I watch her go down the front walk the way I’ve apparently started doing, like I need to see her off before I can move on with my morning.
Back in the kitchen, I pour myself more coffee and stand at the counter.It’s been over a week since the memorial, and not a single word from Erica.I keep waiting for the other shoe, keep checking my phone with that old familiar bracing, but nothing.Just silence.And the longer it holds, the more the relief settles in me, slow and cautious, like ice that’s only starting to trust the thaw.
More than that—Grace has been sleeping in my bed.We haven’t announced anything or named what we are out loud to anyone, not even ourselves.But I’ve never slept so well in my life.
She slips into my room after Mom goes to bed, and I’ve started sticking to the same side of the bed without thinking about it.In the same way you develop a habit around something you don’t want to examine too closely.Whatever this is, we’ve agreed without saying much to keep it between us for now.
What we haven’t talked about is what happens when the feature is done.When Grace packs up her notes and her laptop and goes back to her life.I know it’s coming.I keep telling myself, she needs to finish the assignment first, and then we can figure it out.But she, too, doesn’t bring it up, and somehow, the days keep passing anyway.
Wrapping both hands around my mug, I stare out the kitchen window toward the barn until the creak of the front door opening gets my attention.
“What did you forget?”I automatically turn toward the hallway, already half smiling.
I’m sure Grace isn’t happy with being even later for Zoe, but I’m more than happy to steal another minute or two.As I round the corner, my smile dies.
It isn’t Grace.
Erica stands in my hallway, skin dull and eyes wild, and the sight of her hits me the same way it always does now—not with the old pull, but something closer to exhaustion.
“Erica.”Her name comes out flat.“I don’t care why you’re here.Leave.”
“I came to see Meri.”She lifts her chin, breezy and unbothered, stepping farther into the entryway like she belongs here.
“My mother was with you earlier this week.”
Something flickers behind her eyes, quick and calculated, but her expression doesn’t crack.She’s always been good at that.I used to think it was composure, but now I know better.
“She told me to come by.”
There’s no point in calling her out on the lie because it won’t go anywhere.It only gives her something to dig into, a way to turn the conversation into a negotiation, and I don’t have the energy for it, nor do I care enough.Instead, I get to what I do care about.
“Who paid for your airfare?”
She blinks, and the breezy act slips just slightly.“What?”
“It’s a simple question.”I set my mug on the side table and fold my arms.“I didn’t pay.And I talked to Reggie—she knew you were coming, had a place ready for you, but she didn’t buy your ticket.So, who did?”
She tilts her head and smiles, slow and deliberate, the smile she used to use when she wanted something and knew she had leverage.“Take me out.Like old times.And I’ll tell you.”
“Not happening.”
Since I block the kitchen entry, she wanders into the living room, trailing her fingers along the back of the couch.
“So, are you going to introduce me to your new girlfriend?”Her voice goes light and airy while her fingers knot in her hair.“Grace.”She says the name like it’s ridiculous.“Everyone in town just loves her, don’t they.”Her lip curls.“The way they talk about her, you’d think she’s lived here her whole life.”
“Who paid?”
Erica’s expression says exactly what she thinks of my silence.“She seems very…” A small pause, the kind designed to let you fill in the blank with something worse than whatever she was going to say.“…wholesome.”
“Who paid for the airfare, Erica?”
She turns to face me fully, and whatever game she was playing shifts gears.The coyness fades a notch.“Marcos.”
The floor slides out from under me.I lock my knees, letting it move through me the way bad news does when it’s worse than you’d prepared for.
Of course it’s Marcos.
“You realize he’s setting you up.”My voice comes out quieter than I intend, which is somehow worse.“You understand that’s what this is.”