Page 33 of Drop the Mitts

And yet.

She couldn’t stop thinking about those tacos. About André standing in her kitchen. About?—

“Grace?”

She blinked, snapping back to reality. “What?”

Matthew gave her a look. “I was asking if you wanted to hold off on the electrical in unit 3C until we reassess the subflooring.”

She forced herself to focus. Nodded. “Yeah. Hold off. Just keep me updated.”

Twenty minutes later, she was back in her car, heading home. She had to keep in mind the property's resale value. Otherwise, it was starting to feel like a trap.

Everything about Calgary was stifling at the moment. She wanted out. She wanted to go back to Toronto, where things were manageable, predictable, where she could accept cases and ignore the crap she didn’t want to deal with. That was the benefit of seniority, wasn’t it? She never thought she’d yearn for paperwork, but electrical problems? Subfloors?I’ll pass, thanks.

By the time she got home, her brain was already switching gears. She tossed her bag onto the counter, kicked off her heels, and made a beeline for the dining table for her laptop, where she had over fifty tabs open in her browser.

Half of them contained everything Country and Jenna had sent and the records she had on file from the social worker and the adoption agency. Half were references and resources for her caseload at her actual job.

She rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, sat down, and started with tab number one, combing through the next twenty plus emails. Message by message. Date by date.

She scanned every conversation, every signed document, every notation that should have covered them. None of it led her to believe the social worker hadn’t followed correct procedure or that Amey was being manipulated or coerced.

Her gut told her she was missing something, but that was more confusing than anything. Why hadn’t her damn gut told her she’d missed something in the first place?

Grace rubbed her temples, then lay back on the couch and let her eyes drop closed. She should have been working on the opposite twenty-five tabs. She had multiple submission deadlines coming up, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. What was more important than keeping a baby in a home?

But all of this was a dead end. Every time she looked for confirmation that Amey had been properly informed of her revocation rights, she found nothing. No notation. No proof.

A vibration on the table made her heart leap into her throat. She scrambled for her phone, adrenaline rushing through her veins. The message on the screen only made her heart beat faster.

Jenna

Running five minutes late. Sorry!!

Five minutes late?—?

Brunch. Shit.

Grace checked the time and cursed again under her breath. She had forgotten entirely.

She closed the laptop, grabbed her coat, shoved her feet into her boots, and rushed out the door.

_____

Calgary’s winter morning air was crisp, a thin mist still clinging to the streets as Grace pulled onto the main road. The car was still warm from her earlier trip, but she blasted the heat regardless. She’d long suspected that she had some kind of circulatory issue since her feet and hands were freezing in the winter and swollen in summer. No doubt something that would require an amputated limb in her sixties.

Grace lamented that she didn’t have a self-driving car that would allow her to work on her drives. Technically, you were supposed to have your hands on the wheel, but she’d seen enough YouTube videos to convince herself her knees were a suitable substitute.

She neared the brunch spot, Elm & Ash. It was one of those trendy-but-cozy places, nestled between an independent bookstore and a boutique coffee shop. From the main picture on their website, it had exposed brick walls, warm pendant lighting, and mismatched vintage tables that looked effortlessly curated.

She’d been legitimately excited when Jenna sent the invitation, which only made her feel more like an idiot as she parked ten minutes late. How often had she silently judged people who couldn’t make the effort to be on time? It seemed karma was calling in all her past dues as of late.

Grace exited the car, locked the doors, and strode through the front glass door. Inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wrapped around her, cutting through the last of the cold. It was already buzzing with conversation, waitstaff weaving between tables, balancing plates piled high with french toast and eggs benedict.

Jenna waved at her from a table by the window. She was bundled in a thick sweater, her blond hair pulled into a high ponytail. Grace exhaled, rolling back her tension as she made her way over.

Jenna grinned as Grace slid into the seat across from her. “You made it.”

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