“Oh, Grace.” My voice breaks at her name. "That’s… incredible!!”
She exhales, laughter mixing with tears. “I know. It still doesn’t feel real. Bjorn is already busy designing baby-proof locks and drafting crib safety specs, as if he's constructing a stronghold.”
I laugh with her, but something warm and aching blooms deep in my chest. A longing I thought I’d buried years ago rises again, quiet and insistent.
I want that. The chaos of a home filled with love, with morning sounds filling the air and tiny hands reaching for a hug, fills me with longing. I force a breath and smile through it. “You are going to be an amazing mom, Grace. The baby is truly blessed.”
Her eyes glisten. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
She squeezes my hand. “You okay? You look a little… far away.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, laughing softly. “I am attempting to visualize you in your role as a mother. Imagine yourself in yoga pants, burping a tiny human.”
She snorts, relief flooding her features. “Please. I’ll do it in style.”
We both laugh. The ache subsides, giving way to the rhythm that has always held us together, as two women, in varying stages of life, continue to circle each other in love.
When the plates are half-empty and the world feels full again, she picks up the plates and cutlery, heads back behind the counter, and starts wrapping up a sandwich.
“For Erik,” she says with a wink. “Fuel foryourViking.”
“Grace.”
“What? He looks like he burns five thousand calories just by existing.”
She isn’t wrong.
Outside, the sky has turned a bruised shade of gray, storm clouds rolling low across the skyline. The neon from the deli window blurs in the reflection on the sidewalk. Grace hugs me tight before I leave, her whisper warm against my ear.
“You deserve happiness too, you know.”
Her words follow me out in the light rain.
I pull up my hood, squinting through the mist, and there it is. Across the street, the familiar black SUV parks, and its wipers sweep in a slow rhythm. My heart kicks once.
Of course he’s here. Of course, he knew I would finish early. I had scheduled to close the shop for the day when Grace invited me to come over to the deli for lunch.
The passenger door unlocks with a soft click as I approach.
“Top bolt, sweet girl?” he says as I slide in, voice low, half a command, half a reassurance.
“Already did,” I reply, fastening the seatbelt.
His mouth tilts. “Good girl.”
The words send a warmth through me that I try to ignore.
As he pulls into traffic, the sky cracks open again, rain lashing the windshield in bright streaks. The city blurs into motion, and the hum of the wipers fills the silence between us.
I observe him from the periphery of my vision, his hands steady on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable yet gentle. His phone lights up once with a security notification; he dismisses it instantly.
“Grace told you?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “She’s eight weeks along.”
His mouth curves into something between a smile and a sigh. “Good. They deserve that peace.”
