Page 81 of Where We Met

Well, that confirms it.

Ma and Mia are out of their chairs, hugging Alexis and Gabe, and Ma starts to cry.

I stand up myself and give Alexis a kiss on the cheek. “Congrats, sis,” I say then I shake Gabe’s hand.

Once we all get seated, Pa raises his glass of wine. “A toast,” he begins, “to a new healthy baby boy or girl. Congratulations, Alexis and Gabe.”

We all lift our glasses and salute.

The dinner is filled with conversation surrounding the news. Alexis and Gabe are smiling from ear to ear, constantly looking at each other and sneaking kisses.

For the first time ever, I’m jealous. I realize how much I want that.

Savannah’s smiling face comes to mind as she rubs her growing belly.

Shit, now I’m thinking about her pregnant with my baby. You would think this would get easier, yet the more time away, the harder it gets.

“Hey, Luke,” Mia calls from across the table. “Help me with the dishes.”

I stand up and start taking everybody’s empty plates then follow her into the kitchen. I start to rinse while she loads the dishwasher.

I wonder what Savannah's doing right now. Ever since she called me a week ago, I've been hoping it would become a routine. I want nothing more for her to break the rules and call me, since I have such a hard time being the rule breaker.

Instead, she's stuck to our agreement of distance, and the only time I've seen her is during class.

“Okay, I’ve given you enough time to navigate this yourself,” Mia says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Clearly, you need a little bit of sisterly advice.”

I sigh. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not happy.”

“How can you tell?” I hand her another plate.

“You don’t smile anymore. If you do, it isn’t real. You just go to work and go home.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Instead of speaking, I just focus on getting the task at hand complete.

“Have you talked to her?” she asks.

"She called me once last week. We basically said hi and that was it."

“What are you gonna do next week when the semester is over?”

“I want to call her. But there's this weird voice in the back of my head telling me that if it was wrong a week ago, it won't magically be right now.”

“It's not wrong. You just can't be involved while she's your student. It's like if you were her boss, you couldn't date. But if she quit, it would be okay."

Hmm. When she says it like that, it doesn't feel wrong at all.

“I don’t think her father would appreciate me contacting her,” I admit.

She puts the last plate in the dishwasher, closes it, then leans on the counter.

“You know,” she says, arms crossed over her chest, “what you did wasn’t that bad. You’re talking about it like she was a minor or something. I've already said my peace about what her father did.”

Before I can reply, we’re interrupted. Everybody starts walking into the kitchen holding the remainder of the plates and bowls. They clearly know something is going on by the abrupt pause in our conversation.

“What’s wrong?” Ma asks.

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