"It's not a fling."
"Oh my god!" she squeals. “Who is he?”
"No." The word comes out firm. "He’s no one. I'm not doing that again. Not right now."
Maeve's expression softens. "Good. You need time to figure out who you are without Cody."
See, she knows.
She shifts topics, asking about the campus, my classes, and whether I've made any friends yet. I deflect most of it, giving vague answers because the truth is complicated and messy, and I'm not ready to unpack all of it yet.
Before I leave, I stop by my parents' house. It’s just a quick visit to show my face and prove I'm still alive.
My mother answers the door, her expression immediately concerned. "Adela! We've been worried."
"I'm fine, Mom."
"Are you eating enough? You look thin."
"I'm eating."
My father appears behind her, reading glasses perched on his nose. "Everything okay at school?"
"Yes, Dad. Everything's fine."
“Is it what you thought it would be?”
I stare blankly at him. “It’s good, and I am actively job searching.”
“Job searching?” my mom echoes, looking at my dad.
“That was the deal.”
My dad winks. “Something will pull through.”
I nod.
They don't push any further than that. They just want confirmation that I'm functional, that I'm not falling apart publicly, that I'm maintaining the image of the mayor's well-adjusted daughter.
I stay for about twenty minutes, answering my mom’s surface-level questions as I grab a few things from my bedroom. I hug them goodbye on the way out.
The drive back to Seattle feels longer than the drive there.
That evening, Beckett comes over again.
Not for sex — though there's an undercurrent of physical tension that's always present now. Just for company. For comfort.
"You can leave a hoodie here if you want," I tease. "For next time."
He grins. "Planning for next time already?"
"Maybe."
He pulls me against him, hands warm on my waist, and kisses me slow and deep. I sink into it the way I've been sinking into everything with him lately — easily, maybe too easily. My fingers thread through his damp hair, and I feel him exhale against my mouth like he's been holding something in all day.
There's a half-second where I hesitate.
Not because I don't want this. I do. That's almost the problem — how much I do, how quickly wanting him became the most uncomplicated part of my life here. Everything else is fractured and unanswered questions. This is the only thing that doesn't require explaining.
