The night before Thanksgiving, Damon dropped Rosie off for a sleepover as he dashed to his night shift. Rosie and Aubrey unpacked the girl’s tiny overnight bag, hanging everything in Aubrey’s closet. Then they pulled out Aubrey’s phone so that Rosie could scroll through the pictures of delivery options.

 

“Indian?” Rosie asked.

 

“Sold.”

 

Rosie cheered. “Korma?”

 

“What am I, new? Of course, chicken korma. Saag paneer?”

 

“Yes!”

 

Aubrey grinned at Rosie, who giggled in return. When she was done placing their order, Aubrey dropped the phone on the coffee table and stood.

 

“Are you ready for your surprise?”

 

Rosie squirmed in excitement, nodding vigorously.

 

Aubrey knelt next to where the couch met the corner of the room and pulled out the bag she had hidden there. With a flourish, she reached inside and presented two matching satin robes—one small enough for Rosie and one large enough for Aubrey. 

 

Rosie cried out and launched herself off the couch to hug her arms around the smaller. 

 

“Want to put it on?” Aubrey asked.

 

Rosie flung her arms out. Aubrey helped her slide into the sleeves and tie the sash, then donned her own.

 

Finding matching satin robes for a plus-size adult woman and a child had taken some digging on the internet, which chafed. But the starry-eyed look on Rosie’s face as she admired the fabric made the hunt worth the frustration.

 

“And now,” Aubrey announced. “Spa night begins!”

 

Stepping to her unused oven, she opened the door and pulled out a basket of face masks, perfumed lotions, nail polish, and a set of manicure tools.

 

“What do you want to do first?”

 

“All of it!” Rosie cried, making Aubrey laugh.

 

“Let’s start with your nails,” Aubrey suggested.

 

Rosie chose gold for her fingers and pink for her toes, which didn’t surprise Aubrey in the least. The little girl managed to be still as Aubrey painted their nails to match. Once they dried, she let Rosie pick their masks.

 

“I have something I wanted to show you, sugar.”

 

The rose-scented goop was starting to harden on her face, but she tried to ignore it. She leaned over and pulled a stack of photo envelopes from under the coffee table.

 

Rosie tilted her head, face bright blue from her drying blueberry mask. “What’s that?”

 

“I found some old pictures of your mom and me,” Aubrey said. “Want to look at them?”

 

Rosie lit up. “Yeah!”

 

Aubrey settled back onto the couch with Rosie and opened the first envelope. “This one,” Aubrey said, sliding out the stack of photos, “is from our girl scout troop.”

 

“Girl scout?” Rosie asked, looking up at her.

 

As Aubrey explained why a group of girls who didn’t otherwise know each other would hike and make macrame together, she made a mental note to talk to Damon about it. She didn’t know of a troop nearby, but she had seen signs about something called Girl Trekkers. Rosie loved being outdoors. It seemed like a good fit when she was older.

 

“And this one is from winter formal,” Aubrey said. 

 

She could see the sadness still etched on their faces, even under Lily’s brilliant smile. Her mother had helped the girls pick their dresses out just days before her heart attack.

 

“You look so pretty!” Rosie cried.

 

“Thank you, sugar.” 

 

She wrapped one arm around the little girl, and Rosie let her head fall against Aubrey’s ribs.

 

“Next one,” Rosie demanded.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Aubrey said with a grin, flipping to the next photo.

 

They made it through the whole stack. The last was a picture from middle school. There wasn’t much of a story behind it. The girls were in the backyard, running through the sprinklers. But Aubrey couldn’t stop gazing at it.

 

The mind played strange tricks, Aubrey thought. In her own memory, she had been humungous. She had been larger than any other girl in the middle school, just as she had been larger than any of the girls in grammar school. She had been mocked and labeled obese before children even understood what the word meant.

 

But, looking down at the photographic evidence, she hadn’t been that large at all. And, in a doctor’s opinion, twelve-year-old Aubrey had been chubby… but a healthy weight. Aubrey felt a pang of loneliness for that little girl. 

 

She forced herself to look at the other half of the photo and couldn’t help but smile.

 

Even in her gawky phase, Lily had been beautiful. Her arms had been thrown high to the sky, an adoring grin across her face as she gazed at Aubrey. It was the perfect representation of Lily: pure, unadulterated sunshine and love, wrapped up in the world’s most beautiful, blonde, petite package. All their lives, Aubrey had wondered how such a small body held that much love.

 

Rosie’s little finger traced over Lily’s smiling face. “What was she like?” Rosie asked.

 

Guilt swept through Aubrey, sharpened by her selfish feelings for Damon. Had they not talked about Lily enough? She knew Damon still showed Rosie pictures but not as often as he used to. Aubrey told Rosie stories every now and then, but there was a limited supply. 

 

“Kind,” Aubrey said. “And silly. We had so much fun together. She loved ballet. And you. So much.”

 

“I wish I remembered Mommy.”

 

The tone squeezed Aubrey’s heart like a vise grip. Rosie didn’t sound sad, more resigned than anything.

 

“That’s why we talk about her. Daddy and I can tell you whatever you want to know.”

 

Rosie nodded, plucking at her robe. She started to fidget, and Aubrey put the photos away for another day.

 

“We should take these masks off. Ready to peel?”

 

Rosie raced to the bathroom and got a good giggle out of competing to see who could pull off the longest unbroken piece of mask. Once they washed up, they returned to the couch and snuggled up under the blanket.

 

“Can we send Daddy a selfie?”

 

“Of course,” Aubrey said. 

 

She pulled out her phone and allowed Rosie to dictate their poses, then she snapped a few options, and Rosie picked the best one. Almost as soon as she hit send, her phone buzzed with a notification.

 

Damon had hearted the photo and sent back, Hello, beautiful ladies.

 

❖

 

Aubrey slid her arm out from under Rosie’s sleeping body and slipped into the satin robe she’d flung on the dresser the night before. She tossed her hair up into a messy bun and padded to the kitchen to make sure she still had milk to go with the cereal she kept in the pantry for Rosie’s morning visits. She had planned to go to the store the day before, but a surgery had run long, forcing her to rush back home to meet Damon for the drop-off.

 

Success, Aubrey thought, as she spotted the milk. Just enough for one bowl of cereal.

 

“Good morning!”

 

Aubrey glanced over to find Rosie peering at her from the hallway. “Hi, sugar.”

 

“One sec!” Rosie disappeared again.

 

A few moments later, Aubrey heard Rosie’s feet running back down the hallway. She reappeared, pulling on her matching robe. 

 

“Can you put my hair in a bun, too?” Rosie asked, climbing onto a chair at Aubrey’s dining table.

 

“Do you want your cereal first?”

 

“Hair first,” Rosie said with authority. “It’s important to always look your prettiest.”

 

Aubrey squinted into a middle distance. “Did Auntie Em tell you that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Whenever she gives you advice about being pretty, please take it with a grain of salt. And always keep in mind that your Aunt Em was a Rhodes Scholar, okay?”

 

“What’s that?” Rosie asked.

 

“A literal genius. The point is that it’s always important to feel your prettiest. How anyone else sees you doesn’t matter as much as how you see yourself. Let me get some bobby pins.”

 

Aubrey finished Rosie’s hair, poured her a bowl of cereal, and finished making her latte. But as soon as she sat, there was a knock at the door. A pang of sweetness hit her stomach. She knew Damon was on the other side, missing his daughter enough to be an hour early for pick up.

 

So, she was wearing an adoring smile when she opened the door to reveal him on the other side. “You’re early,” she said, stepping back to let him in. 

 

“I know,” Damon said, with a sheepish expression. 

 

“You missed your daughter,” Aubrey said as she shut the door. “No shame in that. You want some coffee?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

Damon tossed his jacket on the armchair in the corner and followed Aubrey to the kitchen area. 

 

Rosie waved her spoon, “Hi, Daddy.”

 

“Good morning, bean. Did you have fun?”

 

“We had a spa night!” She shoved more cereal in her mouth, milk dripping from her chin.

 

“Good cereal?” he asked.

 

She nodded again.

 

“Great,” Damon said, eyes twinkling as he looked back at Aubrey. “Not gonna lie, part of me thought I’d come in and find her eating leftover korma.”

 

Aubrey smiled, serene.

 

Damon stared at her. “You thought about it, didn’t you?”

 

“Meal appropriate foods have been arbitrarily decided by society.”

 

“You did!” he said on a laugh. “You thought about feeding my daughter leftovers for breakfast.”

 

“I needed a contingency plan! I thought I forgot to buy more real milk, and you know she won’t drink oat.”

 

“Auburn Fox,” Damon said on a laugh.

 

She laughed back, pulled towards him like a magnet. She heard a giggle and followed the sound to the table. Rosie was staring up at them, smiling around a mouthful of cereal. Aubrey, feeling caught, winked at the little girl and turned back to the espresso machine that took up the majority of her counter space.

 

She had slowly begun to feel less awkward with Damon again. She had even managed to attend his fortieth birthday, which Kat had talked Leroy into hosting at the mansion on Foxglove Island. And Aubrey was pretty sure she had spent less than ten percent of the evening staring longingly at Damon.

 

It had taken time. But she had found her rhythm again. And she had managed to re-erect the wall that had broken down between them the night she cried in his arms.

 

Aubrey turned to hand him the espresso, and Damon said, “She’s your mini me.”

 

“What?” she asked, confused. 

 

Damon nodded his head at Rosie, and Aubrey realized he was right. They wore their matching robes, and their hair was pinned in matching messy buns at their crowns.

 

“You two are so cute together,” Damon said.

 

“We know,” Aubrey said seriously, making Rosie giggle. “We should get a move on, huh? Treyvon probably wants to start the turkey soon.”

 

“He’s already there,” Damon said. “I’ll sit with her if you want to go shower or something.”

 

“Sure,” Aubrey said, through a tight throat.

 

She chugged the rest of her coffee, then turned to rinse it out in the sink.

 

“Your esophagus would appreciate it if you stopped doing that,” Damon said.

 

“He stopped complaining years ago,” Aubrey said, and Damon chuckled. “You’re in charge, Rosie. Don’t let Daddy get into mischief.”

 

Rosie nodded. “Got it.”

 

The last thing Aubrey wanted to do was shower while Damon was in her apartment. It was eerie stripping in her bathroom with nothing but a single panel of wood between them. A very flimsy door, in a very flimsy old building. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt more naked and exposed. But what else was she going to do? What reason could she give for saying no?

 

She took the fastest shower of her life. She had brought her clothes into the bathroom since it was off the hallway. No way she was wandering even those five feet between the bathroom and bedroom in nothing but a towel while Damon was in her apartment.

 

When she came out, she found him leaning a shoulder on the wall at the end of the hallway, broad back to her and eyes trained toward the living room. At the sound of the door opening, he glanced behind himself. 

 

“That was fast,” he said.

 

“I didn’t wash my hair.”

 

Feeling foolish, Aubrey forced her eyes away from him to drop over his shoulder as she walked down the hallway. Rosie waved from where she was jumping up and down on the couch cushions.

 

“She said it was okay,” Damon said. 

 

“It is,” Aubrey assured him. Then she gave Rosie a pointed look. “But she’s supposed to move the coffee table out of the splash zone.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Rosie said. She climbed down off the couch and began to tug the coffee table out of the way.

 

“Have you seen Rosie’s jacket?” he asked. “I was trying to gather up her things.”

 

“It’s probably in the closet,” Aubrey said.

 

She about-faced and walked to her bedroom. Sure enough, tucked between her own coats was Rosie’s jean jacket. Aubrey grinned and pulled it off the hanger. But when she turned to go back to the front room, she stumbled to a stop, inches from Damon’s chest filling the doorway.

 

“She likes hanging her clothes up with mine,” Aubrey said, backing away and holding out the jacket to him. “She says it feels like she lives here instead of visiting.”

 

His eyes drifted to her bed. Following his gaze, she winced at the rumpled covers.

 

“I don’t make her make the bed here,” Aubrey said, knowing it was a hard-and-fast rule in the Thatcher home. “She’s so small, and everything is so big.”

 

“Your house, your rules,” Damon said. “I like your room.”

 

 “Have you never seen it before?”

 

“No,” he said.

 

“Well, this is it,” she said, feeling awkward. 

 

He must have been to her apartment a hundred times over the years. But he seemed fascinated. She cleared her throat as Damon’s eyes swept over the tiny space. She wondered what he thought of the red and orange and yellow bedspread and the tasseled Moroccan wedding quilt draped over her headboard. She wondered if the mix of colors and textures and overcrowding of the furniture drove him up the wall. It was the exact opposite of the neat, sparse, neutral-toned bedroom he kept.

 

“It looks like you,” he murmured.

 

He made it sound like a good thing.

 

❖

 

Kat cornered Aubrey by the fireplace. “Alexa asked if you’re coming next week.”

 

“Who’s Alexa?” Em asked, sidling up to them with a glass of wine that she tried to hand Kat and a lemonade she passed to Aubrey. “I have to go back for my wine. Don’t say anything interesting while I’m gone.”

 

Kat wrinkled her nose. “I’m good, thanks. My stomach has been kind of iffy.”

 

“Still?” Aubrey asked, feeling a spike of concern.

 

“It comes and goes,” Kat said, shrugging.

 

“Is it nausea or pain?” Em asked, sipping from the wine she had brought for Kat.

 

“Nausea mostly,” Kat said. “And it’s not too bad as long as I don’t push it.”

 

“Define push it,” Em requested, setting the glass down on the mantle.

 

“Sometimes there’s this ache right around here,” Kat said instead, gesturing to her mid-section.

 

“How long has this been going on?” Aubrey asked. “At whine night, you said it had already been a few days.”

 

“You had a wine night without me?” Em asked, looking hurt. “I love wine, and you never want to drink it.”

 

“No, whine night. Like complaining,” Aubrey said.

 

“Still disappointed I didn’t get an invitation,” Em snapped.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kat said, biting her lip. “It’s something my best friend Alexa and I do. I invited Aubrey.”

 

Whine night was a long-standing tradition for Kat and Alexa. Every month, they had one night where they got to rant and rave about something frustrating or awful in their lives. The rest of the time, they were die-hard optimists. Kat had convinced Aubrey to come once or twice.

 

“I do admit that I feel better that Aubrey wasn’t hosting,” Em said, looking at her nails.

 

“Since when do I throw parties?” Aubrey asked, confused.

 

Em folded her arms under her breasts. “I don’t know, Aubrey. You’re having whine nights without me. What am I supposed to think?”

 

“My bad,” Kat said, apologetic.

 

“If I ever had a party, you’d be my first call,” she assured Em. 

 

Em snorted. “We all know Damon would be first. But I’ll live with second.”

 

“Can we circle back to your stomach?” Aubrey asked. “This has been going on too long. I’m officially concerned. We’re going to the hospital.”

 

“Now?” Kat asked.

 

“Now?” Em echoed.

 

“Yes,” Aubrey waved her hand over Kat. “You had surgery on your abdomen and several organs six months ago. I want to make sure everything’s working okay. We’ll start by running a full blood panel and do a sonogram.”

 

“Sonogram?” Kat asked, frowning.

 

“Aub can run a sonogram bedside,” Em explained to Kat. “She’d need a tech for a CT or MRI. On a holiday, they’ll be short-staffed and slammed. You don’t want to be in that traffic jam.”

 

“Exactly,” Aubrey said. “We’ll start simple and decide if we need the big guns.”

 

“Are we all going to the hospital?” Em asked. “Because I just came from there.”

 

“Treyvon is glued to the oven until the turkey comes out, so he needs company.” Aubrey assured her, then turned. “Damon? Chad?” 

 

They both glanced over and peeled away from their conversation with Treyvon and Leroy. Em sashayed to Treyvon and slid an arm around his waist. He smiled down and offered her a bite of his cracker.

 

“Everything all right?” Damon asked, eyes studying her face.

 

“I’m not sure,” Aubrey said. 

 

Kat leaned into Chad’s chest, looking up at him with worry. “Aubrey’s concerned about my stomach. Because of the surgery.”

 

Chad’s eyes flew to Aubrey as he wrapped his arms around Kat, hands resting on her abdomen.

 

“I just want to do some tests,” Aubrey said. “That’s all. Won’t take more than an hour.”

 

“Do you want me to come with you guys?” Damon asked.

 

“Yes, please,” Aubrey said, wanting his soothing presence. Then she realized he was asking Kat. “Sorry. Up to you.”

 

Damon glanced at the floor, but he looked pleased. Aubrey felt a flash of embarrassment.

 

“Definitely need you to come, D,” Kat said, with a sly smile as she glanced between Aubrey and Damon.

 

“Right then,” Aubrey said, heading towards the foyer.

 

The car was tense as they drove towards the hospital. Damon, bless him, kept everyone smiling, while Aubrey ran through all the possibilities with the diagnostic voice in her head.

 

Late complications could include bile leakage—

 

She doesn’t have a temperature, Aubrey disagreed.

 

—kidney problems—

 

No, she pondered. It doesn’t quite fit.

 

—ascites, blood clots, and liver failure.

 

No, no, and no, Aubrey thought. So, it’s not a complication from the liver resection. 

 

But nothing from the splenectomy fit either. Even pancreatitis would be more acute than spotty nausea.

 

“On a scale of one to ten,” Aubrey said, interrupting the conversation. “How bad is your pain?”

 

Kat hesitated. “About a four?”

 

“Got it.”

 

The rest of them waited a moment before resuming their discussion. 

 

Several diagnoses almost fit, but one possibility fit everything if she took the scar tissue into account. Aubrey stayed quiet until Damon cornered her outside the exam room as they gave Kat privacy to change into the gown.

 

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking, right?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she said, positive he had reached the same conclusion. “But we’re running a full panel anyway. I don’t want some stray, pesky encapsulated bacteria sliding by because I’m excited.”

 

“Noted,” Damon said, squeezing her shoulder.

 

The blood draw was fast, and the lab was kind enough to put a rush on the order because Damon asked nicely.

 

“Someone has a crush on you,” Kat teased him.

 

“No one has a crush on me,” Damon said in a chiding tone. 

 

“Incorrect,” Aubrey said, distracted as she read through the lab results. “I think all the techs have crushes on you. Most of the nurses. Half the residents.”

 

She heard Kat laugh as Aubrey scrolled through to the second page, where the test she was looking for was right at the top. She bit back a smile. 

 

“Damon, could you give us a few minutes?” Aubrey asked, flicking her gaze up at him.

 

The slow brightening of his eyes made her want to giggle, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “Sure, no problem.”

 

But Kat, still in the dark, said, “No, it’s okay. He can stay.”

 

Aubrey hesitated. “It’s just that you’re not supposed to tell anyone until the second trimester.”

 

Kat and Chad stared at her for several long breaths. “What?” Kat whispered.

 

“You’re pregnant,” Aubrey said. 

 

“I’m what?” Kat asked, bringing her hands up to her mouth. “Wait. No, I’m not. I just took a pregnancy test, and it was negative.”

 

“An at-home?” Aubrey asked, and Kat nodded. “Yeah, those suck. Mine is good. You’re pregnant.”

 

Chad pulled Kat out of her chair and kissed her. Then he looked at Aubrey. “You’re sure?”

 

“I’m sure,” she said. “The blood test doesn’t lie. My test, good. Your test, bad.”

 

Chad gave a happy laugh as Kat began to cry.

 

“The pain you’ve been experiencing is most likely because you’ve started to retain water, and it’s pulling at the surgical scars. Massage is your best bet. It’s not comfortable, but it’ll really help in the long term. Your physical therapist can show you and Chad how to do it.”

 

Chad brushed kisses all over Kat’s face as she continued to sob.

 

“Okay,” Aubrey said. “I’m gonna…” She pointed at the door. “Come on out whenever you’re ready.”

 

Damon followed and shut the door behind him. Aubrey braced her shoulder against the wall and looked up at him. And even though no one else was in the hallway, she whispered it.

 

“They’re going to have a baby.”

 

“I know,” he whispered back, ecstatic as he settled next to her. His voice rose to normal levels. “This is so amazing. What a Thanksgiving.”

 

His eyes were sparkling, blond hair mussed, cheeks flushed. She told herself to stop staring and let her eyes drop to the buttons of his shirt. 

 

“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I knew she’d want you here.”

 

“I’ll always come when you ask, Aub.”

 

Overwhelmed by the rising tide of emotions, she rolled to brace her back against the wall. As she did, she spotted Johansson walking past with their usual wry expression. As they eyed the two of them, Aubrey swallowed down the urge to side-step away from Damon, still leaning over her. 

 

When Johansson caught her eye, Aubrey cleared her throat. “Today is a great day to be a doctor, Nurse Johansson.”

 

“Whatever you say, Dr. Angry,” Johansson said, but she saw a spark of amusement in the quirk of their lips.

 

Damon chuckled, and Aubrey sighed, content.