Page 91 of Lavender and Honey

Finn: Unlike some people, I don't consider three minutes a proper shower. Some of us actually clean ALL our parts.

I laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the empty shop. Their bickering carries the easy rhythm of long familiarity, the teasingthat comes only with deep trust and affection. And somehow, incredibly, they've made space for me within it.

Me: Sounds like a typical morning at your house. Should I be grateful I missed the hot water drama?

Soren: Grateful? You should be DEVASTATED. Think of the scandal, the intrigue, the sheer DRAMA of it all! Lucian standing outside the bathroom door in his robe, hair all mussed, looking like a grumpy bear. Finn emerging in a cloud of steam, all innocent-like. Me, the poor victim, forced to endure a LUKEWARM shower. Elias making passive-aggressive comments about water conservation. It was RIVETING.

Elias: I was not passive-aggressive!

Finn: You literally said, "Some of us seem to think water grows on trees."

Elias: That's not passive-aggressive. That's just aggressive.

Lucian: Can we please return to civilized conversation? Lydia doesn't need to hear about our morning chaos.

Me: Actually, I don't mind. It's... nice. Hearing about your day.

There's a brief pause, and I wonder if I've said too much, revealed too much of the warmth their interactions spark in me. Then:

Lucian: In that case, should I tell you about how Soren tried to make pancakes and somehow got batter on the ceiling?

Soren: BETRAYAL! I trusted you, Lucian!

Elias: To be fair, I'm still not sure HOW he managed it. It was almost impressive.

Finn: I have a theory that he was trying to flip them in the pan. Despite being explicitly told not to.

Soren: a) I'm right here, and b) if you don't flip pancakes with dramatic flair, what's even the point of making them?

I find myself grinning at my phone, picturing the chaos of their kitchen, the easy way they move around each other, the home they've built together. Home. The word resonates in my chest, stirring something I've tried to ignore for too long—the longing for belonging, for connection, for a place that's more than just walls and a roof.

Me: I'd like to see that someday. The pancake flipping, I mean.

Soren: Name the day, Lavender girl! I'll put on a show that will make professional chefs weep with envy. Or possibly horror. But definitely strong emotions!

Elias: Please don't encourage him. I'm still cleaning pancake batter out of places pancake batter should never be.

Lucian: Lydia, feel free to come over anytime. Our home is always open to you.

Finn: Preferably when I'm monitoring Soren's kitchen access, though.

Their easy inclusion, the way they've woven me into their lives without pressure or expectation, makes that uncomfortable warmth bloom in my chest again. Love. The word no longer seems too big or too frightening. Just true.

Me: Thank you. I'd like that.

It's a small response to their open invitation, but I feel like they'll understand the weight behind my simple words. As if confirming my thoughts, Lucian responds:

Lucian: We'll be here whenever you're ready.

The bell above the door chimes, pulling me from the conversation. I set my phone on the counter, professional smile already in place as I look up to greet my first customer of the day.

"Welcome to—"

The words die in my throat, replaced by a cold, gripping shock that freezes me in place. My fingers curl around the edge of the counter, seeking something solid to anchor me as the ground seems to shift beneath my feet. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun like some twisted parody of an angelic visitation, is my mother.

She looks exactly as I remember—perfectly coiffed silver-blonde hair, tailored pantsuit in a tasteful gray, posture straight enough to balance books on her head. Her face, with its aristocratic features so unlike my own softer ones, bears the same expression of careful disdain that I grew up with—as if the world is a perpetually disappointing place that fails to meet her exacting standards.

Time seems to stretch and distort as we stare at each other. Has it really been only a year since I last saw her? Since I walked out of my family home with nothing but a hastily packed bag and the desperate need to escape the life they had planned for me?

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