“You never intrude.”
To be honest, I’ve low-key dodged their attempts to come visit for nearly a year.
Soon.
Maybe next month.
I’ll let you know.
Alex always has something going on, plans popping up whenever they want to fly in.
Tag wasn’t wrong about that.
But the truth is, it isn’t just Alex. It’s me. I’m not embarrassed by the small condo or the job or the routine. What unsettles me is how still I’ve become inside it all. Like I’ve been circling the same wounds without ever moving past them.
No risk, no reach, no momentum.
Stuck.
But I’m engaged now.
That’s something.
I glance at the ring on my finger, a pear-shaped diamond on a white-gold band. Simple, tasteful. I’ve never been one for garish things.
Mom plops down on a chocolate-brown loveseat while Dad perches himself on the armrest. She studies me through the screen, curiosity flickering in her navy-swirled eyes. “Montague says you’ve put a band together. You have a show next month?”
“Oh…yep.” While I wasn’t keeping the band a secret, per se, I wasn’t quite ready to spill the beans. Not because it’s not important, but because I’m afraid I’ll jinx how important it could become. “It’s an outlet for me. It keeps me grounded.”
“Your brother is over the moon. Pun intended.”
A grin creeps in. “We all mesh well together. The lead singer—Chase—he’s unbelievably talented. Gifted in that effortless way. Our harmonies are golden.” Lightness infuses my steps as I amble around the room, fluffing pillows and tidying random surfaces. “He builds guitars too. God, they’re revolutionary. And you should hear him sing. Tag is good, and I can hold my own, but Chase is next-level. All passion and soul, fused with power and control. The way he can…”
My words trail off.
Either my grin turns goofy or my eyes reflect something I don’t intend to give away, because Mom gives me a look—thelook. “He’s important to you.”
I stop moving, clear my throat, and curl my toes into the floor. “Yeah,” I murmur. “We have a solid connection. He’s a good friend.”
Mom and Dad share a glance.
Dad’s about to pipe in when Alex peers around the corner with a dish towel draped over his shoulder.
“Dinner,” he says, eyeing the phone.
“Great. Thank you.” Sending him a smile, I turn back to my parents. “I need to go. I’ll fill you in on the wedding details soon.”
“We love you, angel,” Dad says with misty eyes.
Mom waves goodbye. “Talk soon.”
“Bye.” I click off the call.
Retreating to the eat-in kitchen, I survey the table decorated with colorful platters and serving bowls, all overflowing with vibrant greens, glistening fish, and flaky dinner rolls. My stomach grumbles, both with hunger pangs and a telltale pinch of dread.
I hardly remember how to cook.
In fact, I can’t recall the last time I made myself a meal beyond deli sandwiches and bowls of cereal.
