CHAPTER 177: August

POV: Maya Castellano

August arrived and Maya went back to work, not because she was ready but because sitting still was worse.

Kofi had said: “Take more time.”

She’d said: “I need to be somewhere that needs me.”

He’d looked at her for a moment.

Then he’d made her coffee and said: “Okay.”

That was the thing about Kofi. He knew when to push and when to let her find her own way through. He’d learned the difference. She hadn’t always made it easy to learn.

The foundation office felt the same.

That surprised her.

She’d expected it to feel different. Heavier somehow, like the world should have rearranged itself slightly to acknowledge what had happened.

It hadn’t.

The whiteboard was where she’d left it. Nene’s mark in the corner. The question at the center.

Amara looked up when she walked in.

“You’re back,” Amara said.

“I’m back,” Maya said.

“Good,” Amara said and turned back to her screen.

That was it.

No careful voice. No head tilted in concern. No, how are you really?

Just good.

Maya sat at her desk and felt something loosen.

“Amara,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Amara looked up.

“For what?” she said.

“Nothing,” Maya said.

Amara looked at her for a moment.

“You came back when you were ready,” she said. “That’s all it needed.”

She went back to her screen.

Maya opened her laptop and started working.

Nadia brought her coffee at ten without being asked.

James stopped by her desk at eleven with a question about the visual identity for the land trust’s community communications.

She answered it.

They talked for twenty minutes about color and language and what stability looked like visually.

When he left she sat for a moment.

This was what she’d needed.

To be useful. To be asked things. To be Maya Castellano who designed things and had opinions and showed up rather than Maya Castellano who had lost something.

Both were true.

But only one of them could sit at a desk and work.

Selene called at lunch.

“You’re at the office,” Selene said. 

“Yes,” Maya said.

“How is it?”

“Good,” Maya said. “Actually good.”

“Amara?”

“Said good and went back to her screen,” Maya said.

“That’s the best thing she could have done,” Selene said.

“I know,” Maya said. “That’s what I told her.”

A pause.

“How are you?” Selene said. 

Maya looked at her screen.

At the visual language she’d been building for months and the mark in the corner that was Nene’s.

“Sad,” she said. “And okay. Both.”

“Both things,” Selene said.

“Always both things,” Maya said. “I’m learning to stop waiting for it to be just one.”

“That’s growth,” Selene said.

“Expensive growth,” Maya said. “You said that once.”

“I did,” Selene said. “It’s true.”

“How’s Elena?” Maya asked.

“Active,” Selene said. “Very active. She has opinions about everything.”

“She’s a Castellano Pierce,” Maya said. “Of course she does.”

Selene laughed.

Maya held the phone and felt something warm move through her chest.

“Lena,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I want you to know I’m actually okay.”

“I know,” Selene said. “I can hear it.”

“Good,” Maya said. “Now go rest. You’re thirty three weeks pregnant and I can hear you’re not sitting down.”

“I’m sitting,” Selene said.

“You’re not,” Maya said. “I can tell from your breathing.”

“That’s not a real thing,” Selene said.

“Sit down Lena,” Maya said.

A pause.

“Fine,” Selene said. “I’m sitting.”

“Good,” Maya said.

Kofi picked her up at five.

He was outside the building when she came out, leaning against the car, phone in hand, looking up when he heard the door.

He looked at her face.

“Good day,” she said before he could ask.

“Good,” he said.

“Stop it,” she said. “You sound like Amara.”

“Is that bad?” he said.

“No,” she said. “It’s exactly right.”

He opened the car door and she got in.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving,” she said.

“I know a place,” he said.

“You always know a place,” she said.

“I’ve been here eight months,” he said. “I’ve done research.”

“Research? Hmmm” she said.

“Extensive research,” he said. “Into where to take my wife when she’s had a good day and needs feeding.”

She looked at him.

“Kofi,” she said.

“Yes.”

“The peace lily,” she said.

He looked at the road.

“Yes,” he said.

“You chose it specifically,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Everything specifically,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

She looked at his profile.

At the man who had sat down at her table without asking and forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.

Who had stayed beside her hospital bed for thirty six hours without being asked.

“I love you,” she said.

He glanced at her.

“I know,” he said.

“That’s all you’re going to say,” she said.

“I love you too,” he said. “I’ve loved you since you said a kidnapping was the most remarkable thing about your year and said it like it was inconvenient.”

“It was inconvenient,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I loved it.”

She looked at the city going past the window.

“Take me to your place,” she said. “The research place.”

“Already going,” he said.

Over dinner she said: “I want to try again.”

He looked up.

“Not now,” she said. “Not soon. When I’m ready. I want you to know that I want to.”

He set down his fork.

“Okay,” he said.

“That’s all,” she said.

“That’s everything,” he said.

She picked up her fork.

He picked up his.

They ate.

Her phone buzzed.

Selene.

A photo.

The nursery. The right green room. The morning light through the window.

And a text beneath it.

She’s coming soon. The room is ready. We’re ready. Are you ready?

Maya looked at the photo.

At the green walls.

At the light.

Yes, she typed back.

I’m ready.