Page 136 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

There, on the screen is a tiny, blinking dot.

A little bean

I see it, the flickering heartbeat, and something explodes in my chest.

“Strong heartbeat. Just like its mom.”

She’s quiet for a second.

Then, breezy as anything, she says, “My friend from yoga wanted to wait outside the doctor’s office with me. But Halie was already going to be there anyway.”

I swallow hard.

The idea of her going through all this without me kills me in ways I don’t have the words for.

We wrap up the call with more small talk.

She says she’s tired. That she’ll text me tomorrow.

When the line goes dead, I stare at the screen too long.

And for the first time in my life, I wonder if distance really protects you from shit.

Maybe it just makes you forget what you’re supposed to be fighting for.

The next morning, my father finds me brooding over a cup of bitter coffee and tosses a pair of work gloves onto the table.

“Earn your keep. We’ve got a heavy week ahead. Harvest tours. Private tastings. Full vineyard prep. I’ll need you out there.”

I want to argue. To tell him I didn’t come back to be put to work like some kid on a summer internship.

But honestly? I need the distraction.

So, I pull on the gloves and head outside.

By noon, I’m up to my elbows in vineyard dirt, cutting vines.

The next day, I'm scrubbing fermenting barrels until my arms ache.

The day after that, I'm hosting tastings, pouring glasses for wide-eyed tourists, turning on the Marchetti charm like it's a faucet.

The older women love me. They hang on my every word, giggling like schoolgirls when I wink.

The farmhands crack jokes, and I fire them right back, laughing louder than I feel.

And surprisingly, I don’t hate it.

There’s something about working the land, about sweating into the roots of something real, that dulls the edge gnawing inside me.

But it all rings hollow without her.

Every time someone clinks a glass and toasts to the beauty of Tuscany, I wonder what Sophie would think.

Would she tease me about how smug I look? Would she wrap her arms around me and say she’s proud?

I’ll never know.

Because it’s not lost on me how easily I win over strangers, how I let them hover around me, but I pushed her away.

---