It takes me too long to answer, and Brinley’s eyes widen behind her glasses. “Oh my god, you’re in love.”
“No way,” I snort. “Absolutely not.”
“Well, something’s happened! You were sitting there thinkingwaytoo long. Something’s up. Come on, tell me,please.I need the tea.”
I know I won’t make it out of this conversation without telling hersomething.When it comes to mysteries, Brinley’s like a dog with a bone. “Fine. There have been some recent developments in my love life, but I’m not totally ready to talk about them yet.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then shuts it. “Fair enough. It’s not like I don’t have a few secrets of my own.”
I tap my chin. “Let me guess. You’re actually Lois Lane, and you’ve just discovered Superman’s secret identity?”
“Something like that.” She laughs. Her eyes shift away from mine, and her genuine smile shifts into an overly bright one. “Hi! Can I help you?”
I turn to see the woman from the cookbook section standing just over my shoulder. “Do you have any French cookbooks here?” she asks.
Brinley’s customer service smile looks strained as she shoots a sidelong glance at Trevor, who’s slumped against the wall, apparently too scared to intervene. “We have a few great French cookbooks! Let me help you find them.”
She goes to help the customer, and I grab my latte to browse some books. Between helping out the customer and lecturing Trevor, I’m guessing Brinley’s going to be a while.
I leaf through some of the new releases on the table in the front, mentally flagging a nonfiction book about art heists that seems fun. After a few minutes, I find myself meandering over to the children’s section. I guess that’s not too surprising, considering that children are on my mind.
Namely, the fact that this contract means I’ll be trying to have one of my own.
I smile when I find a copy ofLittle Women, the same edition I had growing up, showing Meg, Beth, Amy, and Jo huddled around Marmee, reading a letter. Of course, the Copper Cup copy is brand new, not well-thumbed and creased like the one on my bookshelf at home.
I pull out the book, flipping through the pages, stopping at the occasional black ink illustrations of scenes. I must have read the conversation between Jo and Marmee, when Jo felt guilty after Amy fell into the lake, a hundred times. I always wondered if I would have had that kind of relationship with my mother if she’d lived long enough. Someone to listen to me when I felt angry or guilty, to talk me through it, and admit her own faults—something Dad would absolutely never do.
I might never get to feel that kind of love—but I could still give it. I can make sure my own baby feels cherished and cared for, the way I never did. I know it’s selfish to have a child when I won’t live long enough to see them grow up, graduate college, and get married. Still, it’s a dream I’ve never been able to give up.
Now, with this contract, I finally have a way for it to come true.
I can give them enough warm memories to last a lifetime.
“Excuse me,” a small voice says next to me.
I look down at a little girl with her black curly hair gathered into pigtails. She’s pointing to the bookshelf in front of me, at some book series bound in purple. She’s so adorable, it makes my heart swell.
For a moment, I'm transported back to another time—a storage room near a kitchen, a boy in a too-perfect suit, a tray of smuggled cake. I was about her age when I met him. The only person at any of my father's galas who ever treated me like I was worth talking to.
I wonder sometimes where that boy ended up. If he grew into a man who still explored rooms he wasn't supposed to be in. If he found someone to love the way his parents loved each other—that soft, easy affection I glimpsed when his mother came to collect him.
I step back so she can reach her book. “Sorry.”
Her eyes dart up to me for a second, then she looks back down again shyly. She grabs the book off the shelf and darts over to her mother, standing at the end of the aisle. The mother smiles and nods at me before leading her daughter off to the register.
Will that be me, soon?
Will I live long enough to have my own little girl who loves reading, who I can bring to the Copper Cup to buy her a book as a treat?
Yes. Yes, I will.
Some irrational part of me is convinced that if I have a baby, my heart will hold on longer. The love I’d feel for my little person would tether my body to this earth a little longer, just so I could watch them grow.
I know that’s not how my condition works. Eventually, my fragile heart will give out, exhausted from keeping me going this long. Before that happens, though, I can give my baby the best possible start in life.
From James, they’ll get financial security. That means they won’t need Victor’s money, because I have no intention of letting my father groom my baby into the heir of Pages. Secretly, I hope the baby’s a girl, so he won’t even be tempted. Outdated patriarchal asshole that he is, he would never consider a woman for CEO—lucky for me, or I’d have spent my entire childhood being tutored in economics.
And from me, my baby will get so much love, it’ll last them long after I’m gone.
