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Juliette smiled, bright and wobbly all at once. “I’m so happy for you.” She laughed under her breath, brushing a quick finger under her eye. “I really am.”
Beside me, Anthony beamed, clinking his water glass against mine. “Guess it’s sparkling water all around for the mom-to-be.”
I leaned in, catching Juliette’s gaze. There was a flicker there—a shadow of something unspoken. She lifted her chin and gave me the smallest nod, as if to say,I’m okay.
But later, when our knees brushed under the table and I felt her fingers slip into mine, I knew better.
Somewhere between the congratulations and the clinking glasses, Juliette’s laughter softened, like a girl trying toremember how to carry joy in both hands without letting the sharp edges cut too deep.
God help me. All I wanted at that moment was to carry it for her, but I didn’t know where to start.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Juliette
A Few Weeks Later
I crossed my legs, uncrossed them, and crossed them again, my foot tapping an anxious rhythm on the linoleum floor. The doctor’s office waiting room smelled like a strange mix of lavender air freshener and disinfectant, and the magazines on the table were at least a year old.
Across from me, Gabrielle sat with her arms draped casually over the back of the chair, watching me with that infuriating twin-sister grin.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor, Jules,” she teased, tipping her head toward my jittering foot. “Or at least burn through the heel of that shoe.”
I forced a tight smile and tried to still my leg. “I’m fine.”
Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
I stared down at my hands, twisting the thin silver ring on my index finger. The silence stretched between us, heavy anduncomfortable, until I blurted, “Do you think I’d be a good mom?”
Gabrielle’s face softened, though a wicked little glint still sparked in her eyes. “Oh, you’d be terrifying.”
I barked out a surprised laugh. “Gee, thanks.”
She smirked. “No, seriously—you’d be amazing. But let’s be real. You’d have color-coded calendars, meal preps, bedtime checklists, and probably a tiny art collection curated for the nursery by the time the poor kid was six months old.”
I rolled my eyes but felt the tight knot in my chest loosen just a little. “So… you’re saying I’m neurotic but well-meaning?”
“Exactly.” Gabrielle reached over and squeezed my hand. “But you’ve got the biggest heart, Jules. You’d love that baby like no one else. Don’t doubt that.”
I looked away, blinking fast. “Yeah, well… even if I wanted it, it’s not like it’s that simple.”
Gabrielle’s thumb brushed over my knuckles. “If you’re thinking about all this, about a future, about Damian…” She trailed off, letting the silence finish the sentence.
I stiffened. “It’s not—Damian and I—” I shook my head. “He asks, okay? He’s asked. About the tests. About IVF. But he’s never said anything more. He’s supportive on paper, but… I don’t know.”
Gabrielle’s expression turned gentle, all the teasing gone. “Maybe you don’t know because you won’t let him show you.”
My throat tightened. “Gabby…”
“I know, I know.” She leaned back, lifting her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying — you’re not the only one scared of this, Jules. And maybe it’s time you two stop dancing around it.”
Before I could find an answer—any answer—the nurse’s voice called from the hallway. “Juliette Vandenburg?”
I shot Gabrielle a quick, nervous look. She just smiled and reached for my hand. “Let’s go see what’s next.”
The air inside the consultation room felt different—heavier, quieter, like the walls were bracing themselves for whatever came next. I slid onto the edge of the chair, the paper crinkling beneath me, the antiseptic scent of the room sharp in the back of my throat. Gabrielle sat down beside me, her hand slipping into mine without a word.
Dr. Klein came in moments later, her white coat crisp, her expression practiced. She smiled—soft but professional—and greeted us by name. I tried to focus on the sound of her voice, the gentle rhythm of it, but all I could hear was the wild fluttering of my own heartbeat.