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Patrick bowed his head. “I know that,” he stuttered. “I do.”
Outside somewhere, another round of fireworks exploded. Sophie imagined whoever had set them off, shivering in the dark while their family waited inside, watching the spectacle.
“It’s just that I want to ask you something,” Patrick said. “And I’ve never asked it of anyone. And I’m petrified.”
All the hairs stood straight up on Sophie’s head. As she gazed at Patrick, she tried to remember the first version of Patrick she’d ever met—the addict, the man who’d been after the same high she was.
Now, they chased something else.
Patrick scooted to the end of the couch and dropped on one knee. He held both of Sophie’s hands with his much larger, capable hands. It was clear he spent his days building, sawing, and putting things into place. His hands were calloused and jagged against her smooth ones.
“Sophie, when we met, we were very different people,” Patrick said quietly. “But I knew, even then, that you were special. The fact that we’ve ended up here on the eve of 2024together is beyond me. But I want to spend every other New Year’s Eve with you. I want to raise this baby with you. And I want to marry you. If you’ll have me.”
Sophie’s throat nearly closed. Tears spilled from her eyes.
“I’ll marry you,” Sophie whispered. “Yes.”
Patrick leaned forward and captured her in a hug. Outside, the sounds of fireworks escalated. From the corner of her eye, Sophie could make out pinks, purples, and greens ripping through the night sky.
“We should toast this,” Patrick said, sniffing as he rushed to the kitchen to pour them a non-alcoholic glass of champagne. Sophie stood and cleaned her face and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Everything seemed to be moving quickly. Even the minutes on her phone were faster than normal. By the time Patrick returned to the couch with their glasses, the clock struck midnight, and the fireworks outside were triumphant, popping and exploding as though this was the dawn of a new age rather than just another new year.
In recovery, they told you not to do too much during your first year of sobriety. They told you not to rush into new relationships, not to move, and not to dramatically change your life.
Sophie’s stomach banged with guilt and fear. On the one hand, she’d forbid Patrick from moving in with her as a way of “obeying” these rules. On the other hand, now that she was pregnant, they barreled ahead toward a far different future that would require buckets of change.
She prayed their sobriety was strong enough to withstand the storm. She prayed they could hold one another accountable for the love of one another—and the love of their baby.
Chapter Six
On the first morning of the brand-new year, Katrina awoke at five thirty, headed downstairs, and cooked her contribution to the New Year’s Day feast—cheesy potatoes with plenty of red onions. As she worked, she listened to a radio show that discussed all things New Year’s Day, including the name of the first baby born on the East Coast and news of a celebrity couple married at midnight who’d decided the marriage was no more by morning. Katrina shook her head at that. It was clearly a promotional stunt.
Grant crept into the kitchen at eight thirty, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Katrina from behind and kissed her neck. “Good morning, darling.”
Katrina turned around to hug him properly. “How was your first sleep of the year?”
“Not long enough,” Grant admitted. “Nellie and Frankie kept me up later than I was ready for. That Frankie is an epic Scrabble player. And Nellie makes a mean Negroni. My head can feel it!”
Katrina laughed and poured Grant a mug of coffee. Not long after midnight, she’d abandoned Grant, Nellie, Frankie, Ida, and Ida’s husband, Rick, at the dining room table, declaring herself unfit for “wild nights.” Unfortunately, she’d spent nearly twohours lying awake, staring through the darkness, listening to the rhythm of their voices downstairs. She’d felt heavy with fear for her mother, who was set to wake up tomorrow. Plus, Ida had bothered her about Sophie again. “Why didn’t you invite her, Mom? Don’t you think she wants to spend the holiday with her nieces?” The guilt pressed upon her chest.
“The doctor said Mom should wake up around ten,” Katrina said.
“Wonderful news,” Grant said, pretending as though this was the first time Katrina had made this announcement. It was probably the tenth.
“I’ll head out in a few minutes. Gosh, it’ll be a long day, won’t it?” Katrina took a deep breath. “But the ferry’s back up, thank goodness. Meet at the docks around five?”
“If you still want to come,” Grant said. “Oriana said she has our room ready for us.”
“I told Oriana I would be there,” Katrina said. “Visiting hours are shorter today, anyway.”
Even as she said it, she felt another pang of guilt. Would a better daughter have begged the nurses to let her stay longer? Would her mother assume Katrina didn’t love her enough to stay?
Oriana Coleman held a New Year’s Day party every year, inviting friends, family, and clients from Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, New York City, and beyond. This was the first year Grant and Katrina had been invited—because it was the first year they were officially in one another’s lives at all.
Oriana was a sought-after art dealer, handling multimillion-dollar deals and rubbing shoulders with the elite. Oriana and her sister, Meghan, were quite impressive individuals—no different from their older half brothers, Roland and Grant.
It had taken Grant and Roland ages to come around to the idea of meeting Meghan and Oriana in person. For decades,they’d blamed them for their father’s abandonment of their mother and their mother’s subsequent death of a broken heart. But when Roland and Grant finally came around, they’d fallen in love with their little sisters. They took every opportunity to visit them on Martha’s Vineyard or invite them to Nantucket.
“The cheesy potatoes are for the party,” Katrina said as she donned her coat and hat. “So don’t even think about digging into them before we leave!”
