Brown-Eyed Girl

“There are obligations when you’re part of a family,” Sofia conceded. “And problems. But taking care of each other… the feeling of belonging somewhere… that part is wonderful.”

“Do you miss not being close to your relatives?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” Sofia admitted. “But when you’re not accepted for who you are, it’s not really a family.” She shrugged and took a swallow of coffee. “Tell me the rest,” she prompted. “When Joe brought you back.”

A light blush covered my face. “He spent the night, obviously.”

“And?”

“I’m not giving you details,” I protested, and Sofia laughed gleefully as my color deepened.

“I can tell it was good just by looking at your face,” she said.

I tried to divert her. “Let’s figure out our plans for the day. Later this afternoon we need to review what’s been done on the Warner wedding so far, and send a report to Ryan. I think he’ll be fine with most of it, but I want to make sure —” I broke off as the doorbell rang. “That must be a delivery. Unless you’re expecting someone?”

“No.” Sofia went to the front entrance and peeked through one of the narrow side windows. She whirled around and plastered her back to the door like a knife thrower’s assistant during warm-up practice. “It’s Steven,” she said, her eyes wide. “Why is he here?”

“I have no idea. Let’s ask him.”

She didn’t move. “What do you think he wants?”

“He works here,” I reminded her patiently. “Let him in.”

My sister nodded tensely. She turned to unlock the door, then opened it with unnecessary force. “What do you want?” she asked without preamble.

Steven was dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt. His expression was difficult to interpret as he looked down at her. “I left my phone case here yesterday,” he said warily. “I came by to pick it up.”

“Hi, Steven,” I said. “Your phone case is on the coffee table.”

“Thanks.” He walked inside with an air of extreme caution, as if he suspected the studio had been booby-trapped.

Coco ascended the steps to the sofa and watched Steven retrieve his phone case. He paused to pet her tiny head and scratch the back of her neck. As soon as he stopped, Coco pawed at his hand and shoved her head beneath his palm, demanding that he continue.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Fine,” Steven replied.

“Would you like some coffee?”

It appeared to be a question with no easy answer. “I’m… not sure.”

“Okay.”

As Steven continued to pet Coco, he stole a glance at Sofia. “You’re wearing bunny slippers,” he said, as if it confirmed a suspicion he’d had for some time.

“And?” Sofia asked darkly, expecting a sarcastic comment.

“I like them.”

Sofia gave him a confused glance.

They were both so focused on each other that neither of them noticed my discreet exit from the kitchen.

“I’m going to the farmer’s market,” Steven said. “There should be some good peaches. Would you like to come along?”

Sofia replied in a slightly higher-pitched voice than usual. “Okay, why not?”

“Good.”

“I just have to change out of my pajamas into some regular clothes and…” Sofia paused. “Pajamas,” she repeated. “That’s how to say it. Right?”

Unable to resist, I stopped to glance at them from my vantage on the stairs. I had an unobstructed view of Steven’s face. He was smiling down at Sofia, his eyes glowing. “The way you pronounce it,” he said, “it always sounds like pa-yamas.” He hesitated and lifted his hand to caress her cheek gently.

“Pajamas,” Sofia repeated, sounding exactly like before.

Seeming to lose all restraint, Steven pulled her into his arms and murmured something low.

A long silence. A little sobbing breath. “So have I,” I heard Sofia say.

He kissed her, and Sofia molded herself against him, her hands climbing into his hair. The two of them seemed overwhelmed with mutual tenderness, clumsy with it as they kissed each other’s cheeks, chins, mouths.

Not long ago, I thought as I hurried up the stairs, the sight of Steven and Sofia passionately embracing would have been unthinkable.

Everything was changing so fast. The long, steady road I had plotted out for Sofia and me was turning out to have so many unexpected twists and detours that I found myself wondering if we were going to end up in entirely different places from those we’d originally planned.

I received frequent updates on Haven’s condition from Ella and Liberty and, of course, Joe. Although Haven’s health was improving rapidly, she wouldn’t be well enough to receive visitors outside of immediate family until she was back home. Her daughter, named Rosalie, was thriving and gaining weight and was frequently brought to Haven for what was called “kangaroo time,” resting on her chest for skin-to-skin contact.

As I scrolled through photos that Joe had taken and loaded onto his tablet, I paused at a striking image of Hardy cradling Rosalie tenderly in his big hands, his smiling face lowered so that one of her miniature palms rested on his nose.

“Her eyes look blue,” I said, zooming in on the picture.

“When Hardy’s mom visited yesterday, she said his eyes were exactly that color when he was born.”