Some things you just don’t mess with.
I’m on my second latte, shoes off under the table, flipping through case notes I’m not actually reading when I hear her. That specific careful waddle. The redistribution of weight with every step that I’ve come to recognize over the last few months.
I look up to see Valentina making her way toward me through the café like a ship navigating a harbor. Cream coatshe’s long given up buttoning. Hair loose. Glowing so hard it’s almost aggressive. She spots me and points.
“I knew it.”
“Oh my god.” I’m already on my feet. “Val, honey.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are enormous.”
“Hey… that’s not a nice thing to say.”
“I say it with love.” I take her arm, steering her into the chair across from mine before she can protest further. She lands in it with a soft exhale and immediately looks relieved, which tells me everything I need to know about how her morning has gone.
I wave at Billie behind the counter. She already knows Valentina’s order.
“You haven’t been answering my calls,” Valentina says, arranging herself comfortably.
“Val.” I sit back down. “I talked to you yesterday.”
“I know. I’ve called you twice since then.”
I take a second to look at her glowing face and think about all the things that have changed in such a short amount of time.
“It’s been a year,” I say, before I can stop myself.
She goes still. Knowing exactly what I mean. “I know.”
“A year since the wedding. Since everything changed.” I wrap both hands around my latte. “I keep thinking I should have more figured out by now.”
“Do any of us?” She tilts her head, soft and certain. “You’re here. I’m here. We figured out the important part.”
I don’t answer that. But she’s right, and we both know it.
“Okay, why have you been blowing up my phone? Is the baby giving you mush brain again?”
“Possibly.” She doesn’t look remotely bothered by this. “So. Talk to me. You’ve been in your head.”
I wrap both hands around my latte. “I’m always in my head.”
“More than usual.” She tilts her head. “Your father?”
“Yes.”
“The case?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
I pull a face. “Marginally.”
She gasps, deeply offended, and I laugh.
“Matteo?” she asks next, a little more carefully.
