They were home, eating Chinese takeout. Thougheatingwas a generous term. Grace hardly took a bite, instead carefully extracting every mung bean sprout from her meal, after an article she’d read claimed they were detrimental to early pregnancies if not properly cooked.
“Look what you’re doing!” Adam continued, their dinner apparently done. “You’re picking your meal apart like it’s a crime scene and you’re not even pregnant right now.”
He was right. Grace wasn’t pregnant. She’d taken a test two weeks prior to confirm as much. Still, she often found herself caught up in fertility math (this cycle, plus this day, added to this many weekscouldmean ...). Grace couldn’t help it. She always wonderedwhat if.
“You never know.” She didn’t want to tell him about the dream she’d had the night before. A baby boy. The sound of coos. Or about the ladybug she saw on her nightstand the second she woke up. He’d roll his eyes, say it was irrelevant. “I could be really early or—”
“Look at this.” Adam gestured to a dozen vitamin bottles on the counter. “You’ve bought every possible supplement.” He pointed to a calendar on the fridge, the dates marked with red circles and X’s, like a strange game of tic-tac-toe. “You’ve plotted out our entire life based on your ovulation dates.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Is this what we want? You? Me?” He gripped the counter. “Our entire life has become so tangled up in this. I don’t want this.” Adam met her eyes, and Grace saw it: an early shift in his gaze, one that looked like two train cars starting to head in different directions on the tracks. “Do you?”
Grace looked down. She didn’t answer. What was the point?
“You’ve heard the doctor,” Adam said, releasing an exasperated sigh. “There’s nothing clinically wrong.” It was true. She’d had every test,only to learn she was fine. “You have to stop obsessing and trying to force it. It’s a matter of chance. When it’s supposed to happen—”
“It will,” she said, though it never did.
Now, back inside the beach house, Grace’s tone quiets. “So ... a ladybug, huh?” she questions as though she’s testing him. “I thought you didn’t believe in signs. Too woo-woo.”
“It’s been a long few months.” Adam sighs. “I’m not sure what I believe anymore.”
“I need to go,” Grace states, confused and not wanting to fall into this rabbit hole. “The market up the street closes soon, and I haven’t even had dinner yet.”
“The market?” he asks, sounding confused. “Isn’t Whole Foods in town open until ten?”
“I’m not at home,” she states, recalling that he’s unaware she left. “I’m in Sea Drift.”
“Sea Drift?” Adam echoes, like he hasn’t heard her right. Or like he hopes he hasn’t. “Since when?” His voice tightens, as if he’s trying to squeeze some thought tight enough that it won’t come out. “Withwho?”
Grace lets his question hang in the air. “Since today,” she finally says. “And I’m notherewith anyone, Adam,” she says, understanding his subtext. “It’s just me. I got a call late yesterday. An opportunity for me to come down just sort of presented itself out of the blue.”
“Huh,” he says, almost to himself, still working something out. “You haven’t been there in years,” he adds, his statement coming out slower this time.
“I know,” she says, wondering if that, in and of itself, is why she came.
A silence forms between them, one that nearly stretches too long.
“Well, then, I’m sorry for bothering you.” Adam swallows, as though he’s trying to push something that’s risen to the surface back down into him. “I hope you enjoy yourself.” His tone evens out, but his words don’t quite ring authentic. “How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know,” she admits, not even sure why she’s telling him. “Still undecided.”
Adam breathes. “Well, if you need anything, you know how to reach me.”
By the time Grace arrives at the market a few streets away, it’s night. She leans the seafoam beach cruiser, one of the two that come with the house, against the building’s chipped white clapboard siding and hurries up the steps two at a time, knowing from her many past visits that the place never stays open late.
A bell jingles as she pulls the door wide and steps inside. The market is less of a grocer and more of a vacation-inspired hodgepodge of things. Wine displays and imported oils. A barrel of pool floats. Baskets of overpriced fruit. Bottles of bright-green aloe vera gel. A freezer full of ice cream bars, but not a single loaf of decent bread.
Grace wanders, gathering assorted odds and ends in a basket. Crackers. Gummy candy. A box of sugary cereal she loved as a kid. At the last minute, she takes a few items out and puts them back, telling herself she’s buying too much. She’s still not sure how long she plans to stay.
A moment later, she finds the register and sets the basket on the counter. Just as the front bells chime again, she shifts her weight and bends to check her heel. The splinter is tiny, almost invisible, but still the skin around it gently throbs. Just another quiet, buried ache for her to carry.
“One second. I forgot something,” she tells the cashier, an older man who just nods, like he’s watched this scene unfold a thousand times. She spins, prepared to go find a pair of cheap tweezers.
But she turns too fast.
Her sandaled foot catches, sending her off-balance. She stumbles and crashes softly into the patron behind her in line. Her face collides with his warm, solid chest.
“O-oh, my gosh.” Grace trips over her words, trying to redeem herself. She takes a breath but quickly realizes that doing so was a mistake. Thescent hits her nose, then travels through her whole body. The fragrance fills her like helium—an invisible chemical capable of making her feel like she’s physically lost contact with the ground. Slowly, she pulls her face off his body, telling herself she’s wrong. “I-I’m so sorry.” The words continue to fall from her mouth. “I didn’t mean to ...”
She steps back and tilts up her chin. Time halts. Her body registers the moment before her brain. A flash of heat overwhelms her as her hands gently shake.
