“We’ll, uh, be here.” She didn’t have to look back to know that the two of them were still standing there awkwardly staring at each other.
Out of earshot from the guys, Foster asked, “What happened between you and Cora? How did she help you?”
Now it was Sabine’s turn to cross her arms over her chest. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“This is too important, and I’m not the sugarcoating type.”
“Neither was Cora.”
Foster swallowed.
“I was pregnant,” Sabine blurted after a long pause. “Now I’m not.”
Foster shook her head, confused. “Isn’t that usually how it goes?”
“In this country, the babies usually survive.”
There was another long, stomach-clenching pause.
“But Cora … she…” Sabine’s voice didn’t waver as tears shined against her cheeks. “She made sure our baby had a fighting chance. And Cora was there with us in the end—holding her with us—helping us say good-bye.”
“I’m sorry…” Foster trailed off, the words seeming meaningless and hollow as an offering to ease such despair.
“Me too,” Sabine whispered. “And about Cora. I loved her.”
“I loved her too” wasn’t big enough to contain the way Foster felt about her mother, so she said nothing and let the tears fall.
There was a whole part of Cora’s story that Foster didn’t know. That she would never know. But Foster had figured out one part—that her Cora truly did care about and trust Sabine and Finn the same way she had with Foster’s biological parents and all the other parents she’d sat awake with and comforted as their babies fought for life, and sometimes lost that fight.
Cora had witnessed the hardest and worst part of Sabine and Finn’s life. A time that could have infected them, growing as dark and toxic as black mold. Instead, Cora had trusted them with Foster’s life and Tate’s. In Foster’s eyes, that was the highest stamp of approval a person could ever obtain.
She dabbed her cheeks with the sleeves of her shirt and stepped closer to Sabine. “Would you like a s’more? They’re the peace food of my people.”
Sabine’s purple-painted lips parted in the beginnings of a smile. “And what people would those be?” she asked, brushing tears from under her eyes.
Foster sniffled away the last remnants of her current sadness. Cora would be proud of her for making such a grand attempt at acquiring a friend. “Redheaded introverts who might sometimes be mistaken for being semi-bitchy.”
“Hmm.” Sabine’s full smile was dazzling. “Can’t say I’ve ever had a fellow introvert invite me to do anything in real life, but there’s a first time for everything.”
And Sabine couldn’t be more correct. About both points. Foster couldn’t think of the last time she’d asked someone who wasn’t Cora to do something. She’d asked a lot of people to go away or stop talking or leave her alone, but she was pretty positive that wasn’t the same thing. And this wasn’t just a regular Hey want to grab a coffee? Or go to Powell’s? Or go silently judge people in yoga? No. This was huge. This was s’mores. She’d yelled at Tate for eating na ked graham crackers and couldn’t even bring herself to open the bag of marshmallows much less roast one and make it into a dessert sandwich, but Sabine and Finn and Foster and Tate had been through so much—had lost so much. Maybe this new friendship, this new family, could be the silver lining of all that pain.
“Then let our s’mores be in honor of new beginnings,” Foster paused. “And telling new friends the truth instead of erasing their memories.”
17
FOSTER
Between her fingers, Sabine twirled and untwirled one of her long, thick braids while narrowing her upturned eyes at Foster. “You’re avoiding.”
“I’m not avoiding.” Foster piled a bag of chocolate chips atop an unopened bag of flour before closing the pantry door. “Can’t a woman just want some cookies?” she asked, setting the items on the kitchen counter.
Sabine remained silent and Foster’s defenses rose as Sabine’s deep fall leaf–brown gaze continued to bore into her. “You can’t still be mad at me for trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to Jedi mind trick Finn. For one, that was all the way in yesterday, and two, when you got out of class today you immediately came over with Finn and brought me scones. That doesn’t scream I’m still mad at you. That says, Hey, we can totally be friends. Plus, I’m making cookies. Friendship pastries galore!”
“I know.” Sabine pursed her plump lips. “And that last point was two things.”
Foster pawed through the Tupperware cabinet until she found a large mixing bowl. She set it on the counter and tried to remember in which drawer she’d seen the measuring cups.
Sabine was still looking at her. She could feel it. Sabine’s gaze of judgment clung to her, hanging suffocatingly heavy in the air around her like humidity. “Then what?” Foster said, no longer able to ignore Judgy McJudgerson.
Sabine’s braids rested on the table as she tilted her head. “What?”
“You keep looking at me like you have something to say, so just say it.” Foster opened the spice cabinet a little too forcefully.
Sabine flipped her hair over her shoulder and shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Okay, but if you don’t stop staring at me like I’m an alien, you’re not getting any cookies. I’m hoarding them all for myself.” Foster turned the bag of chocolate chips over so the recipe was faceup. She read the instructions five times and still hadn’t registered what the short, numbered sentences wanted her to do. Was this what it would be like with anyone who found out what she was capable of? She shook her head. Maybe if she just carried on like nothing major had happened, Sabine would, too.
“This says baking soda,” Foster lifted onto her tiptoes and peered into the cabinet. “But we only have baking powder.” She removed the tin from the shelf, popped the lid, and jiggled the round canister. “They look the same.” She offered it to Sabine. “Do you think there’s really a difference?”