“It’s here,” she says.
I spit and rinse in the kitchen, then cross the room in about three strides, hand wet from the sink when I cup the back of her neck and lean my forehead to hers. “Hola, residente permanente,” I murmur and can’t stop smiling even if I wanted to.
“Ew.” She shoves me, laughing through tears. “That’s not what we’re called.”
“Legally, you are.” I kiss the top of her head and pluck the card out of her grip like it’s some sacred relic. “We’re framing this.”
“You can’t!” she yelps and flies off the couch as I pluck the most important piece of documentation we’ll ever own from her fingers. “I need it, Connie!”
“Fridge, then.” I dodge her grabby hands and slap it under the NYC-taxi-shaped magnet on the fridge, crooked but proud. “We’ll make a copy later and replace it.”
Manuela stands there, hands clutched against her chest, staring at the fridge like it’s a shrine. And I get it. To me it’s just plastic, but to her—it’s freedom. Proof. A key.
I hand her a cup of coffee and bump her hip. She takes it, but she’s still looking at the card like it might vanish.
We’ve been home three weeks now. The suitcases are finally unpacked and all the laundry is put away. The glow of Switzerland has worn off, but not the part of her that lets herself laugh like she belongs here, and not the part of me that stopped pretending I didn’t want this.
I didn’t take the job. The one my father kept dangling like a prize. I also walked into my manager’s office and gave notice the day after we came back. My father called it career suicide. I call it breathing.
Now I’m interviewing for jobs that still count as corporate, technically, but sound like they might let me be human. Finance departments at companies where no one uses the word “bro”in casual conversation, where the people in the photos on the website are actually smiling. I’ve even been sleeping through the night again.
“Timer’s about to go off,” I murmur into Manuela’s hair.
She sighs dramatically. “When did you even have time to start another loaf?”
“This morning.”
“Connor—”
The oven beeps, and she sighs again but sits on the counter right next to me, waiting for me to unveil my latest attempt at edible food. It’s been rough, but the starter is finally thriving, and I think this might bethe one.
The smell hits the second I crack the door—warm and nutty and very much reminding me of the little vacation that started all of this.
“Okay,” I say, pulling the loaf out and setting it gently on the rack. “Moment of truth.”
“Oh wow,” she says, a soft smile on her face like she has been preparing to let me down gently. “It has an actual shape.”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m just saying,” she teases, tapping the crust with one perfectly painted nail, “this is very un-paperweight of you.”
I grin. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Oh yeah?” she says, arching an eyebrow as she hops off the counter. She leans her hip against mine, mug cradled in both hands. “You must hang out with very mean people.”
“Or,” I say, brushing a lock of hair off her shoulder, “I just haven’t been hanging out with the right ones.”
We see people. Regularly. Camila drags us out for rooftop drinks at least once a week, and Elle insists on Sunday brunches that last five hours and include more drinks than food. Amelia comes over a lot, always with perfect hair and a huge smile on her face, and even Cash has grown on me—turns out I didn’t dislike him, I just hated my job. He roped me into their fantasy football league finally, and last night I actually spent twenty minutes researching running backs. I can’t decide if that’s character growth or a cry for help, but I’m weirdly enjoying it.
She rolls her eyes, but her smile twitches like she’s trying to hold it back. “That was smooth.”
“I’m smooth,” I say, deadpan.
“You’re not,” she counters immediately, laughing as she sets the mug on the counter.
I reach for her waist, tugging her in until she’s pressed between me and the marble, the smell of bread still warm in the air. Her laughter softens, and for a moment, she just looks at me, eyes quiet in a way that makes my eyes sting with all the emotions.
“I love you,” she says simply.
