Her shoulders eased—barely—but enough that I felt the tension leave through the point where she leaned into me again. Her eyes closed for a second, her head tipping back, breath finally coming out clean this time.
“I hate that you’re right.”
“You don’t.”
Her mouth pulled at the corner, the fight in her loosening without disappearing. “No,” she sighed after a second. “I don’t.”
A door opened down the hall, the hinge catching for a split second before it gave. The nurse leaned out, voice carrying just enough to cut through the room. Not our name.
Across from us, a couple moved at the same time—too fast—chairs scraping as they stood. He reached for her coat and missed the sleeve the first time. She took it from him, fixed it herself, hands moving quicker than they needed to. They didn’t speak as they crossed the room, just exchanged a look that held a beat too long before they disappeared through the doorway.
Bea’s fingers stilled against her stomach as they passed.
She followed them with her eyes without turning herhead, the line of her jaw tightening, then easing. A breath in. Held. Let go.
My thumb pressed once against her leg.
She came back to me.
My phone buzzed against my hip—short, insistent. Then again.
Her gaze dropped anyway, tracking the vibration, then lifted back up, one brow ticking just slightly. “You’re not going to check that?”
“No.”
“That could be important.”
“It’s not more important than this.”
She held my eyes for a second, searching it—testing it—then her mouth shifted, small, like she’d decided something without saying it out loud. She nodded once and looked away.
Her phone slid into her hand this time, thumb unlocking it without thought. The tension at the corners of her mouth eased as she read, something lighter cutting through it.
“Micah.”
I shifted my weight, shoulder staying against hers. “What about her?”
“She’s been texting me for the last hour.” Bea’s thumb moved, quick, practiced. “She’s convinced this is the moment we find out we’re having twins.”
I huffed a breath. “It’s not?”
“No, it’s not.” Her mouth pulled, dry.
“What else?”
Bea angled the screen closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she read, like she was deciding whether to take any of it seriously.
“She’s been texting me for the last hour.”
I shifted my weight, my shoulder staying lined up with hers. “About what?”
Bea’s mouth pulled at the corner, something lighter threading through the tension that had been sitting there moments before. “She’s convinced this is the moment I spiral and make a statistically questionable decision.”
I huffed a quiet breath. “That tracks.”
“She’s also—” Bea paused, her thumb hovering mid-scroll, her expression shifting just enough to catch my attention. “—apparently rewriting her entire academic trajectory in real time.”
My gaze moved to her, subtle but not missed.