Chapter 81

Inside, the mood remained light—glasses clinked, laughter lingered, and Megan and Ashley offered to start gathering dishes while Emma and Abigail slipped down the hall.

“Come on,” Emma said, her fingers laced through Abigail’s. “I wanna show you what I’ve been thinking about for the nursery.”

Abigail followed her toward the spare room, the one they’d been slowly converting. Emma opened the door with a little flourish and stepped inside, the faint smell of fresh paint still clinging to the walls.

There wasn’t much yet—a soft rug rolled out across the floor, a rocking chair in one corner, and an empty space where a crib would eventually go. But Emma’s eyes lit up like she saw something no one else could.

“I was thinking maybe we could do a mural on that wall,” she said, pointing to the one opposite the windows. “Something whimsical—like a forest or stars, but soft. Dreamy.”

Abigail smiled, arms folding loosely as she leaned against the doorway. “That sounds beautiful. I like the stars idea.”

Emma walked into the middle of the room, twirling a little with her bare feet brushing the rug. “And I found these sheer curtains I loved online—they’ve got little moons stitched into them. It’s all soft pastels, nothing too bright.”

Abigail nodded slowly, the smile still on her face—but now tinged with something else. “Yeah, that sounds sweet. Did you already order them?”

“Not yet,” Emma said, tilting her head. “Why?”

Abigail hesitated, then stepped forward into the room, her tone still gentle. “I just think… maybe we should slow down a bit. There’s still so much we haven’t done. Like getting a pediatrician, figuring out maternity leave, checking which hospital takes our insurance—”

Emma blinked, the dreaminess slipping from her expression. “I know, but… can’t we just enjoy planning something fun? Everything doesn’t have to be a checklist.”

“I’m not saying we can’t have fun,” Abigail said quickly. “I just want us to be prepared. I’ve been reading about prenatal safety and there’s a lot to consider. Like crib regulations, air filters, even which paints are safe—”

“Abby,” Emma interrupted, a little sharper than she meant. “I know you want to be helpful. But sometimes it just feels like you’re poking holes in things I’m excited about.”

Abigail’s mouth opened, then closed. “I’m not trying to poke holes. I’m trying to make sure we’re okay. That the baby is okay.”

Emma looked down at the rug, her voice softer now. “I just… I already feel nervous enough. And when I try to enjoy something, it feels like you’re waiting to correct me.”

The silence stretched for a moment, just long enough to let the weight settle.

“I didn’t realize I was doing that,” Abigail said, voice quieter now, sincere.

Emma nodded once but didn’t say anything right away.

Abigail stepped closer, her hand resting gently on Emma’s arm. “I want this to be fun too. I want you to feel happy, not overwhelmed.”

Emma looked up, meeting her eyes. “Then let’s just pick the curtains. And maybe sketch out a mural tomorrow. We can do hospital calls after.”

Abigail nodded slowly, brushing a curl behind Emma’s ear. “Okay. Curtains first.”

Emma smiled—small, but real. She leaned into Abigail’s chest, letting the earlier tension melt just a little.

Behind them, the soft clinking of dishes and faint laughter filtered down the hall. For now, everything held.