"Thanks." She's quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. "That's why I moved here, actually. I couldn't stay in the city after she was gone. Too many memories. Too many places that reminded me of her."
"So, you left."
"Yeah. I ran away."
I understand that. More than she probably realizes.
"It's not running if you're moving toward something," I say.
"Is that what you did? Moved toward something?"
I shouldn't answer that. Shouldn't give her anything that might make her think she can keep asking, keep pushing.
But I hear myself say, "Yeah."
"What were you moving toward?"
"Quiet."
She nods slowly. "Did you find it?"
I look at the fire, at the way the flames dance and shift. "Most days."
"And the other days?"
"The other days are harder."
I don't know why I'm telling her this. Don't know why the words are coming out when I've spent six years keeping them locked down. Maybe it's because she's sitting here in my clothes, in my house, looking at me like I'm not something broken. Maybe it's because she told me about her mother and there's something about grief that recognizes itself.
Or maybe I'm just tired.
Tired of holding everything so tight. Tired of the silence that's supposed to be healing but sometimes just feels empty.
"I get that," she says softly. "The harder days."
We sit there for a while, not talking. Just existing in the same space. It should feel uncomfortable- I should be counting the seconds until she leaves. But it doesn't. It just feels…
I don't know what it feels like.
"The lasagna's probably cold by now," she says eventually.
I glance toward the kitchen, where the pan is still sitting on the table by the door. "It'll keep."
"You should try it while I'm here. That way if it's terrible, you can tell me and spare yourself the food poisoning."
"I'm sure it's fine."
"You haven't tasted my cooking. I'm good at a lot of things, but I'm still figuring out Mom's recipes. This was my first attempt at her lasagna."
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. "Your first attempt."
"I know. Risky move, bringing an experiment to the grumpy hermit." She grins. "But I'm an optimist."
"I noticed."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Depends on the day."