"Rise and shine, Pixie!" Dad's enthusiasm is genuine but gentler than usual.
He steps into the room and plants a soft kiss on my forehead, then immediately moves to adjust the ceiling fan without me saying a word about the humidity. Caleb used to do that with the car vents when I'd get carsick.
I pull on yoga pants and a soft maxi dress, then head to the meditation pavilion, where Mom's arranging her morning tea ceremony. The view stretches across rice terraces to misty mountains, golden light spilling over everything.
Mom sits cross-legged on a cushion, crystal necklaces swaying as she arranges various cups and bowls around her like she's preparing for some kind of cosmic teaparty.
"Perfect timing," she says without opening her eyes. "The energy's especially potent at sunrise."
I settle onto the cushion across from her. "Is that tea, or some kind of ceremonial offering?"
"Both." She smiles, pouring a cup. "One of Grams' blends, though she always says I make it too strong. Something about spiritual growth not needing to taste of tree bark."
The liquid hits my tongue—bitter and raw. "I see her point."
My customers at The Enchanted Quill would probably revolt if I served something this intensely herbal. They prefer their spiritual awakening to taste of vanilla and honey, not . . . whatever this is.
"You're deflecting." She pours herself a cup. "Want to talk about why you're really here?"
"Can't a girl just visit her parents?"
"Of course. But that's not the only reason you're here."
My hands tighten around the cup. "I needed space."
"From Caleb? Or from yourself?"
"Mom—"
"For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing. You were protecting yourself."
"Was I? Or was I just being too much?" The words tumble out, all the thoughts I've been wrestling with. "I mean, I'm the one who pushed. Asked for more. Wanted him to actually talk about feelings instead of—"
"Stop." Mom's voice is firm. "Asking for what you need isn't pushing."
"I'm trying to remember who I was before him. And I blocked him because . . ."
"Because?"
"Because I was afraid if he called, I'd answer. If he came back, I'd pretend none of it happened."
"That's not weakness, Ivy. That's being human." Mom reaches across the space between us, her fingers finding mine. "Healing isn't linear. It's more like . . ."
"Please don't say it's like a spiral."
"I was going to say it's like learning to dance." Her eyes crinkle. "Sometimes you step forward, sometimes back. But you're still moving. Love isn't about making yourself smaller so someone else can feel big enough. It's about growing together. Or sometimes . . ." She squeezes my hand. "Growing apart."
"I miss him," I admit quietly. "But I think I need to focus on me for a while. Get back to who I was before all this mess."
Back home, I know Amelia and Vinnie are probably overfeeding Salem out of guilt, while Daphne's turned my duck care into some kind of color-coded schedule. They've all been perfect—taking care of my world without question, and never once mentioning his name after I begged them not to. The unspoken agreement hangs between us: Caleb Miller is a forbidden topic, and they respect that boundary even when I can see the worry in their eyes.
"Then that's where we start." She reaches for a crystal bowl. "With remembering who you are without him."
The path to TanahLot stretches before us, worn smooth by centuries of pilgrim feet. My thighs burn as I follow the local guide, thinking about how many Instagram influencers make this climb look effortless in flowing dresses and perfect makeup. Meanwhile, I'm sweating in places I didn't know could sweat.
"The temple teaches us patience," our guide, Nyoman, says with a smile. "And sometimes, humility."
As if on cue, my foot slips, and I catch myself against the ancient stone, heart pounding. "Definitely feeling humbled right now."
