Rhys left the curtains open. Morning comes straight through the windows, bright and cold, carrying the smell of salt and the distant cry of gulls.
I wake with my limbs heavy and a pleasant ache in places I’d forgotten could ache. Last night comes back in flashes: his hands, my voice against his shoulder, the careful way we found each other again. Then the rest of the week catches up. The argument. The secrets. The fact that we leave today.
Rhys sleeps on his side with one arm across my ribs. He looks younger like this, his mouth tipped into the beginning of a smile. We used to fall asleep tangled together, though he’d eventually roll onto his back. Last night we had only a few hours. It still feels like something I’ve missed for years.
I ease out from under his arm. He doesn’t stir. I dress quietly and slip into the hall, hoping to find everyone awake and dreading the same conversation.
The house is still. After wandering the kitchen without purpose, I decide to walk into town and bring back coffee for the others. An offering, if not an apology.
The day is almost offensively lovely. Sunlight warms the road; a cool breeze moves in from the water. By noon, the coast will probably feel hot to the people who live here. Ten minutes past thick rhododendrons and weathered cedar buildings, though, I’m wishing I’d worn something lighter under my sweater.
I’ll have to find a ride back. Livia usually handles the logistics, and I have no idea how much notice a car needs out here. She once said that if she waited for the rest of us to make plans, we’d never see one another. She wasn’t wrong. I’ve always been happy to let someone else choose the current and carry me along.
It never occurred to me that they might read that as indifference. The thought pinches.
The sidewalk bends toward the harbor and ends at the coffee shop. Bianca is waiting beneath the faded awning, balancing a drink tray. She sees me and goes still. I lift a hand; she does too.
A barista calls another customer’s name. He steps around Bianca to collect his order, breaking the pause. She walks toward me, and I meet her by a painted bench outside the restaurant next door. Cartoon crabs grin along its back beneath a sign warning people not to sit unless they’re customers.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
She tilts the carrier toward me. “Coffee?”
“I thought you were down to three friends.”
A small smile appears. “This one’s yours.”
One cup is much larger than the others. I look at it. “They run out of sensible sizes?”
“I couldn’t carry five drinks. Livia and Dane can share the giant Americano. Black coffee for Rhys, matcha for Jules.”
“You remember everybody’s order.”
“I know you.”
The words hang there. She sets the tray on the bench and passes me my cup.
“Let me pay you back.”
“Please don’t.”
We start down toward the water. The air grows brinier with every step. I take a breath and make myself say it.
“I’m bad at fighting.”
Bianca glances at me.
“With everyone, I guess. But especially people I love. I’ve gotten very good at preventing arguments before they happen.” I turn the cup in my hands. “In my family, when things got ugly, somebody left. Nadia would storm off, or my parents would shut themselves away from each other. Nothing got fixed. It just sat there until the next time.”
She watches me, a crease forming between her brows.
“I thought if I kept the peace, people would stay. I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I’ve just been hard to be around. And I should’ve told you about Rhys. I should’ve called.”
After a few steps, she looks toward the water. “I wasn’t fair to you last night.”
“You weren’t?”
She shakes her head. “I understand why you kept it from us.”
“Could you explain it to me in very small words?”
“You didn’t want to make the breakup real by saying it out loud. And you knew it would change things between us. You need us, Mara. We’re your family.”
I stare at her. “That is uncomfortably accurate.”
Her laugh comes out shaky. Tears shine in her eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, the harbor disappears. I can see her mouth moving, but I hear nothing—not the water slapping the pilings, not the boats, not the voices of people working beyond the breakwater.
Then sound rushes back. I start crying. Bianca does too.
I set the coffee down on a post and pull her into a hug.
“Why are you crying?” she asks, already laughing through her tears. “You’re not the one who has to push a squash out of her body.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Me too. And terrified.” She wipes her cheek. “We chose a donor carefully. We knew what we were deciding. I just thought we’d have longer to get used to the idea of being parents. It happened faster than I expected. What if I’m terrible at it?”
I draw back and look at her. “You’re going to be wonderful.”
Her expression crumples a little.
“Really,” I say. “You’ll be your mom, only with better versions of the things you wish she’d done. Wait—how long have you known?”
She lowers her eyes. “Long enough to realize I had no right to be furious about your secret.”
“Apparently.”
“That’s why I’ve been putting off inviting Livia and Dane to the farm. There’s baby stuff everywhere. Jules’s dad keeps mailing things, and we have no idea how to explain the four bassinets.”
“Because Jules’s father has become a baby-gift menace?”
“He’s going to be a great grandfather.” Her smile fades. “I wasn’t ready to tell him yet. Jules let it slip. I’m only a couple of months along. So much can still go wrong.”
I squeeze her arms. “A lot can go right, too.”
She gives me a doubtful look. “I don’t know what this means for everyone. I’ll be exhausted, and anxious every minute I’m awake. I’m already not the fun one in the group.”
“Bianca.” I take both her hands. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Jules is fun. That’s one of the reasons I fell for her. Sometimes I think all of you like her more than you like me. The more I become myself, the less room there is for me.”
“How long have you felt that way?”
“I don’t know. Maybe since I stopped drinking.” She looks down at our joined hands. “It’s humiliating to be jealous of your own girlfriend. I didn’t tell Jules until recently.”
“I love Jules. She’s one of my closest friends. But do you know what I love most about her?”
Bianca’s mouth quirks. “Her excellent shoulders?”
“That’s second. First is how happy she makes you. When you started dating, it felt like you’d found the last piece of our family. That doesn’t make you replaceable. You and Livia are my best friends. I’m sorry if I made you doubt that.”
Her eyes fill again. “What if having a baby changes me? What if we drift so far apart there’s nothing left between us?”
“You don’t have to stay the same for me to love you. We’re all different. It’s part of why this works.” I rub my thumb over her knuckles. “If your schedule changes, if you start singing children’s songs in the grocery store, if you post a picture of a diaper disaster—”
“You’ll put me out of my misery?”
“I’ll confiscate your phone and feed it to the sea. And I’ll still love you. You and Livia are family.”
Her smile slips away. “I shouldn’t have been so hard on her.”
“Maybe there was a kinder way to say it. But you needed to say some of it, and maybe we needed to hear it.”
“Livia’s loyal. But when she feels betrayed…”
“I’m not suggesting you use the baby to negotiate.” I bump her shoulder. “When she understands what you’ve been carrying, she’ll come around. Then she’ll throw you an absurd party with a baby-shaped cake and live storks at the door.”
Bianca laughs and leans her head against me. “I can’t wait.”
She threads her fingers through mine. We stand by the harbor, watching boats pass and listening to people call to each other across the water.
Everything changes. You can’t hold time still; you can only point yourself somewhere and hope the wind cooperates.
I’ve made another coastal metaphor. I’m becoming a local’s worst nightmare.
But the truth stays with me: two of my best friends are having a baby. Joy rises so quickly it almost hurts.
“Oh my God,” I say.
Bianca looks up. “What?”
“I’m going to be an aunt.”
She snorts. “Mara, you’re going to be a co-godmother.”