Just as Jillian was about to unwrap another gift, her phone buzzed quietly against the table. She reached for it absently, expecting another congratulatory message. But when she saw the name flash across the screen—Megan—her brows lifted.
Hey superstar, not to ruin the mood... but any chance you're free to cover my night shift tomorrow? Emergency at home.
Jillian stared at the message for a second, thumb hovering over the screen. The room was still alive with soft laughter and the rustle of unwrapping, but her mind had already shifted.
Dante glanced over her shoulder. "Don't tell me that's work."
Jillian sighed with a small smirk. "Megan. She needs me to cover tomorrow night."
Leo raised an eyebrow. "You just got back. You sure you want to?"
Her grandmother looked at her, eyes kind but knowing. "Helping others is in your blood, Jia Li. But don't forget to help yourself too."
Jillian stared at the message a moment longer, then typed:
I've got you. Hope everything's okay.
She set the phone down and smiled faintly. "Looks like my celebration ends tonight."
Dante chuckled. "Of course it does. You'd get bored with peace anyway."
Late in the evening, Jillian decided to head home. By the time they stepped into Jillian's apartment, the sky outside had dipped into shades of deep blue, city lights flickering through the windows like distant stars. She kicked off her shoes at the door, letting out a soft groan of relief.
"I don't remember inviting anyone for a sleepover," she teased, glancing over her shoulder.
Dante was already making himself at home, tossing his jacket over the back of her couch. "Too bad. You're a national treasure now—we're your security detail."
"I brought tea and mooncakes," her grandmother added calmly, already unpacking her bag like she owned the place. "You'll sleep better with family nearby."
Leo gave her a small shrug, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he slid out of his coat. "I figured you wouldn't want to be alone tonight."
Jillian blinked, then slowly shook her head with a laugh. "You're all unbelievable."
"Grateful. That's the word you're looking for," Dante corrected, plopping onto the couch and grabbing the remote. "Also—dibs on the guest blanket."
She turned to her grandmother, amused. "You knew this was happening, didn't you?"
Her grandmother only smiled as she laid out a small tin of herbal balm and a soft scarf on the coffee table. "It's not every day we get to celebrate you."
Jillian stood in the middle of her living room, watching the three people closest to her fill the space with warmth and quiet chaos. She wasn't used to this—this kind of comfort that didn't ask for anything in return.
She exhaled, deeply, and smiled.
"Fine," she said. "But I'm making breakfast."
"Only if it includes dumplings," Leo murmured, already pulling out extra pillows.
"Deal," Jillian replied, and just for that moment, the weight of the world felt a little lighter.
After having dinner, Jillian light yellow lamps in the living room and a soft flicker of light that her grandmother insisted on lighting—"for good dreams," she'd said. The kettle whistled softly as Jillian poured steaming water into mismatched mugs.
Dante and Leo were sprawled on the rug, a deck of old playing cards between them.
"Still remember how to play Big Two?" Dante asked, shuffling lazily.
Leo scoffed. "Please. I'm the undefeated champion."
"That's a lie and you know it," Jillian said, returning with tea. She set the mugs down and joined them on the floor. "I beat you both the last time we played."
Her grandmother smiled from the couch, quietly knitting something that looked like the start of a scarf. "Don't let her modesty fool you. She learned to count by playing cards with her grandfather."
The game began, full of teasing, quick hands, and playful groans whenever someone lost a round. Laughter came easy. Jillian couldn't remember the last time her apartment felt so alive.
They took a break halfway through to heat up leftovers and dig into the mooncakes her grandmother brought. They sat cross-legged around the coffee table, eating in comfortable silence, broken only by an occasional sarcastic comment from Dante.
Later, someone found an old playlist on Jillian's phone—low, mellow tunes that played softly in the background as they sat around telling stories from residency days, childhood, and embarrassing first crushes.
Leo yawned first, dramatically. "Alright. I'm crashing."
Dante stretched with a groan. "Fine. But if I find you on my blanket, it's war."
"You sleep like a rock," Jillian said, grabbing extra pillows. "You wouldn't notice a parade."
Her grandmother folded up her knitting and looked around, satisfied. "Now this… this is a good night."
Jillian smiled, looking at each of them in turn. "Yeah. It really is."
And as they slowly drifted off—one by one—Jillian sat on the edge of her bed, watching the city blink outside her window, heart full in the quiet hush of belonging.
*****
The soft light of dawn crept in through the windows, painting the apartment in hues of amber and cream. Jillian stirred beneath the covers, slowly blinking awake to the muffled sound of someone moving around in the kitchen.
For a brief second, she forgot anyone had stayed over—until she heard Dante whisper-yelling, "No, Grandma, that's not how you use the electric kettle," followed by a low chuckle from Leo.
She smiled sleepily.
The events of yesterday came rushing back—the summit, the surprise celebration, her friends and family deciding, without asking, to stay the night. She hadn't protested. Not really. Something about waking up with people who loved her nearby felt like a rare gift.
Sliding out of bed, she wrapped herself in a warm cardigan and padded into the kitchen.
"There she is," Leo said, glancing over his shoulder from the counter, where he was attempting to slice vegetables with precision. "The celebrity chef herself."
Her grandmother beamed from beside the stove. "We were just about to wake you. You promised dumplings."
"And I keep my promises," Jillian said with a small grin, pulling her hair into a loose bun. "Everyone washed their hands?"
Dante raised both hands dramatically. "Scrubbed like I was going into surgery."
They gathered around the kitchen island, a small army of chopping boards, bowls, and flour-dusted plates forming their battlefield. Laughter filled the air as they folded dumplings together—some perfectly shaped, others hilariously lopsided.
Leo paused midway, glancing at Jillian. "No hospital today?"
Jillian shook her head. "I'm off until tonight. I promised Megan I'd take her night shift—family emergency."
Her grandmother looked up, eyes soft. "You're always taking care of someone, Jia Li."
Jillian pressed a dumpling closed with practiced fingers. "That's just who I am."
Dante bumped her shoulder gently. "You're allowed to take care of yourself too, you know."
"I am," she said quietly, looking around the kitchen at the familiar faces. "Right now."
They shared a quiet smile before getting back to the work—filling, folding, frying.
By the time the sun was high, the apartment was filled with the smell of crispy-bottomed dumplings and tea. They ate cross-legged around the coffee table, dipping, chewing, laughing—nothing rushed, nothing complicated.
For once, Jillian allowed herself to just be.