Chapter 2

By the next afternoon, Grant’s mother had already sent three messages.

The last one glowed on the console table beside his keys.

Can’t wait to talk through next steps.

Grant saw me looking at it and turned the phone facedown.

Then he held out my wool coat.

“I put crackers and ginger tea in the car,” he said. “Tessa called this morning. She said you might not be able to keep much down.”

I looked at him. “Tessa called you?”

“She was worried,” Grant said. “She knows what her sister was like in the first trimester.”

I took my coat from him. “You told her?”

“I told her you’d been sick,” he said, too quickly. “Lauren, she’s your best friend.”

Grant turned back to the console for his keys. While he searched for his wallet, I opened the forum thread on my own phone.

A new reply sat beneath his post.

“You told your parents there might be a baby before you even knew?”

Grant had answered a minute earlier.

"I told them Lauren had been sick and there might be a baby. They got excited before I could slow them down. I figured Lauren would too once the shock wore off."

“What did you tell them?” I asked quietly.

"I told them you’ve been sick and that there might be something to talk about," he said, looking at me with an easy, reassuring smile. "I didn’t say anything was confirmed."

The Italian bistro was quiet when we arrived. Grant’s parents were already seated at a corner booth, the atmosphere warm and polite.

“How are things at the property firm, Lauren?” his mother asked after the bread was served. “Is your interview still set for Tuesday?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Ten o’clock on Tuesday morning.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said, smiling warmly. “You’ve always worked so hard.”

His father took a sip of water and looked over at me casually. “If the role comes through, would it mean more travel?”

Before I could open my mouth, Grant answered for me.

“Probably,” Grant said smoothly. “A few short trips a month. But if there’s a baby, we can decide later whether it still makes sense.”

I looked at him across the table. “I haven’t even been offered the job, and you’re already deciding whether I keep it.”

Grant’s hand paused on the stem of his wine glass. He gave a soft, patient chuckle and patted my fingers. “Of course. I meant us.”

His mother set down her napkin, her voice mild and entirely matter-of-fact. “If there’s a baby on the way, though, you may want a little less on your plate for a while. It’s a lot to manage all at once.”

It wasn't spoken with malice; it was simply delivered as an obvious fact.

“Why does everyone keep telling me what I may want?” I asked, keeping my voice level.

The table went quiet. Grant’s father cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, steering the conversation somewhere safer. “What about the spare room upstairs in the townhouse? How’s the space?”

“It’s her office now,” Grant said, looking across at his father. “But we’d clear it out. It makes more sense as a nursery.”

I watched Grant as he spoke. He had answered with total confidence, without looking at me once to ask if I wanted my office moved.

On the drive back, the streetlights swept across the dashboard in rhythmic amber pulses.

“Did you tell them I was pregnant?” I asked.

Grant kept his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel. “I said there might be a baby. They got excited. I didn’t think dinner would turn into all that.”

When he turned the key in the front door and pushed it open, the lights in the kitchen were already on.

Tessa was sitting on a barstool at my quartz island. She was holding my favorite beige ceramic mug, an oversized knit sweater pulled over her hands. Grant had given her the code to the spare-key lockbox last winter, for emergencies, and she had clearly let herself in.

“Sorry,” she said softly, offering a weary, apologetic look as we stepped inside. “My sister and her boyfriend got into it again. Grant told me to come over and sit somewhere quiet.”

Open on the counter in front of her was Grant’s silver laptop. A shared document titled “If It Happens” filled the screen, with bullet points neatly arranged: move Tuesday interview, clear upstairs office, call local infant daycares, look into small chapel ceremony.

Tessa pushed her hair back and stood up. “I was helping him make a list so he wouldn't panic about all the details.”

My eyes caught on the first line: move Tuesday interview.

“I told you yesterday that I hadn’t even taken a test,” I said.

Tessa’s fingers tightened around the mug.

“And I told you how much that interview mattered to me.”

For a second, she looked at Grant instead of me.

“He said he was worried you’d make a decision too quickly,” she said quietly.

I looked back at the screen. My interview had not been moved to the top of the list because either of them had misunderstood me.

It was there because Tessa had heard exactly what I wanted—and helped Grant plan around it anyway.

I looked at the screen again. “A list for what?”

Tessa glanced at Grant and didn't answer right away.

“I just wanted to be ready,” Grant said from behind me, taking off his coat.

I pointed at the words on the glowing screen. “Ready for what? You haven’t even asked me what I want.”

Tessa stepped forward, lowering her voice. “Lauren, we weren’t trying to take this over. We thought having a few things written down might make tonight easier.”

“For who?” I asked.

Neither of them spoke.

My voice stayed level. I set my bag beside the counter, walked past Grant, and went upstairs to our bedroom.

As the heavy wooden door clicked shut, Tessa’s hushed murmur carried up from the kitchen:

“Maybe give her the night.”

And Grant’s bewildered, low reply:

“I thought she’d be relieved.”