She rests a gentle hand there, a light touch, nothing invasive. “Hello in there,” she says softly. “I’m your grandmother.”
The words hit me somewhere deep, in a place that’s still getting used to the reality of all of this. I glance at Jake, and the look on his face tells me he feels it too. My mom’s eyes shine as she watches us, something satisfied in her expression, like a piece of a puzzle has just clicked into place.
Dinner is loud in the best possible way.
My mom keeps bringing food to the table like we’re secretly expecting six more people. Linda insists on helping serve despite my mom’s protests, which leads to both of them laughing over who gets to carry what. By the time we sit down, the table is covered with roasted chicken, potatoes, green beans with slivered almonds, everything delicious, and in quantities appropriate for about twice as many people.
Jake sits next to me, close enough that our knees keep finding each other under the table. Our moms sit across from us, already in a deep conversation about holiday traditions.
The conversation moves, flowing around the table. They ask about my work, my mom tells old stories about me as a kid. Linda talks about their hometown and Jake and what he was like growing up, little details that make him more real in a way I didn’t know I needed. There are moments where I forget to be nervous. Moments where it feels like this has been happening for years.
At one point, I feel his fingers brush mine under the table. “You okay?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, surprised to find that I mean it. “More than okay, actually.”
His hand lingers for a second before he pulls back, but the warmth stays. When it’s finally time for them to go, night has fallen and the air has cooled down. The moms trade numbers and promises to talk again, which I believe entirely.
“Thank you,” Jake says quietly once they’re at the door, his voice meant just for me.
“It went well, yeah?” I say.
“It did,” he agrees. There’s something steady in his eyes.
He steps closer, just enough, and cups my face in his hands, his fingers cool against my skin. He kisses me softly. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine for a second.
“Merry Christmas Eve,” he says.
“Merry Christmas Eve.”
He gives me one last look, then turns to go, helping his mom into the car before climbing into the driver’s seat. Istand there until the taillights disappear at the end of the street, the sound of the car folding back into the quiet of the neighborhood.
My mom opens the door behind me a crack. “You coming in?”
“In a minute,” I say.
I rest my hands over my stomach and feel the faintest movement beneath my palms, like someone turning over to get comfortable.
“Okay,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. “We can do this.”
I just stand there for a beat longer, letting the day settle. And I feel happy.
twenty-seven
. . .
Jake
I wakeup to Natalie wrapped around me like a vine.
Her head is on my chest, one leg thrown over mine, her hand resting on my stomach. She’s completely dead to the world, breathing deep and even, her dark hair spilling across my shoulder.
This has become our routine for the last few weeks. We haven’t talked about what this means or what we’re doing. We’re just…doing it.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, careful not to wake her, and she shifts slightly, burrowing closer. The morning light filters through her curtains, soft and golden. It’s New Year’s Eve. The last day of a year that changed everything.
Carefully, I extract myself from her grip, replacing my body with a pillow that she immediately hugs. I pull on my jeans and head to her kitchen.
Eggs, toast, fresh fruit. I plate everything and carry it back to the bedroom, setting the tray on her nightstand.
