CHAPTER 32
Caroline
“You’re glowing, Kitty.”
Ethan and Deba say it at the exact same time, their eyes boring into me with the kind of intensity that feels like it might actually scorch my skin.
I groan. “Okay, first of all, why are you even here, Mister Ethan-man? I only summoned Deba. This is a private consultation. You are completely useless.”
Deba bumps her shoulder into mine, soft as always. “We might need him.”
“We never need him,” I mutter, waving a dismissive hand.
Ethan clutches his chest in mock offense. “Wounded. Truly. My wife will hear of this betrayal.”
I narrow my eyes at them. “God, the newlywed energy is blinding. It’s like staring directly into the sun.
You two have always been… you know.” I flap my hands, trying to shape the chaos of affection into something visible, “ridiculously attached. I just assumed marriage would calm it down, not upgrade you to permanent Velcro.”
“What can I say?” Ethan grins, pulling Deba closer. “My wife loves me.”
Deba tilts her head up at him with the softest, most adoring look, like pure melted butter. And I gag theatrically.
He’s one of my best friends, but honestly? Such a dork. It still amazes me that Deba, the beautiful, magnetic Deba, fell for him. Then again, maybe that’s exactly why it works.
Ethan’s eyes flick back to me, suddenly sharp with mischief. “So. Edoardo will be there? As the host’s boyfriend?”
I nod, trying to look casual, and he explodes into a cheer loud enough to rattle the windows.
It still feels strange, letting the word boyfriend sit next to my name. Like wearing a new ring you keep checking to see if it’s still there.
“I knew it,” Ethan squeals. “The second I saw him watching you at dinner. Oh, those looks? Criminal. Case closed.”
“Or the jacket,” Deba sighs dreamily. “When he put it over your shoulders on the walk to Big Gay? I almost cried.”
“That,” Ethan says, pointing dramatically, “is why we are abandoning a perfectly gorgeous New York summer for London gloom.”
“Well,” Deba shrugs, “Gigi, Connor, Megan, and Adam are flying in from San Francisco. We’re practically neighbors compared to them.”
“Hey, don’t blame me or Edoardo,” I say, laughing. “He’d fly wherever I asked. Connor’s the one who insisted, no - begged - that my birthday had to be in London.”
Ethan’s expression softens. “Ah. He wants Celina there.”
“Yep.” I lift one shoulder. “My birthday is just the convenient excuse.”
“Nah.” Ethan pulls me into a hug, warm and grounding. “We’re celebrating you. Connor’s just… borrowing the spotlight a little.”
His voice gentles, and the room quiets around it.
“I don’t think he’s ever really recovered,” he adds. “He still loves Celina so much it hurts to watch him standing on the sideline like that.”
I swallow. Connor and I orbit the same gravity these days - therapy appointments stacked back-to-back with Dr. Phiri, late calls afterward where we compare notes on surviving our own hearts. He sounds steadier now, less like he’s drowning, but the ache hasn’t left him. Maybe it never will.
Talking about my miscarriage, saying it out loud after carrying it like a slab of concrete on my chest for a decade, hasn’t erased the pain.
But it’s like someone finally cracked a window open.
The air moves again. The miscarriage was the real problem, not the breakup with Brandon.
Now, one more person than Connor and I know about it.
“I know,” I say quietly. “Connor’s there in London this weekend too. Whenever I’m in London, I take whatever time isn’t… reserved for Celina. But right now, he’s just waiting. She gives him politeness more than anything else.”
“You’ve done so much for him, Caroline,” Ethan says, squeezing my shoulder. “But you have to take care of yourself too. All this back-and-forth between cities? It’s going to wear you down. And that’s not fair to you, or to Edoardo.”
“We’re okay,” I say gently, then clap my hands once, switching gears like a race car downshifting. “Anyway, party planning. Stay on mission, people.”
Deba laughs. “Why Latin theme?”
“Because it’s fun,” I say. “And I’m hoping the music loosens Connor and Celina up. Get them dancing. Maybe spark something.”
Ethan throws his head back laughing. “You are diabolical.”
“Visionary,” Deba corrects, grinning as she pulls me into a hug. “It’s perfect. And you deserve another mango lassi immediately. I will personally make you one every single day of your birthday weekend.”
I close my eyes, already tasting the sweet, creamy chill of it. “Honestly, I could live on your lassis alone.”
Ethan wiggles his eyebrows. “So Edoardo is dressing as…”
I clap a hand over his mouth. “Nope. Stop. Come back from whatever fantasy land you just entered.”
They both burst out laughing.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my notebook. “Theme: Latin. Music: obviously Latin - the club’s already on board. Now we just need to decide food, desserts, cake. They sent me approximately one million options.”
The conversation spills on, loud, messy, full of interruptions and mock arguments. We nudge shoulders, steal sips of each other’s drinks, laugh until our stomachs hurt.
And underneath it all, there’s that steady warmth, the kind that only exists when you’re surrounded by people who know every version of you and stay anyway.
In two weeks, we’ll all be in London together.
I don’t care about turning another year older.
I don’t care how big or small the party is.
My birthday is just an excuse to drown in laughter, to be held up by the people I love, to feel the beautiful, ridiculous gravity of my chosen family pulling us all into the same room. And to give Connor an opportunity.