I freeze. Then shrug. “Just tired.”
Lie number two.
She eyes me. “You sure everything’s okay?”
“I’m fine.” I reach for the pepper, hand too fast. The shaker slips, clatters onto the tile.
She doesn’t flinch, but she sees it.
“You don’t have to be strong all the time, baby.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m not.”
Lie number four.
(Three was the quinoa. I’m counting that, too.)
I glance at her as she sits at the table, watching me like she used to when I was little and got too quiet. Like she could see it—feelit—when something inside me was splintering.
The memory comes fast. My mom, her daughter, had been gone maybe a week. I didn’t understand death yet, just that no one had come home. I had a fever and nightmares, and I crawled into Grandma’s bed. She didn’t say anything. Just let me curl against her and started humming. Something low and slow. I cried into her sleeve until I passed out.
She never brought it up again. But she’s never let me fall alone, either.
I never asked her about my father back then. Not really. Even as a kid, I could tell his name held weight. Not anger, not exactly. Just… the ache of watching someone walk away from the people they were supposed to protect.
Sometimes I think Grandma was angrier with herself than with him. Like maybe she blamed herself for letting her daughter marry a man who’d turn his back on their baby so easily. Or maybe she knew better than to waste time being angry at ghosts.
I don’t bring him up. I haven’t in years. And she never asks how often he calls. Because we both already know the answer.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I say quietly.
She raises an eyebrow. “You planning to get rich and leave me in a nursing home?”
“Never.”
“Good. I’d haunt you.”
I smile. It’s real this time. Just for a second.
But then my phone buzzes.
I glance toward it, still sitting in my bag by the door.
“Just a sec,” I mutter, already moving toward it.
I crouch down, unzip my purse.
The screen lights up.
JASPER:Okay, don’t freak out.Actually, freak out. You deserve a little righteous fire right now.So, I may or may not have stalked Evan’s socials. Not the public one. Theotherone.Found it through his old Reddit handle. You’re welcome.Anyway, guess who’s been tagging himself in Palm Springs with a human stick of gum.She’s got bleached hair, a bad tan, and an ass flatter than my last pancake.He was cheating on you, Mare.
I stare at the screen. My thumb hovers. My heart feels like it drops straight into my stomach.
Cheating.
Evan.
Human gumstick.
