Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Worse. And better. I don’t know yet.
The pause this time is longer. When she replies, her tone has shifted.
Do you want me to tell you to come home? Or to stay?
That’s the problem. Everyone thinks it’s one or the other.
I set my phone down and pad quietly into the hallway, careful not to wake anyone. Aunt Carol’s house is warm even at this hour, heat humming softly through the vents. Family photos line the walls, everything from birthdays, weddings, faces I recognize and some I don’t. My mother appears in more frames than I expect, smiling in moments I wasn’t there for.
I pause in the kitchen.
The mug I grew up seeing in my mom’s hand sits drying on the rack, clean now, carefully placed there last night by Aunt Carol like an act of remembrance. It makes me smile knowing she has her own KEEP box too.
I rest my fingers against the counter and draw in a slow breath, grounding myself in the cool solidity beneath my skin. Grief has a way of finding me when I am not looking for it, slipping in softly, already knowing where to settle, how to make itself felt known. This time, it’s not as sharp. It’s just there, present.
I pick up my phone again to reply to Lena.
Can you just… be there when I land?
Her reply comes instantly.
Always. But Sav, you don’t sound like someone who’s done yet.
I swallow hard, because she’s right.
I’m not done with the boxes I didn’t open.
With the photos I haven’t asked about.
With the man who didn’t ask me to stay but somehow made leaving feel heavier than it ever has.
My phone buzzes again.
A different name.
Morning. Just checking to see if you’re up and alert. You never liked mornings or warm coats…
Erik.
I lean back against the counter, the cool surface grounding my fluttering heartbeat.
I am. Thank you for your concern. Just finishing up and then I’m heading out.
There is a pause long enough that I can picture him standing in his kitchen, barefoot and half awake, wearing nothing but boxers and a worn robe he never bothers to tie, the fabric hanging open, his body still warm from bed, skin smelling faintly of sleep and musk, like if I were there I could reach out and feel the heat of him without even touching.
Drive safe.
Two words. Nothing else.
It shouldn’t pull a seam from me but it does.
I press my lips together, forcing a breath, then type before I can overthink it.
Thank you. For everything.
The reply doesn’t come right away.
I head back toward the guest room, suitcase still waiting, half-open like it’s holding space for a decision I haven’t made yet. My flight leaves at six. In less than two hours, I’m supposed to be moving forward again, back to a life that never stopped without me.
My phone vibrates.
I’m really glad you stayed with family this time.
I stand near the edge of the bed, the house settling around me, the quiet thick with unsaid things. Down the hall, a floorboard creaks as someone else wakes. For the first time in years, I’m not alone in this.
My phone buzzes. It’s Lena again.
Sav… Just a reminder that decisions are not tattoos. Whatever you choose right now can still change later. I love you. xx
“Thought I heard movement,” a voice whispers at the threshold of the door. Aunt Carol emerges.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I apologize.
“Nonsense,” Aunt Carol says immediately, her arms tightening around me for a moment longer before she lets go, hands still resting on my shoulders like she needs the contact to hold. “How are feeling? Are you ready? Most importantly, have you had coffee?”
She steps back just enough to look at me properly, her eyes catching on the open suitcase on the bed, the quiet incompleteness of it, the coat over my arm, the way I’m already braced to go. There’s something knowing in her expression.
“I’d love a cup of coffee.” It’s a request for more than just caffeine.
Aunt Carol heads for the kitchen to put on a pot, and I zip my suitcase shut, sealing up more than just clothes. I pause at the doorway, whispering see you later to the guest room, as if it might remember me when I’m gone.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills my nostrils as I pat my coat pockets out of habit, then check the small table by the door, the dresser, the nightstand again, despite knowing better. Apparently, my ability to lose my keys travels well, even outside New York City.
“Have you seen my rental car keys?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual as I glance toward Aunt Carol in the kitchen.
She looks up from the counter, coffee mug in hand, and something flickers across her face. “Your keys?”
“Yeah,” I say, turning back toward the guest room, scanning surfaces that suddenly feel unfamiliar. “I must’ve set them down somewhere. You know, I always do this…”