Page 164 of Glass Jawed
I didn’t have an answer.
But my silence was louder than anyyes.
??????
So here I am—curled up in bed at 1 am—pouring my heart out to a kind stranger across the world—practicing being kind.
Her name is Glynn Anderson, one of the four directors ofKind Mirror,and she listens like she’s absorbing every word. She hums thoughtfully at moments, gasps softly at others. Unlike Ruth, Glynn wears every reaction on her face, and the warmth of her well-lit room makes it feel...safe, somehow. It’s daytime for her. For me, it’s pitch dark, both outside and in my chest.
She asks gentle questions now and then—never pushy, always careful. Twenty minutes in, I realize I’ve slid almost horizontally on the bed, my head resting on the pillow like I’m being tucked in.
It’s strangely easier, talking to a stranger. Easier than it would be with Kashvi or Mom. Maybe because Glynn doesn’t know thebefore-me.
I also notice—pointedly—that she never brings up Lucian. Not after the initial introduction where she simply acknowledged him for connecting us. Not even a passing comment.
So when we’re about to wrap up, I can’t help myself.
“Is... is Lucian Vale—” I stumble. “I mean, does he volunteer with you often? I just... was curious how, uh, someone like me could get involved too. As a volunteer.”
Wow. That was embarrassing. I sound like I’m twelve and have a crush on a camp counselor.
But Glynn just lights up. Beams. “Oh, Lucian’samazing! His style of volunteering is definitely something. Did you know he helped develop a peer-based group session program? Atherapist-freespace where members just... talk. Share their stories. Listen. It’s been incredibly healing for some of our participants.”
I blink, stunned. Barely able to wrap my head around this.
She keeps going. “He even coordinated two of thosehimself!Oh—would you like to join one? We host them every Saturday.”
I’m still trying to absorb the fact that Lucian’s been doing all this, and doing it quietly.
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. I blink rapidly, praying she can’t see them. It’s dark in my room. Maybe I’ll get lucky.
“Yes,” I say, voice cracking. “I’d love to. But maybe... after my cousin’s wedding? I don’t think I’ll be able to commit for a few weeks.”
“Oh absolutely, no rush!” she says brightly. “I’ll send over all the details. And oh, if you know anyone else who’d be a good fit—we’re only interviewing eleven people right now. We’d love more stories.”
She’s so genuinely excited, so hopeful about the program. Meanwhile, I’m barely holding it together under the weight of everything Lucian’s been doing behind the scenes.
God. I need to get a grip.
“Yeah. Definitely,” I manage. “I can think of a few people. I’ll send them your way. One hundred percent.”
We spend a few more minutes exchanging polite goodbyes. And the whole time, my heart doesn’t stop pounding.
Lucian Vale.
What thehellare you doing to me?
After mustering what little courage I had left to drag myself out of bed—because, let’s be real, that mattress was now my emotional support system—I shuffled downstairs in my sweats.
Kashvi hadn’t returned yet. Which meant she was either with Liam or sharpening a knife. Possibly both.
She hadn’t said much to me about him. But I’d seen them around the house, mid-argument more than once. Sometimes the “argument” looked suspiciously like foreplay, and I’d bolt the hell out of there before I accidentally became a witness.
As I near the bottom of the stairs, I hear a dull thud of music. At this hour?
Curious, I walk toward the main entrance and peek outside.
The center hall is glowing—andbustling. Not with the cousins or younger crowd... but with uncles, aunties, and possibly my parents. Everyone looks like they’re in the middle of an impromptu rave minus theravepart.
