Subject: Culinary Achievements (Sort of)
I can officially sayI’ve mastered three things: scrambled eggs, pasta (from a box—don’t get excited), and lighting the stove without flinching like it’s going to explode.
Cooking class is ...not exactly glamorous.But it’s surprisingly calming.There’s something about following instructions, slicing things evenly, and knowing that if you screw it up, the worst thing that happens is a burnt omelet.There’s no past haunting your stovetop.Just heat, time, and the hope that you don’t poison yourself or anyone else.
Today we made grilled cheese with tomato soup—which sounds simple, I know.But it was the first time I sat down to eat something I made and didn’t feel like I was faking adulthood.Otis sat next to me like he expected his plate.I gave him a piece of crust.He sneezed on it.We called it even.
My family said it was good for such an underwhelming dinner.Which, coming from them, is a win.
About Allegra ...I’ve been thinking about what you said.Maybe she and Otis would bond over our bad taste in wallowing music.Or perhaps she’d knock his bowl over to assert dominance, and he’d follow her around like she was royalty.I think he’d like her.He has a soft spot for the aloof.
There’s a lot I don’t have figured out yet.I’m still trying to teach guitar to the neighbor kid—he plays everything way too fast, like he’s racing the silence.But sometimes he hits the right note and, for a second, it’s like I’m not failing him.Or myself.
Anyway, this was a long way of saying: I’m still here.Still trying.I’m no longer burning my toast.
Song of the day:
“Walking in Memphis”—Marc Cohn
Because lately, every step forward feels like a strange kind of miracle.Even the small ones.
Letme know what Allegra’s listening to this week—and you.
ChapterNinety-Nine
Private Message | EchoZone Internal Chat
From: StringTheory27
To: DeadStrings
Date: September 20th, 1997, 5:01 PM
Subject: Can you lend me an ear?
I thinkI blew up the world and now I’m sitting in the aftermath wondering if I did the right thing—or just made everything worse.
It wasn’t impulsive.I did it knowing there’d be consequences.I exposed things.Truths.The kind that don’t just shake people, they break the foundation they’ve built their lives on.I did it because people were hurting.People my father hurt.People who deserved to be seen and believed.
But now I feel like I’ve become the villain in the DeVonaire legacy drama.Like I’ve torched the family name—and myself with it.There are whispers, headlines, people looking at me like I betrayed something sacred.Maybe I did.Maybe silence would’ve been easier.Cleaner.But it wouldn’t have been right.
And now ...I feel alone.Allegra’s here, of course, but she’s taken to hiding under the piano again.I think even she’s picking up on the tension.Either that or she’s just mad I changed her food brand.
I guess what I’m asking is ...was this stupid?Telling the truth?Trying to right something I didn’t break but inherited?It feels like I’ve lit a match in a room full of gas and now I’m standing here with scorched hands and no applause.Not that I need the applause, I just don’t like that people hate me for being his daughter.
Anyway, if you’re around—say something.Even if it’s just a bad playlist.
ChapterOne Hundred
Kit
September 29th, 1997
The Wilders are back in Seattle.
They finally convinced Julian to move in with Rhodes while he continues recovering.From what exactly?I still don’t fully know.Cleo’s been tight-lipped about the details—just vague references to an accident, too many broken bones, and a long road ahead.
She doesn’t talk much about her brothers, not really.She’s careful with their stories, holds them close like something sacred and private, which I respect.I do.But a part of me—selfish, aching—still wishes she’d let me in just a little more.Just enough to feel like I still belong in the periphery of their lives.
