Her dad left, and Solo headed to the kitchen, where Janie had tied one of Solo’s aprons around her waist and was examining the contents of the refrigerator with the focus of a general surveying a battlefield. Solo tried not to get too excited and read anything into Janie not wearing her own apron; it’d probably just been on top and had been the easiest to grab.
“You’ve got chicken breast, some vegetables that are only slightly wilted, and,” Janie emerged from the fridge holding up a bottle of white wine, “ta-da!”
“I forgot we had that.” Solo moved to the cabinet to grab wine glasses. The real ones, not the plastic cups she’d been using since Janie had left for fear she’d drop one and create a death trap. That would just prove Angela right: the safe parent had gone, so of course something bad would happen. The judge would practically gift-wrap the triplets and hand them to Janie’s mom.
“We bought it for our anniversary,” Janie said softly. “Lastyear.”
Solo remembered. They’d meant to drink it that night, but Tia had been teething and Chloe had gotten a fever. By the time everything had settled down, they’d both been too exhausted to do more than collapse into bed. The bottle had sat forgotten in the back of the fridge for a year, like a symbol of everything they’d meant to do but hadn’t, all the moments they’d missed while drowning in the chaos of new parenthood.
“Let’s drink it tonight,” Solo said. “We can make pasta carbonara. I’m sure we have bacon and parmesan. And there’s some focaccia bread in the freezer.”
“Carbonara.” Janie’s face lit up. “We haven’t made that in forever.”
“I know. I thought...” Solo paused. She probably shouldn’t be laying her cards on the table when she didn’t know if Janie was still in the same game. “I thought it might be nice for us to do something we used to do together all the time, something that wasn’t about the girls or the custody shit. Just us.” She gave a hesitant smile, desperate for Janie to throw the fridge door shut and melt into her arms.
Janie set the wine bottle on the counter and looked at Solo with an expression that was impossible to read. “Hannah?—”
“I know we’re not okay.” Solo held up her hands. “I know we have a lot to figure out. But I miss you, Janie. And not just as the mother of our children, but asyou. As mywife. As the person I used to cook dinner with on Saturday nights while we drank wine and talked crap about everything and nothing.”
Janie clasped her hands together but didn’t move closer. “I miss that too,” she whispered.
They stood there in the kitchen, two feet and a thousand miles apart, until Janie finally moved toward Solo. She wrapped her arms around Solo’s waist and buried her face against Solo’s shoulder.
Solo held her tight and cradled the back of Janie’s head. Her chest cracked open. This was what she’d been missing whenshe’d pushed Janie away, this beautifully simple intimacy, and the solid comfort of holding and being held by the person who made lifelife.
Janie pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “Okay. Let’s make this the best carbonara we’ve ever made.”
“Deal.”
They fell into an easy rhythm, just as they always had. Solo handled the bacon and chicken because Janie hated touching meat, and Janie chopped the garlic because Solo didn’t like the weird thin skin sticking to her fingers. They moved around the kitchen in a dance they’d perfected over years of cooking together, and Solo could’ve dropped to her knees in gratitude. This was so much more than she’d hoped for when she’d asked Janie to help with the interviews.
Solo opened the wine and poured two generous glasses. “To...” She raised her glass. What were they toasting to?
“To showing up.” Janie touched her glass to Solo’s. “To not letting my mother win.”
“To us,” Solo said, not wanting to think about the custody of her children, at least for this perfect moment. “However that looks right now.”
They drank, and the wine was crisp, cold, and perfect. Janie connected her phone to the kitchen speaker and chose their special lazy weekend playlist. The kitchen filled with the smell of bacon, garlic, and the yeasty warmth of bread heating in the oven.
“Tell me about the garage,” Janie said as she stirred the pasta. “What are you working on right now?”
“I’ve just finished a custom job on a ‘67 Mustang,” Solo said, motioning in the air as if manifesting the actual car. “The owner wanted it painted in a specific shade of midnight blue with pearl flecks that caught the light.” She blew a breath through closed lips and shook her head slowly. “Getting that color exactly right was a challenge, but damn, my heart sang when that final coat went on perfect and smooth.” The way Janie smiled made Solofeel seen, and she was giving Solo that look that meant she was genuinely interested but also quietly amused at Solo’s enthusiasm. It was a look Solo loved and yet another thing she’d been missing. When had they last talked like this? Even when she and the gang were restoring the Brewster, she hadn’t shared it with Janie.
“What about you?” Solo tossed the pasta with the bacon and egg mixture. “How’s work? The new class-action suit you mentioned sounds crazy.”
“It’s a great case, and I should be excited about it. But I’m finding it hard to concentrate.” Janie leaned against the counter, her gaze fixed on the floor. “Austin’s been going over some of my work and covering for me when he needs to. Which has been far too often. I know he’s worried.”
Solo tightened her grip on the wooden spoon as she stirred. This guy again? Janie wasn’thisto worry— She stopped the thought and forced her fingers to relax. He was Janie’s friend and colleague. He had a right to worry about her in that capacity, and Solo had to stop being a jealous ass. “Is it the separation?” she asked and stared intently into the pot, not knowing what response she wanted. She didn’twantto be the cause of distraction, but she alsodid, because it meant Janie was still thinking about her. A lot. “Or is it your mom?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t know.” Janie took a long drink of wine and briefly looked at Solo over the glass. “I feel like I’m not fully present anywhere. Not at work, not with the girls, not in my own life. It’s like I’m watching myself from a distance, going through the motions.”
Solo wanted to wrap her arms around Janie, say she understood, and that she should come home, because home was where she could be exactly who she was supposed to be. But the truth was, Solo had been so focused on the girls, on keeping up with her work at the garage, and on not drowning in her own exhaustion that she’d barely considered how Janie was managing. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have asked more.” Instead, she’d inundated Janie with news and pictures of the girls,and that obsession was what had gotten them here in the first place.
Janie gestured to the upper floor. “You’ve had your hands full.”
“That’s not an excuse.” Solo set down her spoon and turned to face Janie fully. “You’re important too. Your feelings matter. Your struggles matter. And I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like they didn’t.”
Janie’s eyes went shiny again, and Solo realized how starved for this kind of attention Janie must have been. How long had it been since Solo had really asked about Janie’s day, her feelings, her life beyond the logistics of childcare and household management?
