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She takes the bag from me, still looking like she wants to disappear into the floorboards. “You didn’t have to bring this,” she says.
“You said noodles.”
“I said I might want noodles.”
“I heard noodles.”
Nate makes a small sound. “Oh.”
Maggie points at him without looking. “Don’t start—”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said oh.”
“It was a neutral oh.”
“There is no such thing as a neutral oh from you.”
I set my coat over the back of a chair while Maggie carries the food to the table. The apartment is small, cluttered in a way that makes sense, full of books and notes and things used until they give up. There are two mugs by the sink, mail on the counter, a blanket half-sliding off the couch. Nothing is arranged for an audience.
It suits her.
Nate clears a stack of papers from the table and sits down as if this entire situation has been arranged for his entertainment. “So,” he says, watching Maggie open the cartons. “How do you know my sister?”
I sit across from him.
There are several answers to that question, all of them impossible.
Maggie’s hand pauses over the noodles.
I look at her.
She doesn’t panic. Maggie is too controlled for that. But her eyes flick toward Nate, then back to me, and she gives the smallest shake of her head.
No.
It’s barely there. If I hadn’t been watching her, I would have missed it.
I don’t miss it.
And that’s when I understand. Nate doesn’t know that his sister is pregnant. He knows something is strange, because he’s not stupid, but he doesn’t know what kind of strange it is.
“Through work,” I answer.
Nate looks disappointed immediately. “That’s boring.”
“It’s true.”
“Lots of true things are boring. That doesn’t mean you should lead with them.”
Maggie lets out a breath, so soft I doubt Nate hears it. I do.
“What answer were you hoping for?” I ask him.
He leans back, pleased to have been invited. “I don’t know. Something with drama. Secret hospital rivalry. Academic scandal. Maggie dating her professor.”
“No,” Maggie and I say at the same time. Far too quickly.
