The silence stretches on the other end of the line. They’re notconvinced.
“You sure about that?” Mom asks.
I close my eyes as I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the pressure that’s building. “It’s just…a lot—watching him go through this. I’ll be okay.”
Only, I’m not really managing at all. I’m still waking up with my heart pounding, still battling panic attacks that hit for reasons I don’t understand. Callan’s here. He’s alive. The worst is supposed to be over. So why doesn’t it feel that way? Why doesn’t it feelokay?
“Bree,” Mom’s voice is softer now, more knowing, “it’s okay not to be okay. You’ve been through hell. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”
I flinch. “I’m not.”
It’s a lie, and my voice is a little too clipped.
“Sweetheart,” Dad cuts in. “We’re here. Just say the word.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, my voice cracking, but I swallow it down. “I just… I need to focus on him right now. He needs me.”
“And you need to take care of yourself, too,” Mom insists.
They’re right, of course. Iknowthey’re right. But the thought of putting myself first seems impossible. The pressure begins to mount like it always does when I try to breathe through the spiral that’s already curling around my ribs, ready to pull me down again.
I shake it off, forcing a breath in, and grasp for something to pull myself out of my own head. “Hey, how’s Nugget doing? Tell my sweet boy I miss him, and I’m coming to get him soon.”
Mom’s soft laugh drifts through the line, and I can almost picture her rolling her eyes. “He’s fine, Bree. Spoiled rotten. You’d think he owned the place the way he struts around.”
Dad chuckles in the background. “He’s taken to sleeping on my chair. Won’t budge, no matter how many times I tell him to get down. It’s like he knows he’s untouchable because he’s your dog.”
The image of Nugget, cozy and stubborn in his new throne, brings a small smile to my face. A fleeting moment of normalcy. “That sounds about right. He’s probably plotting to take over the entire house by now.”
“He already has,” Dad grumbles.
“Well, at least someone’s living their best life.”
There’s a pause, an undeniable silence that enters the conversation.
Finally, Mom clears her throat. “Honey, we’ve been thinking. Why don’t we come visit while you’re there? We could bring Nugget, spend some time with you and Callan…”
The unexpected offer hits me hard. The comfort of having them here would be a welcome distraction, a break from the constant pressure of trying to keep it together. And yet, I hesitate. A small knot forms in my stomach as I try to figure out how to say this without making it worse.
“I just…don’t want to be a hassle.”
“You’re not a hassle,” Dad chimes in. “You’re our daughter. And besides, Nugget misses you. If I don’t get him to you soon, he’s gonna stage a rebellion.”
The thought of my parents in Scotland, navigating the narrow, winding roads and trying to decipher the thick Scottish accents almost makes me laugh. It’s a picture I never thought I’d visualize, but it’s comforting to think about them here, fumbling through the unfamiliar in their own way. It tugs at a part of me I didn’t realize was homesick. “Okay. You’ve convinced me. Get Nugget here before he starts a full-blown mutiny.”
“Good, good,” Dad says with a note of satisfaction in his voice that makes me smile. “I’ll let him know he’s got the green light.”
I laugh, a genuine one this time, the tension in my shouldersreleasing a fraction. “Love you both. I’ll text you later about dates, okay?”
“We’ll be ready,” Mom promises. “Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you, kid,” Dad echoes.
When we hang up, I linger by the window, my arms wrapped around myself as I watch the twilight settle over the hills, deep purples and blues stretching across the horizon. Iloveit here. I really do. The plan was always to be here. I just wish I hadn’t crash-landed into it.
I’m about to head downstairs when a thunderous crash echoes through the house. My heart slams against my ribs, a bolt of adrenaline hitting so hard and fast it leaves me lightheaded.
Callan.
