"You basically raised him those first years."
Gemma rolls her eyes dramatically. "I handed him Cheerios and made faces while you wrote reports. Hardly maternal glory. But we were a good team, I do agree with that."
"You rocked him to sleep when I was too exhausted to stand." My voice catches. "You sang him Spanish lullabies when he had ear infections."
"Stop it." She wipes quickly at her cheek. "Don't get me crying, it's wine night."
Her apartment looks the same as when I visited her in Savannah just before I got the CHG offer. Her plants crowd the windowsill, and she still has medical journals stacked beside the sofa. The sight makes my chest ache with fondness.
"I wouldn't have survived without you, Gem. You know that."
"Yeah, well." She sniffs, lifting her wine glass. "Someone had to make sure you remembered to eat and have some semblance of self-care."
The laugh that escapes me is the first real one in days. Chicago was brutal, endless hours juggling fellowship and new motherhood, but we found rhythm in the chaos. Weekend brunches with Beckett coloring between us. Late nights dissecting hospital politics over cheap wine.
"What's that face?" Gemma narrows her eyes. "That's your overthinking face."
"Just... grateful. For you. For everything."
"Sentimental already?" She finishes her wine and sets the glass aside with a decisive clink. Then she leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes suddenly sharp.
"So... how was your first day at CHG?"
The question is a gut punch, dissolving the momentary peace. My fingers tighten around the phone.
"You remember that worst-case scenario I kept joking about? The one you said was ridiculous and would never happen?"
Her eyes widen. "No. Fucking. Way. He's your neighbor?"
The fire spits embers into the night.
"Worse. He's my colleague. Sort of. He's on the board for the CHG Foundation and is the committee chair for the very initiative I was hired to run." My voice drops to a whisper, though no one's here to hear me.
"Speak English. I thought you said he was an attorney."
"He is. And he sits on the board at CHG. Pope, my boss, assigned us to co-lead the community initiative. Together. Weekly, sometimes daily, meetings, heads together, joint presentations to the board. The whole nine."
Gemma sits bolt upright, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass. "Oh shit," slips out before she can catch herself.
I groan and drop my head into my free hand, fingers digging into my scalp. "Exactly."
Gemma straightens, her expression sharpening through the screen. Her eyes narrow slightly, the way they always do when she’s about to deliver some hard truth.
“Listen to me, Janie Harrelson. You are not that heartbroken girl sobbing in my apartment anymore. You’re the woman who finished her three-year fellowship with a newborn and got offered a two-year extension at the hospital. Warren Carter may sit at your board table, but you are the one leading that initiative. That’s your chair, not his.”
Tears sting my eyes again. “He’s not just on the board, Gem. He’s—” I stop, choking on it. “He’s Beckett’s father, and he doesn’t even know. And every time I look at him will keep all of this stress and guilt, and lies stirring at the forefront of my brain. It's going to kill me.”
Gemma’s voice softens, but her gaze stays steady. “Then let me remind you of something. You’ve carried this secret for five years. You’ve built a whole life for Beckett without him. And you’re not alone. You’ve got me, yourparents, your brother, your entire support system. You can keep carrying it if that’s what you choose. Or you can change course. But whatever you do, you don’t have to drown in the guilt, okay?”
The lump in my throat nearly breaks me. “What if I can’t do this?”
“You can.” Her voice is quiet but unshakable. “You already are.”
I stare into the dwindling flames as Gemma's expression softens, transforming from sharp-edged truth-teller to the friend who held my hair back during morning sickness.
“You’ve already proven you’re a badass,” Gemma continues, her voice steady through the phone. “You’re a director now, leading a major CHG initiative. Just focus on that and Beckett.”
“I wish I felt like what you see. Because right now it’s like I’m twenty-two again, hoping he would write me back, that we could maybe figure out how to do this together.” My fingers twist the hem of my sweater.