She breaks then. A helpless sound escapes as she presses her face against my chest. I pull her into my arms, holding her off the counter, and I let her cry. I hold her like it’s the last time, aware that time and distance are dangerous things, but knowing I meant every word I said.
She pulls back eventually, picks up Gerald, and moves toward the door.
“You’re going to build something beautiful,” she says, looking back. “The bridge.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to come see it.”
“I’ll save you a spot.”
She hesitates, her hand on the frame. “Griffin? When I find her… the version I’m looking for… you’re the first person I’m going to call.”
I memorize the way she looks right now—messy, brave, and entirely herself.
“I know, baby.”
She nods once and slips out the door. I stand there long after the click of the lock, the air still warm where she stood. I trust her to find her way back. I have to.
But I still hate every second of the quiet she left behind.
Fifty
Piper
I’m in my childhood bedroom again.
The steam from the shower has finally cleared from the mirrors. My hair is damp and falls down my back, and I’m sitting on the edge of my old bed. It has the same pink quilt and the same dent in the middle. I’m staring at the silly floral pillowcase I used to pretend was grown-up.
I exhale slowly. My shoulders drop under the weight of something familiar and unwanted. I’m back at the beginning. Square one. Ground level. I have no home, no job, and no plan.
My phone sits turned off on the nightstand. I don’t reach for it or even want to look at the screen. Being disconnected these past two weeks has been its own strange comfort. There’s less noise and fewer expectations. There’s less of the world shouting at me. Or maybe I was just living in it for once.
Posters from my teenage years still hang above my desk. A shelf is packed with dusty trophies from competitions. My old violin case leans against the closet where I left it before heading to college. It feels like walking into a time capsule of a girl whodidn’t know how the next decade would shape her—or shrink her.
I pull in a deep breath just as the door cracks open. Madison steps in first. She’s holding two margaritas while wiggling her hips. Rowan follows behind her with her own glass. Her chin is high, and she’s already sipping.
“Margaritas make everything better,” Madison announces.
A startled laugh escapes me. “I mean, maybe not everything, but I’ll take it.”
She hands me mine and sits cross-legged on the bed. Rowan plops down beside her and leans back on her elbows. I take a sip. It’s strong. Thank God. I’m not sure margaritas can fix me, but they might take the edge off for tonight.
We settle into a loose circle on the bed with our knees touching. It feels like we did as kids when we’d gossip about boys and teachers. We used to argue about which Disney princess was objectively the best. Rowan insisted on Mulan every time, while Madison changed her answer weekly.
Rowan shifts to find a better position against the headboard and suddenly hisses. Her face contorts briefly as she clutches her side.
“You okay?” I ask, reaching out toward her.
She waves me off and forces her features to smooth out. “Yeah. Fine. I just slept wrong.”
She doesn’t look like she just slept wrong. She looks like she’s holding her breath, but I know better than to push Rowan when she’s decided she’s indestructible.
“So,” she deflects while swirling the liquid in her glass. “What now?”
I let out a long breath. “I have no idea, but I need a job.”
Madison and Rowan exchange one of those looks.
