Chapter 28
Twenty-eight
Addie
The nursery smells faintly of acrylic paint. The mural only needs a few final touches. I stand back and take a few pictures. I love all my work, but doing this for my son makes me especially proud. Now, I just need some furniture in here.
My phone buzzes, and I pause, feeling the brief jolt that always comes with interruption. Not dread. Just adjustment.
I pick it up and see Luc’s name on the screen.
Luc: My mom is in town for the weekend. I’ve told her about our pregnancy, and she was hoping to meet you. We have reservations tonight at Gather. Would you be up for joining us?
I read it a second time, but slower.
There’s no pressure threaded through the words. No assumption that I’ll say yes. He doesn’t frame it as something I owe him, or her, or anyone else. It’s truly just an invitation, with the situation laid out before me.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
Meeting someone’s mother isn’t neutral territory. Usually, I’ve known the parents of my friends and lovers since I was little. And does Luc fit in either of those categories right now? I’m not sure how to approach this.
I lean back against the unpainted wall and let my gaze drift around the room.
The mural looks back at me. I think about how Luc has handled things so far.
He hasn’t been cautious. He hasn’t stopped to think about the fallout.
When he thinks something matters, he steps in.
He doesn’t always think about what might happen after.
He went to Evie and told her to back off. And the mess that followed landed right where it was always going to—on him. On us.
I’m not pretending that didn’t happen. I’m not pretending it didn’t cost him. But I have to remember that he stepped in because he believed it mattered. Even if he didn’t handle it perfectly. And I have to remember my part in making him feel like that was the best course of action.
That doesn’t mean I owe him a place in my life or my heart.
It doesn’t mean I’m ready to let him in.
But he remains the father of my child and someone who is clearly trying to do things the way I’ve asked.
That means the only reasons I have to pull away are the old ones I’ve been carrying for years.
I scroll through my contacts, and Emma answers on the second ring.
“Hey,” she says. “Is everything okay?”
“I think so,” I tell her. “I just need a sounding board.”
She lets me talk without interrupting. I tell her about the text. About Luc’s mother being in town. About the invitation to dinner. I keep my voice even, factual, like I’m presenting information instead of admitting uncertainty.
When I’m done, she exhales softly. “Okay. Here’s the thing.”
I wait.
“This isn’t about Luc,” she says. “And it’s not about whether you feel like playing happy family. This is your baby’s grandmother.”
My free hand curls against my stomach without thinking.
“She wants to meet you,” Emma continues. “That’s important. It doesn’t mean she gets a vote in your life, but it does mean she’s not pretending this doesn’t exist.”
“I know,” I say, though I hadn’t considered it that way until now.
“You don’t have to trust her,” Emma adds. “You don’t have to promise anything. You just have to show up. Meet her. And honestly?” She chuckles. “She certainly can’t be worse than your own family.”
I let out a short laugh before I can stop myself.
“This isn’t surrender,” she says. “It’s participation.”
I pace the room, admiring the soft light in the nursery. “I think I’m just…tired of being judged,” I admit.
“That’s fair,” Emma says. “But avoiding people who want to be involved isn’t the same as protecting yourself.”
I don’t have a response to that for a moment. “If I go,” I say finally, “it’s because I want to. Not because I feel obligated.”
“Good,” she says. “That’s the only reason that counts.”
“Okay. Thanks, Emma.” I hang up and put the phone back in my pocket. The defense I’d been holding on to feels looser now.
I open Luc’s message again.
Showing up doesn’t mean giving anything away.
Me: I can meet you tonight at Gather.
He responds quickly.
Luc: The reservation’s for 7. We’ll be there a little early, and we’re looking forward to it.
I read the words once and send him a thumbs up.
After that, I return to the mural and touch up a star that doesn’t look quite right. But something in me is different.
I continue working all afternoon on the mural. In the end, I mostly just need to figure out the quote I want to add. Once everything is the way I’d like it, I wash my hands at the sink and glance at the clock. There’s still time before I need to leave.
I give myself more time than usual to get ready, not because I’m panicking, but because I want to arrive feeling like myself.
I stand in front of the closet, pulling things out and putting them back. I have two dresses that work and I feel like I wear them nearly every other day.
The peasant dress is really the dressiest, so I go with that. It hangs easily, familiar against my skin. I catch my reflection once it’s on and don’t look away. I look like myself. I keep my makeup minimal and resist the urge to fuss.
The rideshare pulls up right on time. I lock the door behind me and pause at the building’s front door, hand resting briefly on my stomach.
I think about the way Luc has shown up so far.
I still worry he’s a force that will change everything the minute I let him in.
Yet I know he’s trying, and I’m taking these steps anyway. I think maybe I have to.
When I enter, the car smells faintly of citrus cleaner, the radio low. I watch the town slide past the window, familiar streets lit with an early evening glow. Gather isn’t far, but the distance feels like a transition.
I check my phone once. Nothing new.
When the car slows in front of the restaurant, I spot Luc through the window. He’s already there with his mother, posture relaxed but attentive.
I step out onto the sidewalk and take a breath. I’m not rehearsing what I’ll say or cataloging quick exits. I’m just walking in.
Warmth and sound greet me as the door opens. The hostess smiles and gestures toward the dining room.
Luc looks up before I’m halfway there. His expression shifts, unmistakably pleased. He stands. “Hey,” he says. “You look beautiful.”
I smile. “Hi.”
He gestures to the woman beside him. “Addie, this is my mom, Kim Anderson. Mom, this is Addie.”
Kim rises, her smile warm. She takes me in with an open expression that doesn’t feel like assessment. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too.”
She squeezes my hand briefly before sitting down. “I’m really glad you could come.”
As I take my seat, Luc’s hand brushes the back of my chair—a quiet check-in. Conversation follows easily.
“Did you grow up in Paradise?” Kim asks.
“I did. Do you visit often?”
“My brother-in-law lives in town, Luc’s uncle, and we used to come every summer. We love the lake, and the wine business has grown so much over the years. Your family has a vineyard?”
I nod. “They do. My grandmother owns it, and two of my sisters run it.”
“Luc tells me you’re having a boy. Growing up with sisters, that must terrify you.”
I have to smile at that. “You know, it does. I have a brother, but we always outnumbered him. He had lots of pink in his life growing up.”
Kim nods. “Luc is our only child. We always wanted more kids, but we weren’t that lucky. So he will be clueless when it comes to babies.”
“I’m the youngest, so we’ll be clueless together.”
The server arrives, and Luc and his mother are ready to order, so I look quickly at the menu and decide on the mushroom risotto.
After the server leaves, Kim turns to me. “What do you do?”
“I’m an artist. Mostly watercolors.”
Her hand goes to her heart. “I love watercolor.”
“Across the street,” Luc says with pride, “is a gallery that has a beautiful piece of hers on display. She’s incredibly talented.”
I’m stunned at his praise. “Thank you,” I manage. “Right now, I’m doing custom pieces for local vineyards and developing stationery lines for the various wine shops across the valley. It should keep a roof over my head while I adjust to being a new mom.”
“I would love to see your work,” she pauses. “Do you work with music on or quiet?”
“Depends on the day.”
She nods, considering it. “Luc always needed noise. Even as a baby. Silence made him restless.” Her smile is brief, fond, and then she turns back to me. “Do you sell locally or online?”
“Both.”
“That’s smart.”
Luc lifts his glass. “She works more hours than she admits.”
Kim shoots him a look. “I didn’t ask you.” Then, to me, “Do you ever take days off?”
I laugh softly. “Not enough.”
She smiles again. “My husband and I were teachers, and we now have a small business. We took over his father’s hardware store a few years ago, so I know all about not taking enough time off.”
Our dinners arrive, and we eat. My risotto is fantastic, but I see Luc’s salmon and wonder if I picked wrong.
I ask Kim about the hardware store, and she tells me her tales of the retail world.
When there’s a pause, I look over at Luc. “I heard Dr. Hutchinson is taking most of December off. How is that going?”
Luc shrugs. “Not bad. It’s going to hurt when he retires. His practice is so busy, and his patients love him so much. He remembers everything. I can only hope they’ll grow to like me half as much.”
“They’ll love you,” Kim says. “What’s not to like? Right, Addie?”
I nod. “Dr. Hutchinson has been my doctor my whole life, and there have been plenty of times he wasn’t loved. Don’t let people pretend he’s perfect.”
Kim smiles. “I know this dinner probably isn’t the easiest thing, Addie. So thank you for being here.”
I nod. “You’re welcome.” I’m surprised to find I mean it. I realize I’m not counting the minutes. I’m not waiting for something to go wrong.
The pregnancy comes up naturally, not set apart like something that needs managing. She asks how I’m feeling. Luc stays present without hovering.
No one is keeping score. No one is defining my role.
Kim tells a story about moving when Luc was young. Just an experience. No lesson attached.
I find myself responding without editing. Laughing when something’s funny. Asking questions because I want to.
“You seem very steady,” Kim says at one point. “Not everyone manages that during a pregnancy.”
“Thank you.”
As plates are cleared, I realize I’m no longer monitoring my boundaries. I’m simply here.
The check has already been handled when the server returns. We gather our things without rush.
Kim reaches into her bag. “I brought something for you.”
She hands me an envelope. “A gift card to the furniture store on Main. They have lovely nursery pieces. When Luc was little, my favorite thing we bought was a glider. It was the only way he’d fall asleep.”
I take it, the weight solid in my hand. “Thank you.”
“Use it however you’d like,” she adds.
Luc watches quietly, and Kim hugs me briefly before collecting her coat. “I’m really glad I got to meet you.”
“I am too.”
Outside, the night air is cool. As she walks away, toward her hotel, I glance down at the envelope and think of the empty space by the window in the nursery.
“She really liked you,” Luc says after a moment.
“I liked her too.”
We walk a short distance, through the evening.
“My doctor’s appointments are every two weeks now,” I tell him. “If you’d like to be there.”
“Okay. I would,” he says. “Just let me know when they are.”
The words land without displacing anything.
“There’s one coming up this week,” I tell him, and I check my phone to give him the details.
Near the corner where my ride will pick me up, the space between us stays easy. I don’t feel any of the tension I did last time we were together.
When the car pulls up, I meet his eyes. “Thank you.”
He nods and opens the door for me. I slide into the backseat and watch him as the car pulls away, the envelope still in my hand. This openness doesn’t feel threatening. It feels new. Unpracticed.
I’m not na?ve enough to mistake one dinner for transformation or a careful evening for permanence.
I know how easily momentum can stall. But I also know I was truly present this evening, and it felt good.
I stayed. I listened. I let myself exist without worrying over everything.
And I didn’t have to perform. I didn’t have to defend myself.
I’ve built my life around self-sufficiency because it worked. It still does. But I can see now how easily protection turns into habit. And maybe I want that habit to change.