Page 41 of Now and Then

For once, I’m ready to let them in.

9

Sutton

“Icannot eat another bite.” I pat my stomach and lean back in my chair.

Navy’s completely frozen, staring at me. “I have never seen someone eat so much food in my whole life.”

“In my defense, I might have missed lunch today.” I stand and gather the used plates.

“And most likely breakfast too,” Greer adds.

“Maybe,” I mumble.

The kitchen feels warm in that late-evening way. The oven heat lingers, wine glasses sit half-empty, and the faint hum of the television waits for us to start the next movie. Nothing says Halloween like a Friday night with your girls, watching as many horror movies as your nerves can stand.

Greer and Navy barely asked me anything all night. Which is more unsettling than if they had. Mostly, they’ve communicated solely in strange looks and hip bumps. Even now, Navy’s doing some bizarre eye thing, and Greer keeps shaking her head.

“You two are being weird.” I fill the sink with soapy water.

“We’re being weird?” Navy scoffs. “Hello, pot, meet kettle.”

“Okay, we’re all being weird.” I grab a plate and dunk it in the water, anticipation crawling up my spine. “So which of you is going to start?”

We move into our usual assembly line without discussion. I wash. Navy rinses. Greer dries. It’s muscle memory at this point, the three of us shoulder to shoulder at the sink like we’ve done a hundred times.

“Should we start where we left off at Ground Up, about what happened between you and Brandon?” Navy asks casually. “Or would you rather talk about how you’re clearly in love with Hunter?”

My hands pause in the soapy water. “Let’s start with Brandon,” I say evenly.

Greer’s towel stills.

“The summer my dad got sick,” I say, “not the first diagnosis, the last one.” The words feel rehearsed. Neat. Contained.

Silence settles between us. My hands move the sponge around and around and around.

“We pored over survival rates, mapped follow-up appointments on the calendar. But . . . treatment didn’t work, and the doctors didn’t give him much time.” I shrug lightly. “I handled it the way I handle everything. Research. Lists. Schedules.”

Control.

I don’t say the word aloud.

“But really, we were just . . . waiting.” I squeeze out the sponge. “Brandon and I were strained. We’d realized over the years that our goals didn’t align anymore and that we were living separate lives. He wanted to move to New York. I wanted to stay here.” I set the sponge down and lean against the counter. “We’d been together long enough that breaking up didn’t feel dramatic. It felt inevitable. Like something adults do when they realize they’ve outgrown each other.”

Navy’s eyes soften. “But you loved him.”

“I did.” I dry my hands slowly. “Just not in the way that saves a relationship that was already over.”

I inhale.

“Then I found out I was pregnant.”

Greer’s breath catches. Navy grips the counter.

“It wasn’t planned,” I say. “And definitely wasn’t convenient. But it wasn’t a disaster either.” I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I stared at the test in my bathroom, calculating due dates before I’d even processed the second pink line. I thought maybe . . . maybe this was the thing that would anchor everything.” My voice lowers. “My dad was slipping away. My relationship was slipping away. But the baby felt like something I could hold on to.”

“Did Brandon know?” Navy asks softly.