a thought I'm not ready to examine fully: if Grace is in Colorado, the tether that's kept me in Boston shifts.
My business isn't a building. It's a laptop, a phone and a reputation I've spent four years earning—especially now, with the bridesmaids’ glowing reviews.
I can run it from anywhere.New York, maybe?
I think.
I've just never had a reason to go anywhere. Never let it mean anything.
Slow down, Jane.
Road trip first. See the place. Be certain it’s good for Grace.
Don't make it into something until it's something.
“How about next weekend?”
One week later.
I take Grace to a coffee shop that isn't the cheapest option within walking distance and order a croissanteach. Fourteen dollars. I do not flinch.
Growth.
Grace drops a folder on the table—printed photos, color-coded notes, a hand-labeled map of the Cedar Falls residential campus that looks like it was produced by an extremely organized serial killer.
"Can you tell I’m excited?" She laughs at herself. "I keep telling myself we need to see it in person before I commit. But my heart is already there, Jane!”
She clutches her chest dramatically. I look away before she can see the way my own chest tightens—for a different reason.
I’ll miss her.
