wanted her life to stop (“You’re so young,” her parents had implored over and over again), but nobody had told Grace that her life might stop anyway, that she’d be trapped in the amber of her pregnancy, of Peach, while the rest of the world continued to change around her.
One afternoon, when her mom was working from home, Grace leaned her head into the office. “Hey,” she said. “Can I borrow the car?”
“May I ask why?” her mom said without looking up from her laptop.
Grace thought fast. “Um, Janie called. She wants to know if I want to meet her at the mall.”
Her mom looked up from her laptop.
Fifteen minutes later, Grace was driving to the mall, all the windows down so she could feel fresh air again. Her mom hadn’t asked too many questions after that lie, and Grace hadn’t bothered to explain anything beyond the basics. Nobody needed to know that she hadn’t talked to Janie since that ill-fated day back at school, that Janie hadn’t so much as texted her since Grace had punched Max’s friend in the face. Grace couldn’t even be that mad at Janie about it, though. She hadn’t been a good friend to Janie. She had stopped calling and texting. She’d ignored Janie’s calls and texts because she didn’t know how to explain how she felt, how to explain the rawness of this new world. If the situation was reversed, maybe Janie wouldn’t have called or texted her, either. Grace had no idea. She only knew who she was now, and that was a girl who didn’t have friends anymore.
But she did have Rafe.
“Hey!” he said when he saw her wandering down the gadget aisle of Whisked Away. “Let me guess—your mom got insomnia again and bought that thing that cooks salmon in the microwave.”
“I hope not,” Grace said, wrinkling her nose.
“Okay, good, because it doesn’t work. I didn’t want to say anything,” he added as Grace smiled at him. “I work here. I shouldn’t trash our amazing gadgets and supplies, but it’s really bad. Your microwave will never recover.”
Grace laughed at that. “Well, we don’t have a microwave. My parents don’t believe in them.”
Rafe widened his eyes at her, then walked over and carefully put his hands on her shoulders. “Grace,” he said quietly. “Is this a cry for help? Just blink if you need me to make a call.”
She laughed again. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” he said, moving his hands from her shoulders and taking that warmth away. “Starving. I had to take a make-up quiz during lunch. Did you eat already? Please tell me your parents at least believe in eating lunch. Otherwise I might actually have to call Child Protective Services.”
Grace laughed a little less this time. It wasn’t as funny now that she knew Joaquin. “I’ll buy,” she said. “But I only have enough cash for me to eat.”
“You sweet talker,” Rafe replied, then started to take off his apron. “Give me two minutes.”
They ended up at a sandwich place just down from the store. (Grace tried to keep the distance short. The last thing she needed was to see anyone she knew from school.) “Can I ask you a question?” Grace said as they tucked into their sandwiches.
“No, you may not have any of my Doritos,” Rafe replied. “Get your own if you want them.”
Grace just wrinkled her nose. She’d never be able to eat Doritos again, not after what she’d read about preservatives and food dyes when she was pregnant with Peach. “I don’t want your Doritos,” she said. “Keep that fake cheese to yourself.”
“It’s not really cheese until it’s spelled with a z,” Rafe told her. “But I digress.”
“Are your parents divorced?”
“Yep,” he said before popping a chip into his mouth. He crunched. “Am I mutating yet?”
Grace threw a piece of lettuce at him, which he caught before it hit the table. “Masterful reflexes,” he said. “Just FYI.”
“Your parents?” Grace said.
“Yes, ma’am. Split up when I was five. I’m pretty sure the world is only turning because they got divorced. Otherwise their fights would have probably made the planet implode.”
The idea of parents fighting was so foreign to Grace. Her parents had always argued behind closed doors, whatever battle they had smoothed over by the time the sun rose next morning. She had never even heard them yell at each other.
“What about you?” Rafe asked.
“No, they’re still married.”
“Throw the rice.”
“But Maya, she—”
“Is that your sister?”
Grace paused.
“The sort-of sister?” Rafe amended.
“No, she’s my actual sister,” Grace said,