Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
One Week Later
The restaurant is flooded with sunlight.
Pools of it pour through the large industrial windows that look out onto Manhattan’s Chelsea neighborhood and cast shapes across the tiled floor.
It’s midday on a Wednesday, though most of the tables are empty.
Tomorrow marks the start of the long holiday weekend, the last leisurely stretch of summer before a new season begins.
“I don’t understand.” Mollie’s lips are tight. “Are we talking a few pages?” She tilts her face. “A couple chapters?” She holds her water glass, like she needs to physically touch something cold to cool herself down. “How much do you still need to write?”
“All of it.” Grace’s tone is neither emotional nor smug. For once, she just states it for what it is: the truth. “The whole thing.”
Mollie sets down her glass. “This is bad, Grace,” she states, as if this fact needs to be stated, like her comment is a nice wine that requires a bit of time out in the air so it can breathe.
“You’re under contract. There are production schedules.
I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you’ve already been paid.
They were pretty clear the last time around that they couldn’t just keep pushing the deadline back. ”
“I know,” Grace says as their waiter approaches the table and offers them each a leatherbound menu. “I’m fully aware of the consequences.”
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“Then I’m confused.” Mollie sets down her menu, not even bothering to open it. “What are you asking for? Do you need more time or—”
“Nothing,” Grace admits. “I’m genuinely not asking for anything.” She smooths the front of her maxi dress, the fabric noticeably a bit tighter near her waist than it was a few seasons ago. “I’m going to walk away from the contract. Start over. I’ll pay everything back.”
Mollie pinches the bridge of her nose, then briefly closes and reopens her eyes. “Grace, you know if you do this, they’re not going to work with you again in the future, right?”
Grace nods. Over the last few days, she’s reminded herself of this most important detail numerous times. “I do.” She sets her palms on her thighs like they’re anchors. “And I also understand that, after a move like this, it’s more than likely that you’ll choose to part ways with me, too.”
Mollie sighs heavily. “Look. I know the past year hasn’t been kind to you—these last few months especially. But business is business. Once I put the wheels on this in motion, Grace, I’m not going to be able to go back.”
“I know.” Grace straightens her posture, sure to say this next part with all the certainty and confidence she feels surrounding it.
“But even if they gave me another extension—gave me another year or all the time in the world—I still wouldn’t be able to write it for them.
” The waiter sets down a breadbasket no one will touch, Grace already aware that their meal is coming to an end before it’s had a chance to start.
“I’m not the same person I was the day I signed that contract, Mollie.
The story I wanted to tell back then, it just doesn’t work anymore. ”
“Well, what story is it you want to write today?” Mollie asks, her expression suggesting that she’s genuinely interested in Grace’s response. “Do you have something else in mind that you can put together quickly and maybe we can try to spin into—”
“I don’t,” Grace tells her, the thought both scary and freeing. To not have a plan. A vision. A mental blueprint. A neat and tidy picture 283in mind for how everything’s supposed to go. “I’m not sure that I will for a little while.”
Their waiter walks back up and pulls a notepad and pen from his apron. Grace looks at Mollie. A whole conversation unfolds in their silence.
“I’m sorry,” Grace tells the man. “I don’t think we’re going to stay. There’s been a change of plans.”
With this, Mollie pushes out her chair, stands, then glances at her watch.
“I’d better get back to the office and make some calls before everyone heads out of town for the holiday.
” She reaches for her purse and turns to walk away.
Before she takes a step, she pivots back.
“And Grace. You were wrong.” Her expression softens.
“When you do come up with your next story idea—whenever that might be—make sure you give me a call.”
Grace walks. All through the city, up and down the blocks she once navigated daily, so busy chasing a dream she’d only later realize was temporary.
The soles of her sandals slap against the sidewalk as she moves, the sound swallowed up by the symphony of metropolitan noise.
Horns blaring. The hiss of steam from the subway grates.
The song of thousands of people all reaching for something so big.
She doesn’t mean to intentionally walk past it, but she finds herself standing in front of it anyway. Her once favorite bookshop, the one she used to frequent on weekends when she lived here, browsing in and out of the aisles, her fingers trailing over the rainbow of book spines.
Now she stops.
Her eyes linger on one of the shop windows and the display inside it.
A little more than five years ago, Grace walked into this establishment on a warm June night to celebrate the launch of her book and first-ever tour.
She smiled while sitting at the front of the shop, looking out at the filled-up rows of folding chairs, proudly holding a hardback copy of her 284debut, her whole future opened up to what, at the time, felt like exactly the right page.
How fast things change, and with so little warning.
How much we grow, and in so short a time.
What advice would you give your younger self?
That night, she was asked the question for the very first time. A young woman, probably fresh out of college, was the one to pose it. Grace gave what she believed was the right response.
Keep going. Don’t give up. You’ll get there soon.
It’s only today, standing on the other side of the glass and looking in, that Grace realizes her reply wasn’t correct at all.
The real answer is that getting there is only one piece of the story. That even when you do, it’s not always the victory you imagined. Sometimes the dream changes shape after you’ve caught it. Things you thought would be yours forever slip away.
But none of it has to do with age. Being older. Or younger. Where you happen to fall on the timeline.
For better or worse, it’s just life.
Grace sits on a stool beside the window of the coffee shop on Amsterdam Avenue, the one she often came to when she and Adam lived up the street.
She’d work here sometimes when she felt like she needed to get out of their apartment, nibbling on croissants and sipping espresso drinks while her fingers clacked away on her laptop keyboard like she was a pianist.
Outside the glass, the Upper West Side pulses with life.
A few women push strollers. Bursts of cars race past. People in summer work attire—eyelet shift dresses, tucked-in golf shirts—emerge from the subway.
A thirtysomething couple wheels carry-on luggage up the block, then slides into a car, likely ready to venture to the Hamptons or Fire Island or whatever place they’re going to unplug and reset for these last few summer days.
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“Sorry I’m late,” Adam states when he walks in. He’s dressed in his normal work attire, droplets of sweat dotting his hairline. “My last call of the day ran longer than I expected.”
“It’s fine,” Grace assures him, then watches as he takes a seat. She gestures to the iced Americano she ordered for him in advance. “Really.”
It didn’t make sense for them to come all the way up here, more than a hop, skip, and a jump from Grand Central and Adam’s office.
Still, when they texted about it two days earlier, Grace thought that meeting in their old neighborhood just felt right.
To end where they had their beginning. For their story to feel like a circle, something round and whole.
“You look . . . great,” Adam stammers, like maybe he’s not sure if he’s still allowed to make comments like this. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” she tells him, which is true. “Now that I’m back home and settled into a routine and eating more than just seafood and French fries, the nausea and fatigue haven’t been quite as bad.”
“Good.” He wipes his forehead, even though he’s now settled in the air-conditioning. It’s hard to say if he’s sweating from the heat or the circumstances of this meeting. “That’s great to hear.”
Grace twists then, reaches into her purse on the back of her chair and produces a medium-size white envelope.
She turns back toward Adam, opens it, and slides out a strip of glossy black-and-white ultrasound images, all connected like still frames on a film reel.
Without a word, she passes it to him, then watches a smile spread over his lips as he takes in the tiny profile, the curve of the spine, the unreal nature of it all.
There was a time, back in the beginning, when it seemed that a family was something Adam did want.
A period in their relationship when he’d get excited seeing the positive test sitting on the bathroom counter, his chin set on Grace’s shoulder as he admired her in the mirror and traced his fingers along her stomach.
But with every loss, that light—that hope—faded from his face like a film dissolve sliding off the screen.
Now, though, seated across from him, Grace sees it—a faint 286flicker of something.
A dream. An emotion. A glimpse of the person he used to be.
Adam dabs the corners of his eyes with the tip of his pinkie. Sweat, maybe. Or something else. “So I’m guessing this means things look okay?” A trace of hesitancy carries his words. “Things look all right?”
Grace sips her decaf coffee. “That’s what the doctor tells me.” She gives a small shrug. “Further along than I’ve ever made it before.”
“It’s amazing.” Adam shakes his head in disbelief, takes another look at the images, then hands them back. “I’m speechless.”
“Those are for you,” she says. “I had the tech print out two copies. I thought you’d want to keep one at your apartment.”
His shoulders rise as he inhales. “Thank you for that.” His expression drops by a degree. “I appreciate it.”
They sit in silence. Adam’s gaze shifts toward the street and the world moving just outside.
Grace wonders for a second what he’s thinking about.
If he’s imagining their past selves walking out there hand in hand.
Or if he’s thinking instead about the future and how they’ll raise this child together but separate.
If he’s remembering all the moments that got them here—the good ones, the hard ones—and if they were all necessary in order for them to throw out their old plans and create space for this new dream.
“We’ll make this work, Grace,” Adam says, suddenly sitting up straighter.
“I know this situation isn’t ideal—certainly not one we ever planned on.
But we’ll figure it out. Find our own version of normal.
I plan to do my part. To be involved. I won’t leave you alone to navigate all this.
” He clears his throat, evening out some of the emotion that made the last few words shake.
“Things may not have worked out for the two of us,” he says, referencing their relationship, “but we’ll find a way to make it work for the three of us, okay? ”
“Okay,” she says and nods. “That’s important. That all sounds good.”
“A-and I want you to stay in the house,” Adam says, jumping back in.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Once we speak to the attorney and have the papers drawn up, I plan to have that put in writing.
I want 287you and the baby to be settled.
I know you’re taking some time off from writing, but I’ll help and do whatever I need to do to make sure the two of you are—”
“I don’t want to stay there, Adam,” Grace tells him, grateful for his offer even though she knows it’s not the right path. “But I’ve been thinking about that part of things a lot, too. And though it’d probably be the most convenient option, I’m not sure it’s the right one. I need a fresh start.”
“Well, where will you go?”
“For the long term?” she asks. “I don’t know.” She takes the final sip of her beverage, then pushes it to the side. “But once we sort things out with our lawyers and the house sells—which I imagine it will rather quickly—I have somewhere to go for the short term.”
Adam’s brows lift in question as he waits to hear more details.
Grace takes one last look through the window, at this setting she once worked so hard to chase.
She squints, like she’s looking for something.
Or maybe someone. Some former version of herself out there, still searching on these streets.
She takes a breath, then another, and fills her whole self up with air.
“I’m still working out the details.” She rests a soft palm on her belly while she looks at her reflection blending with the cityscape just beyond it. “But for the time being, I’m in the process of putting together a plan.”