22. Josephine #2
I should stand up and thank her for the shade and continue home.
Instead, I hear myself say, “I don’t know what to do.”
Tessa goes still beside me.
The burn behind my eyes returns immediately, humiliatingly fast.
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “That was inappropriate.”
“It wasn’t.”
“We barely know each other.”
“That’s okay.”
“It’s not. I don’t usually…” I waver, and I hate it. “I don’t usually tell people things.”
Tessa turns slightly toward me. “Then maybe you needed to.”
I laugh once, broken and quiet. “Everyone keeps saying things like that to me lately.”
“Annoying?”
“Extremely.”
“Usually means they’re right.”
I press my lips together. The words rise up, pressing against my ribs. I could still stop them…
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper.
Tessa’s eyes widen.
“With twins,” I add, because apparently if I’m going to detonate my privacy in public, I might as well be thorough.
For one terrible second, she says nothing.
My mind immediately organizes catastrophe.
One: shock.
Two: judgment.
Three: polite withdrawal.
Four: she’ll tell Nash.
Five: Nash will tell Clay.
Six: Clay will look at me differently.
Seven: everything collapses.
Then Tessa reaches over and takes my hand. “Oh, Josie.”
I blink at her. “I’m sorry,” I say, because I do not know what else to do with tenderness. “I didn’t mean to tell you like that.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I haven’t told Clay.”
Her hand tightens slightly.
“I almost did,” I say quickly. “I was going to. I know he deserves to know. I’m not trying to hide it forever. I just… he’s injured, and he keeps talking about leaving, and I don’t want him to feel trapped, and I don’t want to need him, and I don’t know what he’ll do.”
Tessa listens without interrupting.
That makes it easier and harder.
“I’ve spent my whole life making sure I can handle things alone,” I say. “And now this is the biggest thing that has ever happened to me, and everyone keeps telling me I don’t have to be alone, but what if I believe that and then I am?”
Tessa reaches for my hand gently. “You need to tell him, Josie.”
“I know,” I whisper.
Tessa’s expression softens. “Clay’s a mess sometimes. He runs when things scare him. But this?” She glances down at my stomach. “This matters too much to keep from him.”
I look away, throat tight. “I just… don’t know how to tell someone who already has one foot out the door.”
Tessa doesn’t argue with that. She only squeezes my hand once. “Then wait until you can trust he’ll stay long enough to hear it properly.”
“He might leave,” I say.
“He might try,” Tessa says. “But that isn’t the same as being gone forever.”
“I can’t build a life on might.”
“No,” she says. “You shouldn’t.” Relief and disappointment tangle painfully in my chest. “But you also shouldn’t decide for him before he knows the truth.”
I look toward Main Street, blinking hard. “I’m scared,” I admit.
“I know.”
“I hate being scared.”
“Me too.”
“You don’t seem scared.”
She laughs softly. “I have a newborn. I’m scared of everything. Breathing noises. Silence. Diaper rash. The temperature of bathwater. Nash holding her while walking too close to doorframes.”
That pulls a real laugh from me.
Tessa smiles. “Fear doesn’t mean you’re failing.”
“I keep hearing that too.”
“Then Buckhorn is making progress.”
I wipe carefully beneath my eye, trying not to smear whatever is left of my dignity. “Please don’t tell Clay.”
“I won’t.”
“Or Nash.”
“I won’t tell them.” I’m firm now. “This is your news. Your timing.”
My breath leaves me all at once. “Thank you.”
“But,” she adds gently, “when you are ready, you won’t have to face him alone unless you want to.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t know how to have that.”
“What?”
“People. Around. Willing to help before I earn it.”
Tessa’s face softens in a way that nearly breaks me. “Oh, honey.”
The endearment catches me off guard. Normally it would make me tense up immediately, but coming from Tessa, it only makes my chest ache.
“You don’t earn family by proving you need the least,” she says. “At least, not the kind worth having.”
I stare down at our joined hands.
My family never worked that way.
Help was always conditional. Affection had moods. Pride had sharp edges. If I needed too much, I was dramatic. If I wanted too much, I was ungrateful. If I left, I was selfish. If I stayed, I was stuck.
So I left.
I built a life out of competence and clean counters and emergency kits.
And now this woman I barely know is sitting beside me with a sleeping baby, offering me something I don’t know how to hold.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
Unfortunately, that makes me want to cry again.
Tessa glances at Hailey, then back at me with a cautious little smile. “Would you come to dinner sometime?”
I blink. “Dinner?”
“At my place. Nothing big. Just me, Rose, and Faith maybe. No pressure. No interrogation.” She pauses. “Well, limited interrogation. Faith has very expressive eyebrows.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not.”
“I don’t want to be a project.”
“You’re not that either.”
I sigh. “I’m not great at… group female bonding.”
“That’s fine. Rose is gentle, Faith is funny, and I’m usually too tired to be intimidating.”
“You’re not intimidating.”
“Good. I’ve been trying very hard.”
A small laugh escapes me.
Dinner with them.
With Clay’s family. Or part of it.
The sensible answer is no. It would complicate things. It’d make attachments where I should be cautious. It would give me a glimpse of belonging before I know whether I’m allowed to keep it.
But I think of Rose smiling at Boone under barn lights.
Faith laughing with Dallas’s baby on her hip.
Tessa holding Hailey like love is frightening and worth it anyway.
I think of twins.
My twins.
Clay’s twins.
I inhale slowly.
“Alright,” I say.
Tessa’s smile blooms. “Really?”
Hailey stirs then, making a tiny squeak, and Tessa immediately bends over the stroller. “Hi, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “I know. Main Street gossip is exhausting.”
I watch her lift the baby with care, tucking Hailey against her chest. The baby settles instantly, cheek pressed to her mother’s shoulder.
I imagine two babies that small. Two warm weights. Two fragile breaths. Two lives I’m already responsible for and somehow already attached to in a way that terrifies me.
She notices my hand move to my stomach and, mercifully, says nothing about it. The restraint feels like another small kindness.
After a moment, I stand. “I should go home before Dr. Harris sends a search party.”
“He might.”
“He told me to eat something that wasn’t crackers.”
“Bossy.”
“Correct, unfortunately.”
Tessa smiles. “Text me later? I’ll send you dinner options.”
“I don’t have your number.”
She reaches for her phone. “Then we should fix that.”
We exchange numbers, and the act feels strangely significant. Like signing up for something without reading all the terms.
When her name appears in my contacts, I stare at it for half a second.
Tessa McCoy.
It feels strangely significant. A connection and a risk. A small, unexpected thread tying me to a family I’m not ready for and may already need more than I want to admit.
“Thank you,” I say.
She shifts Hailey carefully against her shoulder. “Anytime.”
I nod and start toward home.
This time, I make it three blocks without crying.
Progress.