They climb the front steps and Connelly unlocks the door. Inside, Finn and Fiona are sprawled on opposite ends of the couch. A movie is playing but neither of them is watching. Fiona has a book propped on her chest. Finn is playing Sudoku on his phone.
They both look up when the door opens.
“How was it?” Fiona asks.
“Nice,” Sasha says. “How was everything here?”
“Fine. We ate all the dumplings. Mocha stole some lo main and then threw it up, but I cleaned it up. Java’s hiding under Finn’s bed.”
“Sounds about right.” Connelly takes off his sports coat and folds it over his arm.
Sasha wriggles out of her shoes. “You guys should head up. It’s late.”
“Can we finish the movie?” Fiona asks.
“The movie you’re not even watching?” Sasha counters.
“We don’t have school tomorrow.”
“It’s been a long day, for all of us. You can finish it tomorrow.”
They don’t protest, just shuffle tiredly toward the stairs. Finn pauses at the bottom step.
“Did you have fun?” he asks.
Sasha crosses to him and smooths his too-long bangs out of his eyes. “We did. Did you?”
“Yeah. Good night.”
“Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”
He gives her a crooked grin and heads up the stairs.
Sasha grabs Fiona’s hand. “Was he okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. He said his stomach was jumpy but that didn’t stop him for eating more than his share of the dumplings.”
There’s no heat behind the complaint. She loves her brother and worries about him.
“Thanks for looking out for him, baby girl.”
“Of course. But I’m not a baby girl. I’m?—”
“Almost twelve. Don’t remind me. I love you anyway.”
Fiona laughs. “Good night, Mom.” She races up the stairs.
Sasha sinks onto the couch. Connelly sits beside her and loops an arm around her. She snuggles into his chest and closes her eyes.
Chapter Eight
Caleb unlocks the front door of their tiny row house and holds it open for Emmaline. She moves slowly, one hand braced against the small of her back, the other cradling her belly.
“Careful on the step,” he says, though she’s navigated this threshold a thousand times.
“I’m pregnant, not porcelain.” She smiles indulgently as she says it.
Inside, she sinks onto the sofa with a sigh that’s equal parts relief and exhaustion. Caleb sets the gift bags on the coffee table—there are four of them, filled with onesies and board books and tiny socks that don’t look real.
