“School starts in three weeks,” Stella continued. “Mr. Reeves told me to find him first day if I want Advanced Photography. First day, Tyler. Not ‘whenever we get around to calling Mum.’”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because the folder hasn’t moved.”
Tyler set down his slice. She was right. The folder Lindsey had given them—the international transfer checklist, everything they’d need—had been sitting on the kitchen counter since they got back from the school visit. He walked past it every morning. Moved it to wipe the counter. Put it back.
“I’ve been meaning to?—”
“You’ve been stalling.”
The word landed harder than it should have. Maybe because it was true.
“I’m not stalling. I’m just...” He searched for a word that wasn’t stalling. “Processing.”
“Processing.”
“It’s a lot.”
“It’s a phone call.”
“It’s a phone call that’s going to blow everything up.” Tyler met her eyes. “Your mum and I—we’ve managed to be civil for sixteen years by avoiding exactly this kind of conversation. We don’t fight because we don’t talk about anything that matters.”
“So you just... never talk about anything?”
“We talk about logistics. Flights. Schedules. Safe topics.” He picked at his crust. “The last time we tried to have a real conversation about you—about what was best for you—it ended with her not speaking to me for six months.”
Stella was quiet for a moment. “When was that?”
“You were eight. I wanted to come for your birthday. She said it would confuse you.” Tyler shrugged. “She wasn’t wrong. But I pushed anyway, and she shut down, and by the time we started talking again, I’d missed the birthday anyway.”
“I remember that birthday. You sent a camera.”
“A Polaroid. Yeah.”
“I still have it.”
“You do?”
“It’s in my room. At Mum’s.” She picked at her pepperoni. “I never used it. Didn’t know how. But I kept it.”
They sat with that for a moment. The Polaroid he’d sent when he couldn’t be there. The daughter who’d kept it anyway.
“The point is,” Tyler said eventually, “calling Fiona isn’t just a phone call. It’s the end of pretending things are fine the way they are. And once we do that?—”
“We can’t undo it.”
“Yeah.”
Stella finished her slice, wiping her fingers on a napkin with deliberate focus. Then she looked at him.
“I talked to Bea today. About the school visit, Mr. Reeves, all of it.” She paused. “She said something that stuck.”
“What?”
“She said the decision was already made. The day I told you I wanted to stay—that was the decision. Everything after that is just logistics.” Stella met his eyes. “The phone call isn’t the scary part. I already did the scary part. Now we just have to tell Mum.”
Tyler wanted to argue. Wanted to explain that it wasn’t that simple, that Fiona wouldn’t see it that way, that logistics could be their own kind of terrifying.
