Not this again. Not the “you’re too much, slow down, find someone safe” speech I’ve heard on repeat since I can remember. I’ve heard it every time I booked a one-way ticket on a whim, and every time I politely declined the “nice boy” they tried to set me up with because he wanted a white picket fence and I wanted the horizon.
I force a tight smile. “I’m happy. I’m living… isn’t that what you always said you wanted for me?”
Mom lets out a long, bone-deep sigh—one that means she’s already picturing me at forty, single, surrounded by designer shoes and with no one to share quiet nights with.
“We did,” Dad says quickly. “And we’re proud of you. But happiness can look different now than it did a few years ago. We just want you to be open to possibilities.”
My eyes flick across the table before I can stop them. Milo is watching me with that quiet, steady gaze that feels like he’s peeling back every layer of sarcasm and deflection until he reaches the raw part of me that’s truly listening.
Our eyes lock, and heat coils low in my belly—not the usual playful spark. This is heavier. Slower-burning. The kind thatmakes my skin feel too tight, and my breath catch. Seconds pass before I tear my gaze away and force my attention back to my parents, my heart thudding too loudly in my ears.
“I’m open,” I murmur. “Promise. Just… on my timeline.”
Mom smiles gently. “That’s all we ask, honey.”
“And if that timeline happens to include a nice young man who can keep up with you…” Dad pauses, eyes drifting meaningfully toward Milo. “…then we’ll wait.”
Mom gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “We just want you to be loved, Sienna. That’s it. And maybe find someone who makes you want to stay put for a bit.”
My throat closes as the words land heavier than they should.
I get it… I’m chaotic, restless, and allergic to staying in one place too long because motion is the only thing that’s ever made me feel truly alive. But I’ve been in New York for over a year, and for the first time in forever, the urge to run hasn’t hit.
There’s this strange magnetic pull to the city—like maybe I’ve finally found a place that could hold me without suffocating me. And sitting here, I’m starting to wonder if the same could be true for a person.
The thought terrifies me.
Because if I let myself want that—if I let myself want stability—what happens when the restlessness comes roaring back? When the horizon starts screaming louder than any promises of quiet nights? When I wake up on some random Tuesday and staying still suddenly feels like the walls are closing in?
Maybe I’m not broken for wanting both: the electric rush of new cities and the quiet safety of a life that doesn’t require me to keep running. Maybe there’s a version of “settled” that doesn’t mean suffocated.
Or maybe I’m lying to myself. Maybe the second I stop moving, I’ll panic and sabotage everything because chaos is easier than admitting I might be capable of staying.
I don’t know.
All I know is that the usual panic hasn’t set in yet. Standing still doesn’t feel like drowning right now. It just feels… unfamiliar.
And unfamiliarity is scary as hell.
“We love you is all, honey.” Dad murmurs, leaning across Mom to place his hand over mine.
“I love you guys too,” I whisper, pushing my chair back. The legs scrape across the deck, sending shivers up my arms. “I just… I need some air that isn’t laced with concern.”
My heels click across the wood as I head toward the railing a few feet away. The breeze is cooler here, a sharp contrast to my flushed skin. I lean against the railing, arms crossed tightly over my chest, and stare at the black water as waves crash and retreat, sending sea spray misting against my skin.
Footsteps sound softly behind me, but I don’t turn because I already know it’s him from the cedarwood cologne. Milo stops beside me, close enough that I feel the warmth radiating off him.
“You okay?” He asks quietly.
I exhale through my nose. “They mean well.”
“They do.”
“They just… they want me to be someone I’m not.”
He’s silent for a moment, then steps an inch closer. “They want you to be safe.”
“Iamsafe.”
