Chapter 30
Thirty
Addie
Dot’s is already quite full when Ric and I slide into the booth by the window. Morning light slants across the tabletop, and I look around to find I know most of the people here. It’s both comfortable and predictable. Exactly what I need.
Ric is halfway through a story about one of his patients—details scrubbed clean, delivery intentionally vague—when my phone vibrates against the table. I don’t reach for it right away. I keep my fingers wrapped around the warmth of my coffee.
The name on the screen is Luc.
“Do you need to get that?” Ric asks.
I shake my head. “Keep going. I want to hear your story.”
There’s no spike of anxiety or rush of anticipation. Just awareness. The message exists. That’s all. I flip the phone facedown and push it a few inches away, an adjustment small enough that Ric doesn’t seem to notice.
He keeps talking, hands moving as he explains something that clearly amused him at the time. I nod in the right places, smile when I’m supposed to. My body stays in the moment even as my mind acknowledges the quiet fact of interruption.
“Anyway, this person starts every session by telling me they don’t know why they’re in my office. Life is fine. Nothing’s wrong.”
“That’s usually a lie,” Addie says.
“Usually,” Ric agrees. “But a very confident one.” He takes a bite of toast, chews, and then continues. “After a few weeks, I asked what they think about the most.”
I lift a brow. “Let me guess. Their childhood.”
“Shockingly, no. Conversations.”
“Conversations?”
“Past ones. They replay them. Rewrite them. Improve them.” He glances at me. “Win them.”
That makes me smile. “With who?”
“Everyone who matters.” He shrugs. “And a few people who don’t.”
“And in real life?”
“Never has them,” Ric says. “Avoids conflict entirely.”
I sit back, considering that. “So what did you tell them?”
Ric takes a sip of coffee. “I said they weren’t there because nothing was wrong. They were there because all the important things in their life happen after the moment passes.”
I give him a look. “Ouch.”
“They said they hated me,” he agrees mildly.
“That means you were right.”
“That’s what I told them.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re telling me this for a reason.”
Ric shrugs. “I’m telling you,” he says, “because you’re very good at winning conversations that never happen.”
For a moment, I focus on the sounds around us, on the way my stomach tightens and releases, as it has been doing more often these days.
After a few seconds of silence, Ric shifts gears and tells me about how he and Liz are going to start trying to get pregnant.
“That’s great.” I nod. “Our kids will be close in age.”
“That’s what we hope.”
Then we talk about what’s going on with Evie. “I met with the Crown last week,” I tell him. “They asked me some questions, but because I’m so removed from the business and everything else, I didn’t have much to say.”
Ric nods, like he’s been tracking that too.
“I’m glad to have that behind me and get on with my life.”
He smiles but lowers his mug and studies me over the rim. “So,” he says, casual on the surface. “How is that going?”
I let out a quiet breath and tilt my head, considering him. “Is that you asking as my brother or as a psychologist?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Both.”
Of course. I shake my head, smiling despite myself, and reach for my toast. The question hangs between us.
“It’s…fine,” I say, which is true, but unsatisfying. I chew, swallow, and then add, “Complicated. But not in a way that feels chaotic.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“I’m not spiraling,” I continue, aware of how defensive that sounds. “I don’t feel like I’m constantly reacting anymore. I’m just…paying attention.”
Ric nods once, like he’s filing that away, but he doesn’t lean forward or start dissecting my language. “Good,” he says simply.
“I should tell you,” I say, before he can ask the next question. “Luc’s mother was in town this weekend.”
Ric’s expression shifts. “Did he tell her about the baby?”
“Yes.” I reach for my mug again, mostly to give my hands something to do. “About the baby. About me.”
“And how was that?” he asks.
I consider the question carefully, not because it’s difficult but because it deserves precision. “Fine,” I say. Then, after a beat, “Actually, more than fine. They invited me to dinner at Gather, and I went. She was kind and thoughtful. She didn’t push.”
Ric watches me, just waiting for more.
“I think I expected to feel something bigger,” I admit. “Nerves. Pressure. The sense that I was being evaluated.” I shake my head. “But it wasn’t like that.”
He nods slowly. “And how do you feel about her being part of things?”
I shrug. “She comes with Luc. And with the baby. That’s just reality.” There’s no bitterness in it or resignation. Just fact.
“How did the evening end?” Ric asks.
I smile. “She gave me a gift card to the furniture store on Main Street. The one with the big front windows and the prices that make you breathe carefully.”
“That’s generous.”
“It was.” I pause. “And uncomplicated. Which I appreciated.”
Ric studies me for a moment longer, and then gives a small nod.
I take another sip of coffee and feel the truth in my bones. Nothing about the weekend rearranged me. That’s a surprise.
“What are you going to get?” Ric asks, nodding toward my bag like the gift card might be tucked inside it.
“I know I want a glider,” I say. I’ve been wanting one for a while, and Kim did say it was Luc’s favorite when he was a baby. “Something comfortable. Not bulky. I want it to fit the room, so I can nurse and read stories to him.”
He smiles. “You’ve thought about this.”
“I’ve thought about everything,” I tell him. “It was a generous card, and I’ll be able to get a few other things, but I’m waiting.”
“For?”
“The shower,” I say. “Ginny, Sera, and Josie are planning one. They’ve been…enthusiastic.” I take another sip of coffee. “I’ll see what I end up with, what I still need. There’s no rush to fill the space.”
Ric smiles. “That seems very you.”
It does. I like things chosen with intention. I like knowing why something is in my life before I let it stay. The nursery will come together the same way—piece by piece, as it’s meant to.
“I’ll probably use whatever’s left on storage,” I add. “Or a lamp. Something that makes the room feel finished without being crowded.”
“You’re nesting,” he says lightly.
“Maybe,” I allow. “But I’m not panicking.”
Ric sets his mug down more carefully this time. “Can I ask you something?”
I look up at him. “You’re going to anyway.”
He smiles. “Why isn’t Luc coming to your doctor’s appointments?”
I take a breath, and then meet his eyes. “He just took a break,” I say.
Ric looks at me, waiting for a real answer.
“I do have feelings for Luc,” I say. Admitting it doesn’t cost me anything. It doesn’t feel like a concession. “That’s not the issue.”
“And the issue is?”
“I don’t want those feelings managed,” I explain. “Just because we’re having a baby doesn’t mean we need to be together.”
“Do you feel like he was with you out of obligation?”
“Probably.” I look out the window. “I don’t know. Our approaches don’t always line up.”
Ric doesn’t interrupt.
“He’s supportive,” I continue. “I know he thinks he’s helping. But after he confronted Evie, I felt like his help was sliding into control. And I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I’ve been agreeing to things because it felt easier than holding my own.”
“Has Evie been by since he talked to her?” Ric asks.
I shake my head. “No. She’s had groceries delivered, but she hasn’t shown up unannounced.”
“So maybe confronting her wasn’t a bad thing.”
I don’t want to admit he’s right. “You talked to her too.”
“I did, but she still showed up the next day. And she hasn’t since Luc’s conversation.”
“I’m not shutting him out,” I add. “I’m just not handing him the steering wheel. And I told him he could come back to my appointments.”
Ric’s expression softens. “That sounds like good judgment.” He leans back against the booth. “You know,” he says, “there’s a middle ground you’re allowed to occupy.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is this you talking as my brother or as a therapist again?”
He smiles. “Both. Still.”
I wait.
“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing,” he continues. “You don’t have to decide what this becomes right now. Or how much access Luc will ever get. Like you said, it just means you’re paying attention.”
I turn that over, feeling for resistance. There isn’t any.
“You can be open without being overridden,” Ric says. “You can say what you need to as it comes up, instead of pre-empting it. Let him know what feels comfortable, and adjust that if and when you want to.”
“That assumes I’ll be heard,” I say.
“It assumes you’ll use your words,” he replies. “The rest is information.”
The simplicity of that catches me off guard. It seems so obvious, so simple.
“I’m not telling you to let him in,” Ric adds. “And I’m not telling you to keep him out. I’m saying you don’t have to protect the future from the present.”
I look down at the table. Maybe I don’t have to decide everything before I answer. Maybe the next step is enough.
Ric meets my gaze when I look back up, and this time there’s no analysis in it. Just trust that I’ll find my own way through.
And I realize I already am.
By the time we stand to leave, the café has filled in around us.
Chairs scrape softly against the floor. Someone laughs near the counter.
Life continues at its own pace, unconcerned with my internal calculus.
Ric pulls on his jacket and glances at his watch, already half into his day. I pick up my phone.
“Text me later,” he says. “Let me know you got home.”
“I always do,” I remind him.
I follow him out, and he smiles and presses a quick kiss to my temple before heading down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, shoulders easy. I watch him go for a moment, and then turn toward my car.
The message from Luc is still there when I unlock my phone in the driver’s seat. I read it now. Nothing dramatic. He’s just letting me know he’ll be at my appointment if that’s still what I want.
I don’t confirm immediately. I take another breath, feel where I am inside my body. Calm. Not braced for impact.
I debate what I want to say as I head home.
But when I arrive, I go directly to my studio and start work on a painting of Black Bear Vineyard.
Sera’s birthday is coming up, and from memory, I paint the view of the vineyard from Evie’s living room, the hundreds of rows that reach down to the lakeshore.
I get so lost in the painting that when I look up it’s dark outside, and I realize I still haven’t responded to Luc.
Me: Thank you for dinner on Saturday. Your mother was very kind.
I’m open to seeing where things go between us, as long as we keep talking and keep things honest. And I’d still like for you to join me tomorrow afternoon for my OB appointment at 4.
I’ll meet you there, as I have a full day of meetings.
When I hit send, there’s no rush of relief or fear trailing behind it. Just the quiet knowledge that I chose this. And whatever comes next will meet me where I am.