Chapter 4: The Invitation
Two days later, Astrid pushed open the door of the deli alone. The bell jingled overhead, and the familiar rush of brine and spices wrapped around her like a blanket. She had meant to come in for pickles, just pickles. But her back had been screaming since dawn, a deep, grinding ache that radiated down her left hip, and the jar of ginger blend sat unopened in her pantry because she hadn't quite figured out the heating process, and she had questions. Many, many questions.
The front counter sat empty. She leaned against it, scanning the rows of jars, and heard a muffled clatter from the back room. A moment later, Dina's voice drifted out, warm and harried.
"Be with you in a second. Unless you're here for the spicy spears, in which case, I'm sorry, my husband is a saint and you're out of luck." There was a grunt, a thud, the sound of something heavy shifting. "Mother of God. Leo, don't just stand there. This jar weighs more than I do."
Astrid rounded the counter and pushed through the beaded curtain that led to the back. The room was a chaotic sanctuary of wooden shelves and stainless steel counters, jars in every stage of pickling, floating with cucumbers, garlic, chili, and dill. Dina stood in the center of it, hands pressed to the small of her back, scowling at a box of glass jars that appeared to have tipped over.
Her belly strained the fabric of her apron, a full, proud circle, and there was a streak of brine across her cheek. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, and her scowl cracked into a delighted smile.
"Astrid. Oh, thank God, a friendly face." She gestured at the scattered jars. "I was trying to prove I'm still capable of stocking my own shelves and I have officially lost that argument. Leo's out with the baby's aunt, so it's just me and my pride and a very stubborn box."
"Let me help." Astrid moved forward, bending to gather jars.
"Absolutely not. You're a customer, and you're pregnant. That's a double exemption." Dina waved her toward a stool shoved against the wall. "Sit. Please. You look like you're in pain, and I don't just mean from seeing the back of this place."
Astrid hesitated, then sank onto the stool with a grateful sigh. The pressure in her lower back eased slightly with the change in position. Dina kicked the box aside, wiped her hands on her apron, and assessed her with that same knowing, professional eye.
"Lower back again?"
"Worse today. I tried the ginger compress. I think I did it wrong." Astrid looked up at her, sheepish. "I heated it in the microwave for five minutes and it turned into a paste. A very hot paste. I nearly burned my kidneys out."
Dina's laugh was bright, unguarded. "You're supposed to warm it on the stove, gentle, like you're softening butter. Jesus. I should have written instructions. I just assumed common sense." She crossed to a cabinet, pulling out a small pot and the jar of blend from Astrid's outstretched hand. "Here. Let me show you. It's honestly the highlight of my day, having someone to teach this stuff to."
She moved with that careful, weighted grace, filling the pot with water, setting it on the small hot plate in the corner. Astrid watched her, noticing the way her shoulders tensed as she bent, the set of her jaw. Dina was tired. There were shadows under her eyes that the warm light couldn't hide.
"How are you feeling?" Astrid asked, venturing the question gently. "Really?"
Dina paused, her hand hovering over the pot. "Honestly? I'm exhausted. I'm lying to customers about being a saint. The baby feels like he's trying to break out through my ribs. My feet look like sausages. And every time I bend over for a jar of cucumbers, I have a private conversation with God about whether he's forgotten me." She glanced over, a rueful smile tugging at her mouth. "But I'm fine. I'm happy. I'm just tired and happy and enormous."
Astrid laughed, the sound startling her. She covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh. But I know exactly what you mean. Yesterday I cried for twenty minutes because I couldn't reach my own shoelaces. Shane had to get down on his knees in the middle of our hallway and tie my shoes for me, and I was sorry the whole time, which made me cry harder."
"Did he know what to do?" Dina asked. "Leo would've just stared at me like I'd grown a second head."
"He tied my shoes. Then he made me tea. Then he went out and got me the pickles you made, which he apparently drove forty minutes for." Astrid shook her head, a soft smile crossing her face. "He's... he's annoyingly perfect about it. All of it. He makes me so angry sometimes just by being so goddamn constant."
Dina's eyebrows rose, a spark of interest in her tired eyes. "That's a compliment, I hope."
"I don't know what it is." Astrid stared at her hands, folded in her lap over the swell of her belly. "He's given up so much. His body, his time, his sleep. He's holding me like I'm made of glass at night and I know he's still recovering from his games. He has games. And he comes home and kisses my belly and tells his daughter about the score and then spends twenty minutes rubbing my back until I fall asleep. How is that possible? How does anyone sustain that?"
Dina's movement slowed. She turned, leaning against the counter, her arms resting on the shelf of her belly. The exhaustion in her face had sharpened into something else. Curiosity. Kinship.
"Leo's not like that," she said quietly. "He's a good man. He's steady. He works hard. But he doesn't... he doesn't see me the way he used to." She gestured at her body, a rueful sweep. "Not like this. He's careful with me now. Gentle. He sleeps with his back to me so he doesn't bump the baby. He tiptoes around me like I'm going to break. And I appreciate it, I do, but sometimes I just want to feel like his wife again. Not a glass vase."
Astrid's throat tightened. She knew that feeling. The careful distance, the way desire got sanded down into solicitousness. Shane was different, thank God, but she'd heard the same complaint from so many women, this slow erasure of the woman into the vessel.
"Shane isn't careful with me," Astrid said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "He's... he's not gentle. I mean, he is, with the baby. But when we're together, when he wants me, he treats me like I'm still the woman he married. Not a mother-to-be. Just his."
Dina's eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw passing through them. "What do you mean?"
Astrid hesitated. The space between them felt electric, charged with a confession she hadn't known she was carrying. But something about this room, the warm scent of brine and ginger, the weariness in Dina's face, loosened her tongue.
"Two nights ago, he came home from a game. He was still in his suit, and I was in the bedroom, and I was looking at myself in the mirror," Astrid said, her voice dropping low. "I was miserable, touching my belly, feeling like some kind of beached whale. And he came up behind me. Didn't say a word. Just took my hand and put it on him. He was already hard. And he said the dirtiest things to me. He called me gorgeous and he stripped my robe off and he fucked me right there, bent over the dresser, holding my belly from behind the whole time. And the whole time I was, God, I was so turned on. My daughter was kicking. He said she knew her mama was happy."
Dina had gone very still. Her hand had stopped on the counter, fingers curled against the wood. Her breathing had changed, shallow and tight. When she spoke, her voice was barely a rasp.
"Jesus."
"I know," Astrid said, suddenly flush with embarrassment. She looked away, pressing a hand to her heated cheek. "I shouldn't have said that. That's too much. Forget I told you."
"No." Dina's voice was quick, almost desperate. "Don't take it back. That's the most romantic thing I've heard in months." She shifted, a flush creeping up her own neck. "Leo and I, we haven't... we haven't done anything since the second trimester. He's afraid he'll hurt the baby. We can't even talk about it. He touches me like I'm glass, and I want to scream at him."
Astrid looked at her, seeing the raw hunger in her face, the isolation. "He's not the same with you? Not at all?"
Dina shook her head, staring at the floor. "In the first trimester I was so sick I didn't care. But now..." She pressed a hand to her belly, stroking the curve. "I feel like myself again. Better. I feel gorgeous and desperate and all I want is for him to throw me down on that bed and treat me like a woman. But he won't. He thinks it's what I want, being handled with kid gloves." She met Astrid's eyes, and there was a pleading in them. "How do I get him to see me the way Shane sees you?"
Astrid thought about Shane's hands on her hips, the possessive thrust of him inside her, the reverence in his voice when he called her beautiful. She thought about the vulnerability in Dina's face and the isolation in her confession.
"Tell him," Astrid said. "Directly. Don't hint, don't hope he reads your mind. Men don't read minds. I've been trying to express my needs my whole adult life, and I had to literally spell it out for Shane before he understood what I wanted." She paused, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You have to say the actual words, Dina. 'I want you to bend me over the counter and fuck me like you used to.' Scary as it is, that gets results."
Dina let out a shaky laugh, pressing her hands to her flushed face. "Astrid. God. You can't just say things like that. I'm a delicate flower relocating to the third trimester."
"You're the woman who makes the best pickles in Chicago and you're running a business with a bowling ball strapped to your chest. You're not delicate. You just forget it sometimes." Astrid leaned forward, reaching out to take Dina's hands. "You're still sexy. You're still his wife. And he still wants you. He's just scared. The same way you're scared, but you're not the one who's been told he can hurt the baby, so he's paralyzed."
Dina stared at her for a long moment, something cracking open in her face. Her fingers tightened around Astrid's, and she blinked rapidly. "How did you get so wise? You're barely a month further along than me. You're in the same swamp."
"Because I spent nine months raging against my husband for being perfect." A laugh escaped her. "It turns out the thing I needed wasn't him changing, it was him accepting me when I changed. And I needed someone to tell me I wasn't alone. That's what I got. From you."
The soup bubbled on the hot plate, and Dina straightened, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a rueful smile breaking through. "Okay. Enough crying. You've inspired me. I'm going to throw myself at my husband tonight and if he tries to put me to bed, I'm going to handcuff him to the headboard with my hair ties."
Astrid snorted. "That's an image."
"Tell me about it." Dina crossed to the pot, turning off the heat. She poured the heated blend into a clean dish towel and folded it carefully. "Here. Hands off. Original recipe. Put this on your back while you tell me more about Shane and his wonderful, unusual approach to pregnancy."
Astrid took the warm compress, pressing it against her aching spine. The heat seeped through, loosening muscle and tension with a deep relief that made her groan. "Oh. Oh, that's amazing. I'm going to learn to make this myself and never let it go."
"Trade secret. But I'll teach you for free." Dina settled onto the stool opposite her, her hands cradling her own belly. "So. Dinner. You mentioned that. When are you coming over?"
Dina's question hung in the air, and their knees touched under the table. It was an accident, the way their stool positions had drifted closer while they talked, but neither woman pulled away. The contact was warm through the thin cotton of their pants, an easy, unremarkable pressure that somehow felt loaded with everything they'd just confessed.
"Tomorrow," Astrid said. "Or the day after. I'll have to clear it with my husband's ego, but I think he'll survive one night without me."
"Oh, I don't know about that." Dina's smile was teasing. "The way you described him, I think he'd follow you across state lines for a chance to rub your back."
"He would. He's ridiculous." Astrid shifted on the stool, the compress still warm against her spine. The relief was deep and genuine, the first time her back had felt human in days. "He's also going to lose his mind when I tell him I made a pregnant friend who gives me free herbs. He thinks I'm incapable of social connection outside of a courtroom."
"He sounds like my Leo." Dina's hand rested on the table, curled around the curve of her belly. "All practicality, no romance. But I married him anyway, so I guess I'm the fool."
"You're not a fool." The words came out more firmly than Astrid intended. She reached across the table, covering Dina's hand with her own. "You're exhausted and you're scared and you've been carrying the weight of this pregnancy mostly alone because he doesn't know how to be in it with you. That doesn't make you a fool. That makes you human."
Dina's eyes glistened. Her fingers turned under Astrid's, lacing together loosely. "God, I needed to hear that. I didn't know I needed to hear that."
They sat like that for a moment, hands tangled, knees pressed together under the table. The warm light filtered through the window, catching the dust motes floating in the air. The room smelled of brine and ginger and something green and growing. Astrid was acutely aware of Dina's belly, a firm presence against the edge of the table, the same exact shape as her own.
"I think," Astrid said slowly, "that we both needed this more than we knew."
Dina nodded, wiping her cheek with her free hand. "You said something earlier, about Shane seeing you the way he did before. What did that feel like? I mean, physically. When he looked at you like that, when he wasn't being careful, what did it do to you?"
The question was raw, curious, leaving her exposed. Astrid felt heat creep up her throat. But Dina had offered her ginger and kindness and a mirror to her own fears. She deserved honesty.
"It made me feel like I wasn't just a body housing a baby," Astrid said, her voice low. "It made me feel like I was still a woman who could be wanted. Not in spite of the pregnancy. Because of it. He looked at my belly like it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, and he looked at me like I was the one who'd given it to him." She paused. "And then he held me and told me he loved me, and I cried like an idiot."
Dina's fingers tightened around hers. "You're not an idiot. You're lucky. You've got something most women never get."
"I know. I keep trying to remind myself of that on the days when I feel like a beached whale."
"You keep doing that." Dina laughed, though her eyes were still bright with emotion. "I'm going to open a second deli just to keep you coming back for pep talks."
"Don't threaten me with a good time." Astrid squeezed her hand and let go, leaning back on the stool. She pressed the compress more firmly against her aching spine. "Okay. I have a question, and you have to promise not to judge me."
"I'll try. I can't promise anything else."
Astrid glanced toward the front of the deli, making sure they were still alone. The bell over the door hadn't jingled in the half hour they'd been talking. Still, she lowered her voice.
"Last night, after Shane fell asleep, I was lying in bed thinking about him. And I couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to be with someone else. Not a specific person, just... the idea of it. The idea of being wanted by a stranger." She looked at Dina, face hot. "Is that normal? Does that make me a terrible wife?"
Dina's expression softened. "No, it doesn't. I think every woman wants that sometimes. The thrill of being seen fresh. Not the weight of history and expectation and shared toothpaste. Just being wanted, plain and simple."
"Did you ever feel it?"
Dina was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was hushed. "A few weeks ago, a delivery guy brought a crate of cucumbers. He was young, maybe twenty-three. He asked if I was married, and when I said yes, he looked at my belly and said my husband was the luckiest man in Chicago. Then he winked at me and left." She shook her head. "I thought about that wink for three hours, Astrid. I thought about it in the shower. I felt guilty and then I felt wicked for feeling guilty."
"But you never did anything."
"God, no. I have a husband and a baby on the way and a hundred jars of half-processed pickles. I don't have time for a fantasy life. But that doesn't stop my brain from going there." Dina tilted her head, studying Astrid with renewed interest. "Why are you telling me this? Why now?"
Astrid swallowed. The question sat heavy in the space between them. She looked down at her hands, at the soft swell of her knuckles, and then up at the woman across from her, the weariness and warmth and dark, knowing eyes.
"Because I've never met anyone who understood what I meant," Astrid said. "I'm a lawyer. I argue with people for a living. I've spent my whole life being fierce and independent and in control." She gestured at her belly. "And then this happens, and suddenly I'm not in control of anything. My body is a stranger. My emotions are a wreck. And the only person who makes sense is Shane, and even he can't always reach me." She met Dina's gaze. "But you do. You get it. You're not afraid of the parts of me that I'm scared of myself."
Dina's lips parted. Something shifted in her expression, a crack in the careful structure of her weariness. She leaned forward slightly, her chair groaning beneath her weight, and her knee pressed more firmly against Astrid's under the table.
"I think," Dina said slowly, "that we're both a little more lost than we're willing to admit. And maybe we've both been waiting for someone to find us."
The words hung in the air, heavy and sweet as the brine scent around them.
Astrid opened her mouth to respond, but the bell over the front door jingled. Dina's eyes flicked toward the sound, and the spell broke. She rose from her stool with a groan, pressing a hand to the small of her back.
"Duty calls." Her smile was rueful. "Tomorrow, then. Dinner. I'll bring pickles."
"You always bring pickles."
"It's my whole brand." Dina paused at the doorway, looking back over her shoulder. Her face was softer now, the weariness tempered by something new, a quiet understanding that had settled between them. "And Astrid? Thank you. For today. For all of it."
Astrid pressed the compress against her chest, holding it like a promise. "Thank you too. For the herbs. And the honesty."
Dina nodded and pushed through the beaded curtain, her voice already rising into a warm greeting for whoever had entered. Astrid stayed on the stool a moment longer, her breath slow and even, her fingers tracing the edge of the cloth. Tomorrow. Dinner. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she had a feeling Dina was looking for the same thing.