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“How did you learn all this?” Sophie asked.
“Culinary school,” Rachelle said with a shrug. “They drilled the science of food into us. I’ll never forget it.”
“She’s offended when she sees some of the stuff I make back home,” Darcy said. Darcy and Rachelle shared an apartment in the Historic District, not far from Rachelle’s restaurant.
Sophie laughed and spooned another dumpling onto her plate. This one was filled with tofu and red-hot chili.
“Did you and your sister ever live together?” Darcy asked.
Despite her best efforts not to, Sophie winced, clicking her chopsticks together. “No. Ida would have never lived with me.”
“You didn’t get along?” Rachelle asked, tilting her head.
“It wasn’t that,” Sophie said.What was it, then?How did she translate the events of the past in a way that didn’t dramatically alter the mood of the evening? It was a holiday, for crying out loud.
Rachelle and Darcy looked at her curiously, hoping she would fill in the gaps.
The truth, Sophie supposed, was that back then, she’d only wanted to be around people who used. Ida wasn’t an addict, which had made her “boring” in Sophie’s mind. Once Sophie had gotten sober on her own at nineteen, she’d been head over heels in love with Jared. Her codependency had disallowed her to live anywhere but with him. He’d been another addiction.
“I regret it,” Sophie went on, surprising herself. “Ida and I were never as close as you two are. It must be incredible.”
Darcy and Rachelle smiled at one another. Between them, the air sizzled with adrenaline and secrets. Greg and Dean were clearly out of their depths.
“We’re lucky,” Rachelle admitted.
“Can’t imagine life without you, Sis,” Darcy said, clamping her chopsticks around a spring roll.
“What’s Ida doing tonight?” Sam asked.
“Good question.” Sophie raised her shoulders. “I imagine she’s just spending the evening with her husband, Nellie, and Frankie. They’re one of those rare families who never seem to fight about anything and actually enjoy one another’s company.”
Sophie didn’t add her suspicion—that her mother and father were with Ida’s family, too. That they’d planned an entire evening without Sophie. She was perpetually the black sheep—always the reminder of the trauma of the past. It upset her mother to have her around too often. They simply left her out.
An hour before midnight, Sophie and Patrick hugged everyone goodbye and drove their separate vehicles back to Sophie’s place. As Sophie entered through the garage, she flicked on the lights in the kitchen and adjoining living room, inhaling the familiar smells of home—the pine from the Christmas tree and the cinnamon of the candle she’d burned that morning. When Sam begged them to stay till midnight, Patrick and Sophie looked at one another doubtfully and admitted they had to return home. The “baby” topic was too powerful. They needed to be alone. They needed to celebrate together.
Patrick wore a spectacular smile. He stomped his boots of snow in the garage and called out, “Keeping that secret was torture, babe!”
Sophie laughed and whipped back toward the door to hug him again. “I know. You deserve a medal for keeping it to yourself.”
“How much longer?” Patrick asked, removing his winter hat and ruffling his hair.
“I want to wait till the three-month appointment,” Sophie said.
“And when’s that? How far along are you?” Patrick looked frantic, on the verge of heading out right away to buy baby supplies.
Sophie took his elbow and guided him into the living room. “I just found out three days ago,” she explained. “I’m probably about a month in. Maybe a little more or less.”
“A month.” Patrick shook his head and collapsed on the couch. “You’ve been pregnant for a whole month! It feels like I should have sensed something.”
Sophie kissed his cheek and bent before the fireplace to turn it on. Jared had had someone install a “fake” fireplace a long time ago, which lent about 50 percent of the ambiance and even less of the warmth of a traditional fireplace. Still, it was all they had, and Sophie was grateful not to deal with matches and kindling.
Sophie made hot chocolate and returned to the couch. Fireworks crackled and popped outside as they blew on the steam over their mugs. Sophie checked her phone.
“Just ten more minutes of the year,” she announced.
Patrick puffed out his cheeks and caught her eye. He looked deadly serious.
“Patrick.” Sophie put down her mug and touched his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
