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Soren
“What are you doing?” I freeze in my tracks, like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t as Mickey comes bouncing down the stairs. “Are you going somewhere?”
There isn’t much point in lying since the front door is open and I’m clutching my car keys. “Going to see Nana,” I say. For some reason, it sounds like I just made that up on the spot, which, for the record, I didn’t. I haven’t been asleep at all, so I’ve had plenty of time to decide how to spend my day.
It’s been three days since we had the pregnancy confirmed, and made the owner stop by to scare Gail into coming with us willingly. Cupid’s Court is one of those places that value their high-profile clients, so all it took was one call to ask for a favor.
With some of the shit Dr. Patel spewed, I’m pretty sure she was asked to say those things. There’s nothing in Gail’s contract preventing her from going home, or even saying she can be sued.
Gail still doesn’t know it was a setup, something we arranged ahead of time. And if I have my way, she’ll never need to find out.
Today, I need time away from Gail. Not that she isn’t being the model unwilling-houseguest. True to her word, she’s followed us everywhere. In turn, we’ve allowed her access to her phone when we can be around to see what she’s doing, which isn’t much. Apparently Lucia’s gone for a few days, so they haven’t been able to talk yet. She’s talked to her brother, and mom though. I heard her reassure them both that she’s fine when she called them yesterday.
Mickey nods slowly. “So in other words, you’re running away?” he grins, regaining my attention.
“Am not,” I snap even though that’s exactly what I’m doing.
He just laughs. “Whatever, man. I’ll stay and look after our runaway liar.” The smirk on his lips is fucking unnerving, deranged, almost. But instead of hanging around and asking exactly what he’s up to, I bolt from my own fucking house like the hounds of hell are hot on my heels.
On my way to Nana, I make a quick stop at her favorite cafe, picking up all her preferred danishes. Then I call ahead to the doorman so he knows I’m coming and that I, as usual, will be driving straight to the parking garage instead of stopping for a visitor badge.
I’m filled with nervous energy, so I don’t bother waiting for the elevator, and instead take the stairs two at a time. Then I push open the door to Nana’s apartment—the one I bought for her with my first big contract signing—and the familiar scent of lavender and oatmeal cookies wraps around me like a comforting embrace.
Her living room is bathed in the morning sun, gleaming off polished surfaces and expensive trinkets I know she never uses. “Darling Soren.” Her voice, frail but warm, pulls at something deep inside me. I turn to see her standing there, leaning slightly on an elegant cane that looks more like a decorative piece than a necessity. “Did I know you were coming?” she asks, sounding confused.
The lines on her face tell stories of laughter and a lifetime’s worth of wisdom, her almost black hair tied neatly into a bun, those green eyes mirroring mine—with a spark that age hasn’t managed to dull.
“Hey, Nana.” The words come out softer than I expect, my throat tightening as I take in her pale appearance. “No, you didn’t. But I missed you,” I beam at her.
“Aww, isn’t that nice,” she says softly. “Come here, let me get a look at you.” She beckons me closer with a gnarled hand.
I cross the room in three long strides. My arms envelop her in a gentle hug, feeling the fragile bones beneath layers of clothes. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can stay, help out around here… or hire someone…” I trail off, knowing full well what her answer will be.
“Enough of that, Soren,” she chides, pulling back to give me a stern look that could still make a grown man squirm. “I’m fine. Better now. You’ve done more than enough, buying me this place, checking in all the time.”
To Nana, what little I’ve done is more than enough. To me, it’s not enough—it can never be enough when it comes to her. “Can’t help it,” I murmur, my gaze dropping to the floor. “You’re all I’ve got.”
“Ah, but I’m tough,” she insists, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’ll take more than old age to keep me down.”
Whenever I visit Nana, I’m transported back to a part of my life where I felt like everything was out of control. Much like I’m feeling with Gail and the baby—Fet as we should all call it, apparently. Maybe coming here today wasn’t the best idea, but I needed to see Nana.
“So you’re really okay?” I ask again.
“I’m okay,” she replies softly, placing her hand on my cheek. “I’ll be better when you show me what you’re hiding in your hand.” She points at the paper bag I’d all but forgotten I was holding.
I follow Nana into the kitchen, where the tea is already brewing in her gold-rimmed tea pot. She keeps telling me to quit it when I try to take over, so I end up leaning against the fridge while watching her place the danishes and some oatmeal cookies on a plate that matches her tea pot. But I put my foot down when she tries to carry the tray, and she relents. Though not without huffing something about my stubbornness.
Takes one to know one, I suppose.
When we’re back in the living room, I place the tray on the table and pour us both some tea. Then I unapologetically shove two of her famous oatmeal cookies into my mouth.
“Only two this time?” she quips, raising her eyebrow at me while she reaches for a danish.
I smile widely, knowing it bothers her when I eat like this. “I can go for three next time,” I laugh once I’m done chewing.
“Soren, you were raised better than that,” she scolds me. We both fall quiet at the mention of being raised since neither of us speaks to the people who… well, raised me.
“You would know,” I mutter, feeling like I need to say something.
