“I found a place in town,” I say carefully. “And I need help moving my things out.”
Silence.
The kind that feels dense. Like it eats sound. Even Sam Jr goes quiet, as if he can feel it.
Then Charlie bursts into tears.
Which, of course, sets Sam Jr off again.
I blink, stunned. “Um, sorry?”
Charlie covers her face, shaking her head as the tears keep coming.
“It’s me. I’m sorry,” she sniffles. “It’s the hormones. I just—I didn’t know you were really going.”
“I’m really going. But I’m not going far.” Then I pause. “Wait. Are you pregnant again?”
She nods, still crying.
Well, shit.
Sam smiles, warm and proud. “This is a big change, Phern. I’m proud of you.”
My own smile feels tight around the edges. “Well, sounds like you’re going to need the room.”
I glance at Will. He’s watching me, his expression unreadable, still holding Sam Jr like the baby belongs there. And somehow, that is what breaks me a little.
I clear my throat. “So, I guess I’ll start packing and let you know what I’d like to take.”
Will finally speaks, but not to me. “Load it in my truck,” he says to Sam. “It’s got a bigger bed. And I know you’ve got hay to move this week.”
The words are practical. Helpful. Distant. Part of me hates that he won’t even look at me. But I get it. I made things weird last night.
Quietly, I slip from the living room. I doubt anyone notices.
No one ever really does.
When I reach my room, I stop in the doorway, taking it all in.
This is where I grew up. Where I had my first crush, who, ironically, is just down the hall. Where I cried myself sick after my dad died. Where I swore I’d never laugh again. So many big moments tucked into these four walls. I exhale, long and slow, then start with the closet. Luckily, thanks to Sam’s constant deliveries for the ranch, there are always boxes around.
I label each one as I go. Clothes, check. Books, next. Desk, knickknacks. Memories I can’t let go of, tucked between paperbacks and candles. The last thing I pack is my stack of cookbooks.
The apartment isn’t furnished. I’ll need a couch. A table. Maybe a real coffee maker. Furniture for the kitchen and living room. Things I’ve never had to buy before. But for the first time, it feels like a good kind of lonely. Like I’m building something that’s mine. Even if it’s just four empty walls and a box of cookbooks.
Three hours later, my bedroom furniture is officially moved into the apartment above Sherry’s store.
I’m standing in the middle of a very empty living room when I hear the rumble of Will’s truck fade down the street.
He didn’t say much as he helped Sam unload everything. Hardly spoke, really. He didn’t mention that you can see his apartment from my living room window, either, though I know he noticed. We both did. When everything was inside, he gave me a small, polite smile and then he left.
I exhale slowly, letting the silence wrap around me. It’s mine now. This space. This moment.
Pulling out my phone, I start browsing for furniture. A couch. A kitchen table. Maybe a secondhand armchair with character and questionable history. The essentials.
My parents left me a decent amount of money when they passed. Then there’s what I’ve saved working on the ranch. I’ve never had to dip into those funds before but now, as I scroll through price tags and delivery fees, I realize I’ll have to be careful. Or find a way to make more money coming in.
Adult problems.
