The shower water was cold when Fred finally turned it off. The silence in the small bathroom was thick, broken only by the drip from the showerhead and their breathing. Tommy stood with her back to the wall, water beading on her skin, her eyes on his face. He reached past her for a towel.
He wrapped it around her shoulders first. The terry cloth was rough and clean. She pulled it tight, her fingers brushing his.
“My parents texted,” she said, her voice quiet in the steamy room. “They want to do brunch tomorrow. At The Griddle.”
Fred nodded, taking the other towel for himself. He rubbed it over his hair. “Okay.”
“They think we’re together.”
“We are together.”
She looked down at her hand. The silver ring caught the weak light from the fixture above the mirror. “I know. But they think we’ve been together. Like, for a while.”
Fred met her eyes in the mirror. Her green eyes, familiar and utterly changed. “What did you tell them?”
“I didn’t. The texts… they just assumed. My mom said she always knew it would happen.” Tommy’s laugh was short, breathless. “She said she’s glad I finally came to my senses about you.”
They dressed in the clothes from his grandmother’s closet. The pajamas fit Tommy perfectly—soft, faded flannel pants and a button-up top that draped over the new curve of her hips. Fred wore a pair of his grandfather’s old trousers and a plain white t-shirt. They looked like they’d been sleeping here for years.
The next morning, the sun through the attic window was too bright. Fred made coffee in the old percolator. Tommy sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone. She’d found a hair tie and pulled her damp, sandy hair into a messy knot at the nape of her neck.
“They’re already there,” she said, not looking up. “Table for four.”
The Griddle was ten minutes away, a family-owned place with checkered tablecloths and the smell of maple syrup and bacon grease permanently in the air. Fred held the door for Tommy. Her hand found his as they walked in.
Mr. and Mrs. Carter were in a booth by the window. Fred saw them before they looked up—Tom’s dad with his salt-and-pepper hair, reading the menu, his mom with the same green eyes as her child, sipping orange juice. They smiled, warm and expectant.
“There they are,” Mrs. Carter said, sliding out of the booth to hug Tommy. She kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. That color is lovely on you.”
She turned to Fred, pulling him into a hug before he could offer a hand. “Freddie. It’s so good to see you. We were just saying it’s been too long.”
Mr. Carter stood, clapping Fred on the shoulder. “Good to see you, son. Sit, sit.”
They slid into the booth, Tommy beside her mother, Fred beside her father. The menus were already waiting. Mrs. Carter leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “We are just so happy. Honestly, we always knew. From when you two were little, always attached at the hip. I’d say to Robert, ‘Mark my words, those two end up together.’”
Robert Carter chuckled, nodding. “She did. Every time you’d come over to work on that beat-up Civic in the driveway. I’d say, ‘Martha, they’re just friends,’ and she’d give me that look.”
Tommy was staring at her place setting. Her fork was perfectly aligned on the paper napkin. She touched it, adjusting it a millimeter.
“It was just a feeling,” Martha said, reaching to pat Tommy’s hand. “A mother knows. I’m just glad you finally listened to your heart, honey.”
The waitress came. Orders were placed—eggs, pancakes, extra crispy bacon for Fred. Coffee refills. The mundane ritual of a Sunday brunch.
“So,” Robert said, after the waitress left. “Things are serious, then?”
Fred felt Tommy’s knee press against his under the table. Her leg was warm through the flannel pajama pants. He looked at her parents. “Yes, sir. They are.”
Martha’s smile was radiant. “We thought so. The way Tommy talks about you now, it’s different. It’s settled.” She looked at her child. “You seem so much more… centered, sweetheart. It’s like you’ve finally grown into yourself.”
Tommy lifted her coffee cup. Her hand didn’t shake. “I feel… right.”
“That’s all we ever want,” Robert said, his voice gruff with emotion. He looked at Fred. “You take care of her.”
“I will.”
The food arrived. They ate. The conversation flowed around school, work, the weather. Normal. Perfectly normal. Martha asked about Fred’s grandfather’s house, if he was finding everything okay going through the attic.
“Found some interesting things,” Fred said, cutting into his eggs.
“I’ll bet. That man was a packrat. Sentimental about everything.” Robert shook his head. “How’s Tommy helping? Getting in the way more like, I imagine.”
Tommy looked up from her pancakes. “I’m helpful.”
“She is,” Fred said.
Under the table, her hand found his thigh. Her fingers curled, possessive. He put his own hand over hers. The silver ring was warm against his palm.
Martha watched the gesture, her eyes soft. “See?” she said to her husband. “I told you. It was always meant to be.”