It's not a useful thought. It's not even really my business. But it sits there anyway.
WouldItake Grant back?
Sophie runs up to me, breathless and delighted. "I found a caterpillar!"
"That's great." I smile, and it feels almost normal. "Let's go show Mrs. Brooks."
***
By the time evening rolls around, my lower back has filed a formal complaint and my calves are staging a quiet mutiny. The nature walk with the kids was worth every aching muscle, but I still had to go straight from the trail to the flower shop, because arrangements don't make themselves.
So when Luna appears at my apartment door at seven o'clock sharp for our night out, I answer with all the grace and posture of a woman who's been on her feet since sunrise.
"Hi Sunshine," she says, breezing past me and scanning the apartment. "So there's a new bar that opened like two months ago. Let's go check it out!"
"Or," I say, "and hear me out—we stay in. I have tea. I have that throw blanket you like. We could just—"
"No." Luna holds up a hand. "Absolutely not. If I let you sit down on that couch, you will fossilize there, and Maren and I will have to chisel you out in the morning. We're going. She's already on her way to the bar."
She's not wrong. I can already feel the gravitational pull of the cushions.
"Fine," I say with great effort, then I glance down at myself. "Should I change first? If the place is fancy-ish, I've got this blouse that's less—"
"Nah, you look great."
The walk takes less than ten minutes, and by the time we arrive, Maren is hovering near the entrance with a tote bag on her shoulder.
"I brought cardamom scones," she says by way of greeting.
Luna pulls her into a hug. "You angel. You absolute angel." Then she steps back, one hand still on Maren's arm. "How are you? You look gorgeous."
Maren laughs and waves her off. "I look like I've been elbow-deep in flour since four a.m., but thank you."
I take my turn, wrapping Maren in a squeeze. "Hi. I missed you."
"Missed you more." She gives me an extra pat on the back before letting go. "Now—shall we?"
"We shall," Luna says, and pushes through the door.
Inside, the bar has that particular Thursday-night warmth. It's busy enough to hum, not so packed you can't hear yourself talk. String lights drape from exposed beams, and someone has built a playlist that threads the needle between indie folk and classic rock.
We slide into a corner booth, and a guy, a beta I vaguely recognize slows at our table, beer in hand. "Hey—you're Arthur's omega, right? The pack's?"
I take a beat. This is the first time someone has asked me so bluntly.
"That's right," I say, and it comes out steady. Natural, even.
He nods, satisfied, and moves on, like I've just confirmed the weather.
Luna's eyes are wide. "That was smooth."
"Guess I'm learning," I say.
Maren slides the scones across the table. "Okay, now try these. I need to know if the cardamom's too aggressive."
"Cardamom is never too aggressive," Luna says, already reaching.
I bite into one, and the flavor is immediate, warm, fragrant, with just enough sweetness to keep the spice from turning sharp. "Maren. Come on."
