Chapter 16
Sixteen
Luc
The last week has transformed things for me, almost without effort.
It’s not something I planned, just something that happened.
Something I didn’t dare to hope for or ask for.
But now, I have nights that start with dinner together and turn into mornings.
And those mornings loop back around again.
My shoes by the door. Waking up oriented toward another body in the bed like that’s where I’ve always landed.
Every night.
I haven’t said anything about it. I haven’t framed it or labeled it. I’ve just let it be what it is. I’ve learned the hard way that the moment I start naming things in my life, I start pressing on them, turning something easy into something that has to hold weight.
This morning Addison is frantically putting groceries away. Her grandmother dropped them off again. It’s the second time this week, and the pressure campaign for Addison to move to the family vineyard is gaining momentum.
Her grandmother, who she calls Evie, has found reasons to stop by more and more often, and it’s never when I’m around. She claims she’s helping. But it always leaves Addison quieter and noticeably upset. She doesn’t talk about it much with me, but I can tell it bothers her, and I don’t like it.
From what I understand, Evie and the rest of Addison’s family still don’t know I’m the father. That makes me uneasy, but I haven’t decided when or how to bring it up.
Addison finally folds the last of the empty grocery bags and shifts to pouring coffee. She slides a mug toward me without asking.
“I’m having dinner with my brother and sisters tonight,” she says, like it’s a weather update.
I pick up the mug. “Yeah?”
“We try to do this once a month—just us. No parents or cousins, and definitely not Evie. We rotate who hosts, and this month it’s Ric.” She takes a sip, eyes on the window instead of me. “I told them I’d go.”
Something in me moves toward an alert. I analyze this before I can stop myself. The timing. The people. The absence of me. “Does Liz join you?”
“Of course. She and Ric are married.”
“Do you want me to drive you?” I ask. Easy. Casual. Like it’s nothing.
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
I nod like that settles it. It should. It’s a reasonable answer to a reasonable question. I tell myself that and almost believe it. “I could pick you up after,” I add, framing it as convenience. “Save you the rideshare back.”
She turns then and meets my eyes. Not sharp. Not annoyed. Just steady. “Luc, I’m okay.”
I hold my hands up. “Just offering.”
“I know. Thank you for that. But I can do this on my own.”
She doesn’t say anything else, and I don’t push. I tell myself that’s respecting her boundaries. Listening.
But my attention keeps sliding back to the grocery bags, to the way her grandmother has been circling lately. To the fact that Addison doesn’t actually relax around her family the way she pretends to.
She sets her mug in the sink and steps closer, pressing a brief kiss to my cheek. “You’ll have a backlog of patients waiting if you don’t leave soon,” she says. “And I’m meeting the printer about the notecards first thing this morning.”
I watch her grab her jacket, her keys. Watch her pause at the door like she’s mentally checking something off before she leaves. She smiles when she looks back at me, and that softens the edge, but it doesn’t erase it.
After she’s gone, her apartment is quiet. It spurs me to get moving as well.
I head into the clinic and move from room to room without much pause.
Ear infections stacked back-to-back. Back-to-school colds that have tipped into upper respiratory infections.
A Type 2 diabetes check that takes longer than scheduled because nothing about it is simple.
And there are at least three patients with mental health concerns before lunch, which has become the quiet constant of my days more than the exception.
A packed schedule is repetitive and predictable in its own way, and I don’t mind it. The volume keeps me moving. Wash hands. Check vitals. Adjust medications. Reassure where I can. Redirect when I need to. The hours pass, and that’s the point.
But by late afternoon, the charts blur together slightly. My shoulders are tight from leaning over exam tables, my hands dry from so much washing. I finish one chart, start the next, and catch myself thinking about Addison between rooms, like a low hum I can’t tune out.
I understand what she told me about her family dinner, but I also don’t. How long am I supposed to stay hidden while the rest of her life goes on without me? They don’t even know I exist.
My phone buzzes while I’m washing my hands yet again.
A message from Mom, checking in. I haven’t told my parents about the baby.
Addison’s not telling anyone, so I’ve followed suit.
I suppose there’s nothing stopping me, but I don’t know if that would make me honest or reckless.
We need to at least tell my parents, though.
Maybe I can talk Addison into a long weekend in Regina.
I’ll call Mom back when I can talk to her. Right now, my mind is too busy.
My mind shifts to picturing Addison with her siblings. She said these dinners were just them, but I wonder if Evie is going to show up. Again it rubs at me the way she manages to insert herself when Addison’s already stretched thin.
When the day is done, I dry my hands for the last time and grab my jacket, locking up the clinic. Outside, the air has that early-evening cool that signals fall. I pause on the steps, phone back in my hand.
I could text Addison, ask her to tell me when she gets there and let her know she can call me if she needs anything because I’ll be around.
It sounds reasonable and supportive, maybe even harmless.
I type one message. Delete it. Type another. Delete that too.
I don’t want to sound like I’m hovering. I don’t want to imply she can’t handle her own family. I don’t want to make tonight about me.
So I send nothing.
The problem is, silence doesn’t actually quiet anything. It just gives my thoughts more room to stretch out.
I get in the car and drive home to my uncle’s instead of back to her place. It feels like the right call. We don’t actually live together, so this is the sensible, adult choice.
By the time I pull into the driveway, I’ve built the evening ahead of me in three different ways. None of them includes me showing up uninvited at Ric’s house. That’s a line I know better than to cross.
But they all include me standing by.
Waiting. Watching the clock. Running contingencies.
Inside, I drop my keys on the counter and check my phone again, irritation flickering when there’s still nothing from Addison.
I tell myself she’s busy. That she doesn’t owe me updates, that wanting one doesn’t make me entitled to it.
This is about your insecurity, I tell myself. You’re not actually worried about her.
I pour a glass of water I don’t drink and lean against the counter, eyes drifting to the door like she might walk through it.
This is the moment where I should ask myself what she actually wants from me tonight. Instead, I start thinking about what could go wrong.
Evie showing up to their dinner. Pressure from her family and the way Addison goes still when she’s cornered.
But I’m just being careful. And staying alert isn’t the same as stepping in.
I decide to go find some dinner. I’m not spending enough time at this place to have anything useful in the fridge. I decide to hit the Paradise Hill Grill. They have a great stuffed porkchop I’m suddenly craving.
I’m there and back in twenty minutes, and when I return, I’m surprised to see a large Mercedes in my uncle’s driveway.
I get out of the car and hear my name. “Dr. Anderson.”
I look over at the woman next to the Mercedes. She’s dressed neatly. Hair set. Purse looped over her arm. She smiles the way people do when they think politeness gives them leverage.
She steps closer, just inside my personal space. Not enough to call it out, but enough to register.
“Evelyn Dempsey,” I say, forcing a smile. “What brings you to my uncle’s home? He’s out of town with his lady friend.”
“Addison’s been so busy lately,” she says.
I tilt my head in question, but I don’t comment. Why is she here?
“Did she mention I’ve been stopping by and bringing her groceries?” she adds, watching my face carefully.
I see that immediately for what it is. A test.
“You don’t need to do that,” I tell her. “She’s capable.”
Something sharp flickers behind Evelyn’s smile. Then it smooths over. “Of course,” she says. “I just worry. She takes on so much. House guests can be…taxing.”
Ahhhh… I don’t ask how she knows we’re connected. I don’t ask why she’s framing it like concern when it sounds more like a reminder.
“We enjoy spending time together,” I say.
Her gaze dips briefly, and then lifts again. Calculating. “Sometimes, Addison confuses obligation with choice. She always has.”
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “I’m sure she can tell the difference.”
“You’re very involved,” she adds softly. “That’s good. Most men tend to disappear when things get complicated.”
I shift the bag with dinner to my other hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she says. “For Addison’s sake.”
I nod and walk away before I say something that would escalate this beyond repair. The paper bag feels heavy in my hand as I fumble with the lock on the front door.
Evelyn is pushing harder than before. This is a new angle for her.
And Addison is the one absorbing all this attention.
I turn back to look at Evie. I don’t think she’s managed to learn I’m the father, but the fact that she’s circling tells me she senses something.
A weakness. An opening. I’m not sure what.
“Goodnight,” I tell her as I let myself into the house. She’s still just standing next to her car in the driveway.