Love You More(51)

“In two weeks. On Friday.”

He pauses, frowning. “That’s Bobby’s wedding weekend.”

“Oh, shit,” I whisper.

He sets his fork down, aligning it parallel to the container lid, as if in a sterile operating field.

“It’s important, right?” His voice is tentative.

“It’s a big deal to Phoebe. And I already promised her I’d be there,” I say.

What I don’t add is that I want to be there—that I’d rather sit on a folding chair in an elementary school gymnasium than sip cocktails on a beach in St. Lucia with his medical school friends, as lovely as they are.

Dean exhales. “Okay,” he says. “She needs you there.”

I clear my throat. “There’s something else, too.”

He holds my gaze.

“Joan said that Erin wanted me to have custody of Phoebe.”

He nods, staring past my shoulder before finally meeting my eyes.

“Actually,” I say. “She wanted me and Mick to have custody.”

There’s a pause. One breath. Two.

“So…joint custody?”

“Or just one of us,” I say. “Joan wasn’t clear, so it’s hard to know exactly what Erin had in mind.”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel…honored but overwhelmed,” I say. “And a little scared.”

“So you said yes?”

“No. I said I had to talk to you.”

He leans back into the sofa, the cushions giving under his weight.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, holding my breath.

“I think…I’m in.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She can live with you until your lease runs out. Then you can move in with me. Or we could get a bigger place.”

I hesitate. “The thing is…I don’t think she should move here. I think we’d have to move there. She needs stability—not more change.”

“Oh,” he says.

“Would you be willing to consider a move like that? I know it’s a huge thing to ask.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, my nerves spike, and I keep talking to fill the silence. “Mick said he’s willing to do it solo. So if you don’t want to do it, I understand.”

He looks at me, his face blank. “It’s a lot to consider—the idea of uprooting our lives.” He shifts closer, taking both of my hands in his. “But if that’s what she needs, and it’s what you want to do, then we’ll make it work.”

“Thank you, Dean,” I say, feeling a surge of gratitude and love for the man I’m going to marry.

“Of course.”

“The good news is, we have some time,” I say. “Mick is moving in with Joan and Phoebe for now.”

“That’s helpful.”

“Yeah, he’s been great.”

He studies my face, then says, “Are you sure you don’t want to let him do this?”

“I’m not sure about anything,” I say. “It’s all so surreal. A week ago, Erin was still alive.”

“I know,” he says. “It’s a lot.”

“Why don’t you take a few days and think about it?” I say. “I know it’s a huge decision.”

“Okay,” he says. “But ultimately, it’s your call. I’m with you—whatever you decide.”

“Thank you, Dean.” I rest my head on his chest, listening to the quiet thump of his heart. “I’m so lucky to have you.”





Chapter 30


The next morning, my walk to work feels different—louder and more chaotic after the slow rhythm of morning coffee at my parents’ table and Phoebe curled into me on Joan’s sofa. It’s hard to believe both places exist at once—each one oblivious to the other.

I stop at a flower stand and pick up a bouquet of yellow daffodils for Lesli’s birthday. Greer already bought our joint gift—a delicate pair of opalite earrings—but I know how much Lesli loves flowers. I pay for the bouquet, then thread my way through the crowd.

As usual, I’m the first to arrive at the clinic. After flipping on the lights, I head to the staff kitchen and find a glass vase in a cabinet. I fill it with water, unwrap the bouquet, and arrange the blooms. Then I take the vase down the hall to Lesli’s office. I set it on her desk and grab a pen, scribbling on a Post-it note: Happy 39th, Les! Xoxo, B. PS. Can’t wait for drinks tonight!

Back in my office, I catch up on emails and skim my patient charts for the day, immediately spotting Sophie Cohen’s. As I scan her labs and make a mental note to thank our office scheduler for fitting her in, my brain keeps tabbing over to custody. I try to click that window closed—for now.

I look up and see Lesli beaming in my doorway.

“Thanks for the flowers!” she says. “They’re beautiful.”

“Just a little something to get your day started right.”

“That was so thoughtful—especially with all you have going on.”

“Your birthday’s an excellent distraction.”

Her hand drifts to the gold locket she’s worn since medical school. “How’re you doing?”