Chapter 3

The insulated box was outside our building when I returned. Mom had taped a note to the lid.

*Megan, whenever you miss home, cook yourself a few. Don't sit there hungry.*

Inside were frozen pierogi, jars of sauerkraut, some homemade rolls, and a tiny pair of baby booties she'd knitted with blue snowflakes.

*For my grandson. Grandma can't wait to meet him.*

I ran my fingers over the little booties.

Elliot came downstairs and read the note. "Your mother spoils you too much."

"I'm her daughter. Who else is she supposed to spoil?"

At home, his mother complained that the sauerkraut would stink up the refrigerator. She lifted one jar and frowned.

"Don't touch it," I said.

Elliot grabbed my wrist. "Megan. Let go."

"My mom sent this to me."

"I'll buy new groceries. It's just cabbage."

His mother threw the jar into the trash.

My knees almost buckled.

"Natalie says you're supposed to avoid emotional stress," Elliot told me, putting an arm around my shoulders as if he hadn't caused it.

"Natalie said that?"

He looked away. "She knows nutrition."

That night Natalie arrived with a cake and a tray of delicate appetizers.

"I heard things were tense," she said gently. "I thought I'd help."

Elliot's mother beamed at her. "You always know what to do."

Natalie had brought pierogi too, lightly pan-fried and filled with ingredients Elliot liked.

"These are different," he explained when I looked at them. "Not so heavy."

Natalie smiled. "Pregnant women really should watch the carbs, Megan. If you're craving something, sometimes smelling it is enough."

Then she saw the baby booties. "They're cute. A little tacky, though, don't you think?"

I took them from her hand.

Elliot frowned. "Why do you always take things personally?"

That night, I booked a flight to Minneapolis for the day after Christmas.

One more day, I told myself. Then I could go home.