19. Millie
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MILLIE
I get to the cafe fifteen minutes early. I'm always early, but today the nerves got here before I did, too jittery to let me sit still at home a minute longer.
Sarah and I have been texting for about a week now. Joseph gave her my number, and she texted me that same evening. Nothing pushy. Just a simple Hi Millie, it's Sarah. Jo's told me a lot about you, and I'd love to get coffee sometime if you're up for it.
I texted back yes. We went back and forth a few times after that.
She recommended a prenatal yoga class she'd been going to.
I sent her a photo of Tofu sleeping on Joseph's shoes, and she responded with laughing emojis and a photo of Harper trying to put a tiara on Connor, who had long since stopped resisting and was bearing it with enormous dignity.
I liked her already. Before we even met.
She walks into the cafe, and I recognize her at once from the photos Joseph has shown me.
Brown hair a few shades darker than mine, pulled into a low ponytail, green eyes, and a bump further along than mine that she carries like it's the easiest thing in the world.
She spots me, smiles, and comes over with no production at all, no big wave, no fuss.
She just sits down across from me. "Hi. I'm so glad we're doing this.
I've been really looking forward to meeting you. "
I type: Me too. Thank you for reaching out.
She reads it and nods. "Of course. And just so you know, Jo talks about you constantly.
Well, not directly. He thinks he's being subtle about it.
" She smiles. "He asks me things like what foods I've been craving, what helps with nausea, whether there are any pregnancy pillows I'd recommend.
Always framed as 'general questions.' He's not fooling anyone. "
I smile.
"Connor finds it hilarious. Apparently, Jo used to tease him nonstop about his dating life before. Now the tables have turned, and Connor is enjoying every second. He told me the other day that watching Jo try to act casual about you is the best entertainment he's had in years."
I type: That's sweet. And also a little sad for him.
"Oh, it's very sad. He has no idea how obvious he is. But it's adorable. I've never seen him like this about anyone."
She orders tea. I order a chai latte. And then we just talk.
It's easy. That's the thing I wasn't expecting.
Most people, even kind ones, don't know how to handle the gaps.
They talk while I'm typing, answer their own questions before I've finished, and the conversation gets lost in the overlap until they're leading and I'm only following.
It stops being a real exchange. Sarah doesn't do that.
She talks, and then she waits. When she asks me something, she leaves room for the answer.
Her curiosity is quiet but genuine, reaching past the polite surface for the things that actually matter.
She tells me about her residency. How she's exhausted all the time but loves it.
How she's planning to go into pediatrics.
How Connor keeps trying to get her to eat more because he read somewhere that protein intake in the third trimester affects fetal brain development, and now he monitors her meals like it's a clinical trial.
I type: Joseph does the same thing. He bought me ginger candies before I even had morning sickness.
"They're the same person," she says. "Except Connor is quieter about it. He just leaves food near you and doesn't say anything. Like a cat bringing you a dead bird."
I almost choke on my latte.
"How are you feeling? Has the morning sickness eased up?" she asks.
I type: Getting better. And something new started a few weeks ago, he kicks. He does it every time I play the violin, like he's responding to the music.
Her eyes go soft. "That's beautiful, Millie."
I type: Or he hates my playing and is protesting.
She laughs, soft and warm and entirely real, a sound that doesn't reach for the room, only for me.
"Do you know the gender yet?" she asks.
I type: A boy. Yours?
Her face lights up. "A boy! That's so exciting.
" She puts her hand on her bump. "We're having a girl.
Harper is thrilled. She's been picking out toys to give her already.
She lined them all up on the nursery floor and told Connor they were 'pre-approved' and he wasn't allowed to return any of them. "
I type: She sounds like she takes the big sister job very seriously.
"Oh, she does."
"Harper was kind of the bridge for me and Connor," she says. "He was already helping me study during our breaks, but then I met Harper for the first time, and she just gravitated toward me."
I type: I understand that. There's something about you that makes people stay.
Her face softens. "Thank you, Millie." She's quiet for a moment, then: "I lost a baby before I met Connor.
Car accident. I was eleven weeks. After that, I shut down for a long time.
I dropped out of medicine, lost track of what I even wanted, though being a doctor had always been the one sure thing.
And then Connor happened, and Harper happened, and...
" She rests a hand on her bump, and this time the smile is a steadier one. "Here we are."
I don't type anything for a moment. I just look at her and think about how much courage it takes to sit across from a near-stranger and share the worst thing that happened to you without asking for pity.
I type: You're incredible, Sarah. I mean that.
She waves her hand. "I'm stubborn. That's all." But her eyes are shiny for a second before she blinks it away.
She asks how I'm finding the pregnancy emotionally.
I hesitate. Then I type honestly: Some days I feel ready. Some days, I'm terrified I'm going to be a terrible mother. I don't feel maternal yet. Is that normal?
She takes that in for a second. "That's completely normal.
Some moms don't feel it until the baby is born.
Some take months after. Some take years.
That's the thing about motherhood, it's such a specific journey for every woman.
There's no right timeline." She looks at me.
"The important thing right now is that you're taking care of yourself and him. That's more than enough, Millie."
I type: Thank you, Sarah.
"Anytime." She smiles.
I type: I'm really glad we're doing this. It's nice having someone who actually understands what pregnancy feels like. Joseph tries but...
Sarah laughs. "He doesn't get it. Connor once told me when I was having cramps to 'just breathe through it' because 'the thought of pain makes it more painful.' I didn't talk to him the whole night."
I chuckle, then type: Joseph read an article about pregnancy at 2am and spent the entire next day explaining symptoms to me. He's a doctor, but he was mansplaining pregnancy to the person who's actually pregnant.
"They're both doctors, but they're both men. Those two things cancel each other out when it comes to pregnancy." She shakes her head, smiling. "But don't tell Jo I said any of this. He'll get defensive."
I type: Your secret is safe with me.
"I hope so. Jo is terrible at keeping secrets."
I type: Really? But he kept the pregnancy secret for a while.
"And it nearly killed him. When he told us, he was physically vibrating."
We both laugh, and somewhere in it I realize I more than like her.
She and Adeena are nothing alike. Adeena is loud and fierce, the friend who takes my hand and pulls me straight at the things that scare me.
Sarah is the one who sits down next to me in the hard parts, who doesn't reach for a fix, who just stays.
Two completely different kinds of friends, and I get to keep them both.
We start talking about the kids. Hers will be born a few months before mine. She says Harper is already planning the big-sister role and will probably try to claim my son too.
"She's very territorial about babies," Sarah says. "She saw a baby in a stroller at the park and told the parents she'd be willing to babysit. She's eight."
I type: Entrepreneurial spirit.
"That's one word for it."
That evening, Joseph suggests we all have dinner together.
Sarah and I are already at the restaurant when the guys walk in.
Connor first, Joseph a step behind. Seeing them together is something else.
Connor is tall, blond hair pushed back, blue eyes, clean-cut handsome in a way that belongs on a hospital fundraiser poster.
He moves through the room like he solves problems for a living, serious without being cold, steady enough that you'd hand him your worst news and trust him to know what to do with it.
Joseph is right behind him, talking, gesturing, mid-story as always, and Connor listens with that almost-smile tugging at his mouth.
Heads turn as they pass, and I understand something about them I couldn't have gotten from Joseph's stories alone. A charming surgeon who makes everyone laugh and a quiet, handsome department head who makes everyone feel safe. No wonder Sarah fell for hers.
Connor reaches our table and extends his hand to me.
"Millie. It's nice to finally meet you."
His voice is deep and calm. Where Joseph has a big, bright energy that fills a room, Connor's works the opposite way, it settles one instead. He doesn't try to charm you or win you over. He just is. I can see why Joseph thinks so highly of him.
I shake his hand and type: Nice to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you.
He reads it. "All lies, I'm sure."
"Hey!" Joseph drops into the chair next to me. "I only say wonderful things about you."
"That's what worries me."
Sarah reaches for Connor's hand, and he takes it without looking. Like breathing.
We order. Joseph orders for me and gets it exactly right, down to the dressing on the side. I look at him, and he shrugs like it was nothing, but it isn't. He's been quietly memorizing me this whole time, what I like, what I skip, the way I take my coffee. He pays attention to all of it.
The four of us fall into conversation easily.
Sarah and Joseph carry most of it, but they keep pulling me in.
Joseph will pause mid-story and turn to me.
"Mills, tell them about the pigeon." Or Sarah will ask my opinion on something and then wait.
Nobody rushes me. Nobody talks over the gap.
Connor asks me a question, and when I take a minute to type my answer, he just sips his drink and waits like we have all night.
In group settings, I usually keep my responses short. Nod or shake my head. Type one sentence. I've learned to edit myself down, say less than I want to, take up as little conversational space as possible.
But tonight I type full answers. I type jokes.
I type a whole paragraph about how I once came home and saw 3 dead rats perfectly lined up as some kind of gift and would have screamed my heart out if I had a voice.
Joseph reads it out loud for the table. Everyone laughs, and nobody makes me feel like I took too long.
I can't remember the last time I felt this comfortable with a group of people. Maybe never. These three made space for me without ever letting it show, and I appreciate it more than they could ever know.
At one point, Connor turns to me during a lull. "Joseph played me a recording of you. I hope you don't mind. He recorded you practicing one evening."
I look at Joseph. He holds up his hands. "In my defense, you sounded incredible, and talent like that needs to be shared."
I type: Sneaky.
"Sharing is caring."
Connor ignores him. "You sounded exceptional. I got goosebumps listening to it."
Joseph beams. "See? Even Connor thinks so. Do you know how rare that is? This man once told a senior surgeon their sutures were 'acceptable' and that surgeon cried with joy."
"That's not what happened," Connor says.
"It's close to what happened."
"It's not."
Sarah leans toward me. "Don't worry. They do this all the time. It's their love language."
"We don't have a love language," Connor says.
"Bickering is absolutely a love language," Joseph says. "It's ours. Embrace it."
I watch them. Joseph pokes, Connor deflects, a rhythm so worn-in it has to be years old. And when Joseph is mid-story, something in Connor's face gives, just at the corner of his mouth, there and gone so fast you'd miss it if you weren't watching.
Opposites. Joseph is loud and bright and takes up all the air. Connor is still and certain and holds the room up from underneath. They shouldn't work, but they do. Just like Joseph and me.
The drive home is quiet. The radio is on low. Joseph has one hand on the wheel and the other near mine on the console. He keeps glancing at me.
We arrive home and Tofu is already at the door, meowing and weaving between our legs. I type: She's hungry. She only greets us like this when she wants food.
"Tofu, we were gone for five hours. You have zero survival instincts." He crouches down and scratches behind her good ear, then gets up and grabs her food from the cabinet. I watch him scoop it into her bowl and set it down, and Tofu dives in like she hasn't eaten in days.
He leans against the counter and looks at me.
"So? What'd you think? About my friends?"
I type: I love them.
"Yeah?" His whole face opens with relief.
Sarah is wonderful. And Connor is... intense. But in a good way.
"That's the perfect description of Connor. Intense but in a good way. I'm using that."
Then his face turns serious. "Mills." He takes my hand.
"I want to be serious," he says. "About us. I don't want to be your roommate. Or your co-parent who happens to share your bed. I want to be with you. For real. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine." He pauses. "If that's what you want too."
I look at him. He looks genuinely nervous, standing in his own kitchen, asking me to be his girlfriend.
I type: I thought we already were.
I keep my face completely straight. He reads it, and for a second, panic flashes across his face—then he catches the corner of my mouth twitching, and his whole body deflates with relief.
"You're messing with me."
I shrug. Innocent face.
"You're evil. I just poured my heart out, and you're messing with me."
I type: You made it too easy.
He laughs and shakes his head. "Okay. So is that a yes?"
I nod, smiling.
He pulls me in and kisses my forehead, holding me there with his chin resting on top of my head.
I press my face against his chest and think about how I used to believe this wasn't for me.
Love. Partnership. Someone choosing to stay.
I crossed those things off my list years ago, because wanting them felt like a setup for loss.
But here I am.
Then he says, almost casually, like it's not the second biggest thing he's said tonight, "My parents' anniversary is this weekend. I'd love for you to come, meet my family, tell them about the pregnancy."
My stomach flips, but I think about how much love he has for them, how close they are.
I type: I'd love that.
He smiles and squeezes my hand.
If only I knew what I was walking into.