And just like that, we slip back into something easy. Familiar.
I listen, grateful for the reprieve, even as guilt prickles at the edges of my heart.
I should tell her more. I owe her that.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
Some doors, once opened, never close again.
* * *
We linger at the table after dinner, the last bit of wine swirling in our glasses. The lake breeze slips in, gentle and cool. Jane leans back, watching me spin my glass between my fingers, her eyes soft and searching.
And then I say the words I meant to say from the beginning.
“I don’t think I ever truly thanked you for everything you did for me that year. Thank you, Jane!”
A gentle smile comes across her lips and her warm eyes are shinning.
“Oh, Della. You were part of this family the moment you walked through that door. You still are. You don’t owe me any thanks.”
I shake my head, something tight curling in my throat.
“I owe you more than thanks, Jane.” My voice softens. “It was my first time away from home. I was missing my family so much. Everything was so different, so overwhelming. And you… you made me feel like I wasn’t alone, like I had a family here, too. I’m very grateful for that, Jane.”
Her eyes warm, but there’s something else there too—understanding. She sets her glass down, leaning her elbows on the table.
“I remember,” she says softly. “Those first months here. You tried so hard to be strong, to adjust, to make friends with the other students in the program, to keep it all together.”
I let out a quiet laugh, the memory tugging at me now.
“I didn’t even know what a ‘movie night’ really was,” I say, smiling despite myself. “At home, we didn’t do that. No popcorn, no sitting around together in front of the TV. It just… wasn’t a thing.”
Jane laughs, full and bright, her head tipping back slightly.
“Oh God, yes! You looked at me so confused. Like you didn’t know what to do with the idea.”
“You lit candles and pulled out all those blankets,” I murmur, my voice drifting. “Popcorn. Coke. AndThe Sopranos.”
She grins, eyes twinkling. “Best therapy there is. Gangsters and carbs.”
We both laugh this time, the sound light and easy between us.
“You made me feel like I belonged,” I admit, my chest tightening.
Jane’s smile softens, something tender flickering behind her gaze.
“And look at you now,” she says. “You’ve come so far.”
Silence settles for a moment, but it’s not heavy. It’s comfortable. Familiar.
Then she stands, stretching slightly, her grin returning.
“You know…” she muses, glancing toward the living room, “I still believe in the healing power of a good movie night.”
I chuckle. “You do?”
