Page 32 of She’s Worth the Risk

“I don’t know Violet well,” I say, thinking aloud, “but what about if instead of baby games, we have a card station where guests anonymously share the most unhinged parenting advice they’ve ever received, or like, their honest take on motherhood? Something funny instead of sentimental.”

“Yes,” Poppy says, grinning. “Violet would love that.”

“We could also do a guest-book,” I add. “So people can leave supportive comments too.”

“And instead of baby gifts,” Daisy chips in, “we could all bring an item to create a sort of ‘survival kit’ for her. Things like her favorite chocolate, fluffy socks, a scented candle. The kind of luxuries she probably won’t buy herself once the baby arrives.”

“That sounds amazing,” Poppy jokes. “Can I get one?”

Iris laughs, but I see her scribble on a Post-it note to make a survival kit for Poppy too, and it touches a spot deep in my chest. That she’d do that for her friend. That they’re all here, planning this shower to cheer up Violet. A group of besties who will be there for one another through life’s ups and downs.

Poppy jokes that the only thing getting her through right now is nipple cream, Iris pulls a face, and the women dissolve into giggles. As I glance around the table at them, laughing and teasing one another, an unfamiliar feeling weaves through me. Warm and welcoming, like that first moment when you slide into a hot bath. Like you can finally breathe a deep sigh of relief.

It’s a shame I won’t get to keep that after this summer.

14

NICK

My brother and his fiancée live in a four-story limestone Greek Revival townhouse on Cranberry Street. I pause outside the building, taking in the sharp lines and black iron railings, the pale facade almost glowing in the evening light. It’s only a five minute walk from the community arts center on Fruit Street, and guilt tugs at me as I ring the bell. I’ve been coming to Brooklyn Heights for weeks now, and I didn’t know my brother was right here.

“Nick,” Marcus booms, throwing open the front door. “You made it.”

I proffer the bottle of red wine I picked up on the way over. I don’t know if that’s what Marcus likes, but I took a guess.

“Great, thanks,” he says, pulling me into an unexpected hug. Given the way he’s behaved lately, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. “Come in. Priya’s on the terrace.”

I step into the foyer, toeing off my loafers as Marcus leads me into the open living and kitchen area. Unlike the impressive historical exterior of the house—of the entire neighborhood—the interior gleams with all things modern. Clean white walls instead of brick, crisp lines instead of cornices, chrome and glass replacing the original wooden staircase. It almost reminds me of an operating theater, which suits Marcus and, from what I know of her, Priya.

“Is that Nick?” a voice calls from outside.

I follow my brother onto the terrace, an outdoor space on the second floor overlooking the courtyard, with enough room for a small dining set and a grill that fills the air with the savory aroma of sizzling food. A woman turns from where she’s laying out cutlery, a grin breaking across her face. She looks to be around my age, making her younger than my brother, with dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, skin a golden brown in the evening light.

“Nick!” she says, and before I can even introduce myself, she pulls me into a hug.

I bristle unintentionally. I’m not used to being called Nick by people I hardly know, unless you count Zinnia, which is already unsettling enough. And then there’s the hugging. Is this why Marcus is so… affectionate, all of a sudden?

“Hello,” I say stiffly, and Marcus laughs, handing Priya a glass of wine when we part.

“Don’t worry about him,” he tells her. “You’ll get used to it.”

I resist the urge to frown. I’m not the person anyone needs to get used to. He is. He’s the one who’s completely changed overnight.

He holds a glass of wine out to me, and I hesitate. I’m not usually a big drinker. I’ve had more than one glass of wine lately at life-drawing class, though that was more from necessity, but I don’t want to be rude, so I take the glass with a smile. I’ll probably need it to get through tonight.

Sipping my wine, I watch my brother grill salmon, pausing to say something to Priya about vegetables as she passes. I’ve never seen Marcus be so domestic. I didn’t even know he could cook. It makes sense that he can, of course. He’s a grown man. But it doesn’t sit with the image I have of him in my mind.

Priya glances at me as she sets a bowl of quinoa and roasted vegetables beside a salad on the table. “I hope you like salmon, Nick?”

I nod, but before I can answer, Marcus speaks for me.

“Nick loves fish,” he says as he shuts off the grill. “We used to go fishing in Maine all the time as kids. He caught this huge bass one summer, but was too chickenshit to gut it, so I had to do it.”

I stare at my brother, chest tightening unexpectedly. I’d forgotten about that, but he’s right. It was one of my favorite things to do as a kid. I’m surprised he remembers. He’s never been the sentimental type.

“Sounds fun.” Priya grins as we settle in at the table. “Marcus has told me so much about you. I had to meet you.” She smiles, serving salad beside the salmon on my plate. “Did you have any trouble finding our place?”

“No,” I say, thinking of the arts center two blocks away. This is such a beautiful neighborhood, and I can see why Marcus likes it. “I actually teach a class around here.”