“My cousin has a truck in Ohio!!!”
“Just rent a U-Haul.”
“Borrow the mayor’s truck. He owes you.”
“Walk and strap a Christmas tree to your back. It is called marketing.”
“Drop out. Protect your peace.”
“What is up with your hair?”
I stared at that last one.
Lucy leaned in, reading over my shoulder. Lucy tapped the screen. “Reply: It is under stress, like the rest of us.”
I stared at her. “No.”
Lucy grinned.“Yes.”
I put the phone away before I made choices I would regret.
We parked downtown, with coffee and temporary escape ahead of us, and the float problem following close behind like a shadow I could not shake.
Even with Lucy beside me, even with the ridiculous comments already piling up, the deadline sat in my mind like a weight.
Tomorrow at noon.
I was going to have to find a way to make this work.
The café windows glowed warm against the early dark, light spilling onto the sidewalk in a way that made everything outsidefeel briefly survivable. Lucy slowed as we approached, her steps stuttering just enough that I noticed.
“Oh,” she said.
I followed her gaze.
A woman stood behind the counter, wiping it down with efficient, practiced motions. Her hair was pulled back, her sleeves rolled up, and she moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly where everything belonged. She looked up, startled, then smiled and waved.
Lucy opened the door entering the warmth of the cafe as I followed.
“Lucy?” the woman said.
Lucy’s face lit up. “Charlotte.”
They met halfway between the counter and the door and hugged, the kind of hug that came from shared history without lingering resentment. I stood there, suddenly very aware of how tired I felt, until Lucy pulled back and turned to me.
“This is my sister Lydia,” she said. “Lydia, this is Charlotte Lucas. One of my favorite people.”
Charlotte smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I said, meaning it.
We ordered coffee and slid into a small table by the window. Lucy and Charlotte fell easily into conversation, the years between them folding in on themselves as they caught up. Charlotte talked about buying the café, about leaving behind the city job that paid well but hollowed her out. Lucy listened with the kind of pride usually reserved for siblings.
I watched Charlotte as she spoke. She didn’t sound reckless. She sounded deliberate. Calm. Like someone who had chosen risk with her eyes open.
At some point, Charlotte’s gaze shifted to me. “You look like someone who has had a very long day.”
I laughed weakly. “I think I have had a very long week.”
