Page 62

“It wasn’t fair,” I add, quieter. “She kept everyone else in check, and I couldn’t seem to do the same for her. She never slowed down. Even when she was sick. Especially when she was sick.”

“I’m sure you did what you could to support her,” he says, nowhere near dismissive. “I know you did what you could. Seeing how driven you are to do the good and right thing in every other situation. I can’t even imagine what you’re like with someone who means that much to you.”

My voice catches. “It’s never felt like enough.”

He shakes his head. “It never does. That doesn’t make it untrue.”

I stare at a spot on the counter, willing myself not to fall apart in front of this man who simply refuses to stop being decent. “I just—” I pause, then continue. “I miss her. And every time I talk about her, it’s… I don’t know. It feels fresh all over again even two years later. But not talking about her feels so much worse.”

Theo shifts in his chair closer by an inch. It’s nothing dramatic, nothing invasive. Just enough for me to feel him nearer. “Then talk about her,” he insists, gently. “As much as you need. You don’t have to worry about keeping it together with me.”

It’s ridiculous how much that undoes in me. My eyes burn. A single tear falls free, traitorous and hot against my cheek.

Theo’s hand moves to my face, tentative. His thumb wipes the tear away, slowly and carefully.

I give him a sad smile. Let the weight of my face sink into his big hand just a bit. “Thank you.”

I go back to eating. Not to avoid the conversation, but because the moment that stretches between us feels easy, and I don’t know what else to add.

We fall into a lull, chewing and stealing pieces from each other’s snack piles.

The first boom cracks through the sky, a gunshot splitting open the clouds. It’s not a rumble so much as a detonation, abrupt and unforgiving. The windows rattle in their frames, and I flinch, half-expecting the power to cut out then and there.

Theo glances toward the nearest one, “Didn’t see that on the forecast.”

Lightning follows, white-hot and close, flaring so bright it briefly paints the marble counters in sterile light. The downpour is instant and punishing, a snapped thread unleashing the full weight of the sky onto the estate. Rain lashes the windows sideways and the wind whistles through the cracks in the ancient trim.

Somewhere deeper in the house, the power hiccups. The lights flicker once, twice, then surge back with an audible bzzt. The fridge clicks. Beeps incessantly, then stops. The recessed lighting above us pulses in rhythm, dimming unnaturally before returning to normal.

Then someone speaks, clear as day, “Would you like to hear a fun fact about decomposition rates?”

I go completely still. A single cracker halfway to my mouth. My breath stops in my throat.

Theo’s head jerks toward me. “Did you…?”

“I thought that was you,” I whisper, maybe a bit too aggressively.

The silence that follows is loud in its own right, wrought with confusion and the snap of my nerves lighting up.

Then, again—same voice, same unnerving calm, “Grocery list updated based on your recent conversation: bleach, duct tape, rosemary.”

We both sit up straighter.

“What the actual hell?” I whisper, still urgent.

Theo’s already halfway off the stool, eyes sweeping the corners of the room.

But I’m not moving. I’m staring at the fridge. “I think…it spoke.”

“Okay, nope. Absolutely not. I’ve seen this movie. The appliances become sentient and we die in the most absurd way possible,” Theo says.

He moves to try and unplug it.

“Wait,” I say, grabbing his wrist. “What if it’s a smart fridge?”

He blinks at me. “Isn’t that the problem?”

“No, like—what if it’s recording us? Not us-us. But conversations. In general. For, I don’t know… data? I’ve gotten ads for shit like this.”