Eric lowered his eyes. “Fair.”
“But,” she continued, “I don’t wish my life now didn’t exist.”
Taylor set the toast down. “Same.”
Eric nodded once, absorbing both wound and mercy at the same time. “That’s more kindness than I probably deserve.”
Taylor leaned back in his chair. “Don’t get sentimental. It ruins your face.”
Rachel called from the kitchen, “Too late.”
They all laughed.
That night, after everyone left and Grace finally slept, Maya and Taylor stood on their balcony under the city’s cold, glittering dark. Their neighborhood was quieter than the old part of downtown, but New York was never truly silent. Somewhere a horn sounded. Wind moved along the avenue. Light burned in windows stacked like stories.
Taylor handed Maya a mug of tea and leaned against the railing beside her.
“You know what I realized?” he said.
“That you still hate folding the stroller?”
