"Right. Of course." He sets his phone down. "Is she experienced with multiples?"
"As far as I know." I twist my napkin in my lap. "I didn’t ask her a lot of questions about it. I was… well, I was in shock."
Grant's eyes narrow slightly, like he knows I'm uncomfortable, so he doesn't push. "Well, I’d really like to be there with you at the next appointment, so please send me the date. If you're comfortable with that."
The request is casual, but I can hear the weight beneath it. He wants to be involved. Present. And I’m guessing he’s going to have a lot of questions for Dr. Byers.
"Sure," I say quietly, pulling out my phone and texting him the date and time.
Something shifts in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or hope.
Our food arrives, and we eat in silence for a few minutes. Or rather, I push salmon around my plate while Grant does the same with his filet. Neither of us is actually eating very much.
"We should talk about living arrangements," he says finally.
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. "What about them?"
"Your apartment is—" He chooses his words carefully. "Small you mentioned before. For one person, I’m sure it's fine. But with two infants?—"
"I know." I set my fork down. "I've been thinking about it. I'll need to move. Find something with at least two bedrooms. Maybe three, if I want to keep working from home."
"The market right now is brutal," Grant says. "Especially for anything affordable with enough space for twins. Have you started looking yet?"
"I've looked at listings online." Which is technically true. I've scrolled through apartment listings while lying awake at three a.m., watching the prices climb higher and higher until the panic makes me close the browser. "Everything in my budget is either too small or too far from the city."
"What if you didn't have to worry about the money part?"
There it is. The offer I've been dreading.
"Grant—"
"I'm not trying to take over. I promise." He leans forward, his voice earnest. "But there's a building I own in Tribeca with a vacant three-bedroom that would be perfect—a nice little layout, near parks, safe neighborhood. You could live there. Rent free."
"You want me to live in one of your buildings. For free."
"I want my children to have a safe, comfortable home," he says carefully. "And I want their mother to have space to work and live without financial stress."
It's a reasonable offer. More than reasonable. And the fact that it makes my skin crawl with a familiar panic doesn’t escape me.
"I appreciate the offer," I say, keeping my voice level. "But I need to think about it."
Disappointment flickers across his face, but he nods. "Of course. Take your time."
We fall back into silence and I try to choke some salmon down but my throat feels tight and unusually dry.
The server eventually appears to clear our barely-touched plates, asking if we want dessert. We both decline.
"This isn't working," Grant says once we're alone again.
"What isn't?"
"This. Pretending that this feels normal in any way." He signals for the check. "Let's get out of here."
"And go where?"
His eyes meet mine, dark and intense. "My place. We can actually talk without—" He gestures vaguely at the formal dining room. "All of this."
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. "Okay."
