Page 53 of Afterglow

Right now, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. We share a smile and I step back. A hard chest greets my body, and a sense of comfort envelops me with only his masculine scent and the knowing that he’s there.

“Okay, okay. Sorry,” I say, drying my face with my sleeve. “I wasn’t expecting… this.” I gesture around the room like it can encompass everything happening right now.

“I don’t think any of us were expecting this,” Bryce says from behind me, and the whole kitchen fills with bursts of laughter.

I turn to pin him with a glare. “Did you really just make an accidental pregnancy joke?”

“If the shoe fits…” he says with a raised brow and his signature smirk. “Come on, let’s eat.”

He leads me to the table, where takeout containers line the center. And now the smell I was too distracted to place earlier clicks into place.

“You ordered Whiskey Ditch?” I ask, turning to Mom and Dad, who are holding hands at the head of the table.

“We heard it’s been a favorite and, well…” Dad looks sheepish—clearly remembering how everything went to crap last time.

I face Jenna. “So my text asking for no red meat wasn’t necessary, was it?”

She shakes her head, biting her lip. “Bryce told me this would be the best bet for a successful night.”

Damn, he’s so thoughtful.

“Well, come on, let’s sit down before everything gets cold,” Dad pipes in, taking his usual spot.

We serve up sandwiches and soup, and I note everyone is drinking soda or water… Not a glass of wine in sight.

It’s not that we’re particularly big drinkers, but typically our family will go through a bottle or two. This is yet another thoughtful gesture of solidarity, and in comparison to how alone I felt last time I was here, it feels really good.

“How far along are you now?” Mom asks casually before slurping a spoonful of soup.

“Twelve weeks.” I blush and hope they don’t decide to do the math… although I’m sure they’ve already put two and two together.

“Have you been to the doctor yet?” Jenna inquires around a big bite of grilled cheese.

“Only once so far, but I have another appointment in two weeks. I do have an ultrasound picture I can show you on my phone though.”

“Oh, wait, that reminds me.” Bryce’s chair scrapes across the floor and he returns a moment later with a flat package in his hands. At my questioning look, he shoots me a wink before placing the gift in front of my parents. “This is for you, Mr. and Mrs. Kole.”

Mom titters. “Stop that, Bryce. We told you to call us Kimberly and Robert once already.”

“Right, sorry.” Bryce’s thigh brushes mine when he sits down and his callused palm covers mine under the table a moment later.

I’m still getting used to this casual touching. It’s like the handholding while we walked Friday afternoon and our honest conversion pushed us into this new space where it’s okay to like each other. Even though we aren’t together, it feels like we’re a real team tonight. It gives me hope this can work. That we can raise this child together somehow.

The whole table watches Mom and Dad with rapt attention. Beneath the brown paper and ribbon is a frame holding a copy of the sonogram of our little gummy bear.

Mom’s eyes fill with tears, and Dad wraps his arm around her shoulders as they stare down at the photo.

“Thank you,” Dad says, looking at us both, but I can’t take even an ounce of credit for this. No, this was all Bryce.

They pass it around and everyone coos over it—except Eric, who says he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. Jenna tries to show him, but he’s hopeless. She says it’ll be easier when it’s their baby, and he instantly pales before she can reassure him that she meant someday, not now.

Passing the frame back to my parents, I see it’s inscribed with Our First Grandbaby at the top. Bryce has really thought of everything, and I’ve never in my life felt more understood than I do in this moment.

I lean into the corner of the couch and watch Dad and Bryce work as a team to get all the dishes cleared and into the dishwasher. Their easy chatter over the mundane task has me wondering how I spent six years with Craig and never once saw him share a similar moment with my dad. He never helped with the dishes. Looking back now, his relationship with my parents always felt halfhearted—like he was only at these dinners because it was required. Bryce and I are only friends, yet he fits more comfortably here than Craig ever did.

“Mind if I sit?” Mom asks, and I blink up at her, pulled away from the sight of Dad laughing at something Bryce just said.

“Of course,” I say, pulling my legs in to make room for her. She hands me a cup of tea and I inhale the steam and continue to watch the men in the kitchen.