The server returns with our waters and asks if we're ready to order.
"Can you give us a few more minutes?" Grant asks tersely, and the server quickly retreats.
Silence descends on our table. Around us, the restaurant hums with normal conversations, normal lunches, people who aren't sitting in the middle of an emotional minefield.
"There's more," Grant says finally. "Emma and I—we're going to have a baby. Babies, actually. We’re having twins."
I watch Samantha's face cycle through emotions. Shock. Disbelief. Disgust.
"You're pregnant." She's staring at me now like I'm something toxic. "You've been dating for less than two months and you're already pregnant."
"It wasn't—" I stop. How do I explain this? That it was an accident? That we were careful but not careful enough? "We didn't plan it."
"Clearly." Her laugh is bitter. "God, Dad. What the actual fuck?"
"Samantha—" Grant's voice has an edge now.
"What, you want me to be happy about this? Congratulate you?" She pushes back from the table slightly. "You've been divorced from Mom for what, a year? And you're already having a baby with someone barely out of college?"
"I graduated two years ago," I say, though I'm not sure why I'm defending myself.
"Oh, well, that makes it all okay." Samantha's eyes are bright with anger—or maybe tears, I can't tell.
Grant's grip on my hand tightens. "That's enough."
"Is it? Because from where I'm sitting, this looks like a mid-life crisis with consequences." She turns to me, and there's deadly venom in her expression now. "Let me guess—you're enjoying the perks, right? The nice dinners, the fancy hotels. Does he buy you things? Pay your rent?”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Every fear I've had, every anxiety about being dependent on Grant, weaponized and thrown in my face.
"Samantha." Grant's voice is sharp enough to cut. "Apologize. Now."
"For what exactly? You expect me to just smile and accept this load of crap?"
"She's not—Emma is not—" Grant stops, visibly trying to control his temper. "You're being incredibly rude."
"And you're being incredibly stupid." Samantha stands, grabbing her designer purse. "I can't do this. I can't sit here and pretend this isn't completely insane."
"Sit down," Grant says. "We're not finished?—"
"Yeah, we are." She looks at me one last time, and the contempt in her eyes makes me want to crawl under the table. "Good luck with all this, Emma. I hope the money's worth it."
Then she's gone, weaving through tables toward the exit.
I sit frozen, my face burning, every word she said echoing in my head.Closer to my age than yours. Does he pay your rent? I hope the money's worth it.
Grant's still holding my hand, but I can barely feel it through the numbness spreading through my body.
"Emma." His voice is gentle. Pained. "I'm so sorry. I should have handled that differently. But I didn’t want to hide."
"It's fine." My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from the bottom of a well. "She's just protecting you. It makes sense."
"It's not fine. What she said was completely out of line." He reaches for my other hand, trying to get me to look at him. "Emma, please. Look at me."
I do, and the regret in his eyes is almost too much.
"None of what she said is true," he says firmly. "You know that, right? You're not some gold digger. You didn't trap me. This isn't about money or perks or?—"
"I know." I do know. Logically. But logic doesn't stop the shame. Doesn't erase the image of Samantha's disgusted face.
