I just smiled.
We sat side by side at the kitchen counter and ate in silence for a minute. The silence was comfortable.
Halfway through her eggs, Claire glanced up. "Before I reach out to anyone, you'll need to talk to Maeve. Get her permission."
I looked down at my plate, then back up. "Yeah. I figured."
She didn’t say anything, just waited.
I ran a hand through my hair. "She’s already overwhelmed. I don’t want to push."
Claire’s tone stayed even. "Let her decide that."
I stared at her for a beat, then gave a short nod. "Okay."
She set her fork down gently. "Just let me know when she’s ready."
She stood and took her plate to the sink, rinsing it and placing it in the dishwasher. Then she paused, like she might say something else, but didn’t.
"I’m going to make a few calls," she said quietly. "Give you a little space."
I nodded, watching her walk out of the room.
And then it was just me again. Me and the echo of her footsteps fading down the hall. And the pan cooling on the stove. And the space where her presence had been was still quietly humming.
I will have to call Maeve. Soon. Explain everything.
That a woman who looks like Nora is living in my apartment. Temporarily.
She’ll see the resemblance. Of course, she will. What if she thinks I invited Claire here because of that?
But I’m not trying to replace anyone. Claire’s a doctor, and it’s strictly about helping Maeve.
Except it’s notjustthat. Claire reminds me of the version of me who enjoyed connection.
Before I learned better.
I ran a hand down my face.
How the heck am I supposed to explain all this?
What It's Not
Claire
The alarm chirped again, new day, new plan. I didn’t bother with breakfast. I’d barely finished brushing my teeth when my brain kicked into gear. The checklist was already writing itself. I knew how to advocate without flinching.
Liam must’ve called Maeve yesterday. She already sent over her medical history, along with a short, carefully worded email that tried not to sound scared. She didn’t ask for help. Not directly. But she’d included her phone number and mentioned she welcomed any help navigating the health care system. That was enough.
So today, it was game on. Funny how someone else’s crisis had quickly become my crisis. Well, our crisis.
I looked at my watch. I had only been awake five minutes, but I was already at Liam’s dining room table, laptop open, legal pad beside me, and my phone on speaker. I usually worked in myroom. Today, I wanted to be close in case he had questions. Or I had questions for him.
Efficient.
The fact that the kitchen was in full view had nothing to do with it.
That’s what I told myself, anyway. It had nothing to do with having the perfect seat to occasionally glance up, just in case he wandered into the kitchen, barefoot and still sleep-rumpled.
