Page 119 of Meet Me in the Valley
The Golden Grape Diner’s retro arcade hasn’t changed much since we were kids. Just seeing the neon lights flickering through the glass at the back wall sparks something soft in me.
Back when Nora and I were Cali’s age, we used to blow through every last quarter in Dad’s pocket playing air hockey and Pac-Man on nights just like this. I used to work weekend shifts here in high school, and after closing, Audrey and I would sneak off to play a few rounds ourselves.
Now Cali’s at that age—wide-eyed, full of energy, and making her own memories in the same place we made ours.
Nora digs into her purse and hands over a ten-dollar bill. “Here. Go exchange it at the machine. Knock yourself out.”
“Thanks, Mom!” Cali squeals, practically launching herself out of the vinyl booth and skipping toward the arcade.
We watch her go, smiling as her oversized hoodie bounces with every step. Then, slowly, Nora and I turn toward each other.
This dinner had been for Cali. She lifted the heaviness that’s hung between us since Vegas, even if just for a little while.
But now—with her laughter echoing in the distance—it’s finally just the two of us.
The last time we sat across from each other, we felt like strangers. But something shifted the moment Nora stepped back into Oakwood Valley.
Seeing her here—sitting in the same diner, breathing the same air she once walked away from—clicks something into place. A quiet kind of peace I didn’t realize I’d been missing.
“What made you finally come?” I ask, my voice softer than I expected.
The urge to pick at my thumbnail rises, but I resist. Instead, I press my finger into a crack in the old vinyl booth and trace it, grounding myself in something steady while I wait for her answer.
“Whether or not you believe me, I care about Mom and Dad,” Nora says, her voice steady but laced with guilt. “I never stopped loving them. When you told me about Mom, it broke me.”
She glances toward the arcade, her expression softening as she watches Cali, completely absorbed in a pinball machine. A faint smile tugs at her lips.
“Now that I’m a mother, I hate that I abandoned mine. Especially now—with her being so sick.”
I lean back in the booth, letting her words settle. The clinking of silverware and the quiet murmur of nearby tables blur into static as I study my sister. The version of her sitting across from me now feels older. Quieter. Less guarded.
So when I speak, I don’t hold back. “Why couldn’t you realize that when I came to see you?” I remain calm, but the hurt’s still there, tucked just beneath the surface. “That fight didn’t need to happen, Nora. You really hurt me.”
Nora looks down at her hands, slowly nodding. “I know. I’m so sorry, Tia.” She brings her gaze back up to me, full of remorse. Her shoulders hunch, and that’s when I see a flash of fear in her eyes.
“I’m terrified to see Mom and Dad. I’m terrified to be back here.”
Her words catapult me back to our last conversation in her living room. Her sobs and wails are still so visceral, the memory of them clear as day. I’m hesitant to bring up her fear of being back in Oakwood Valley, but I figure this is the time. Surely she won’t flip out in a public place with her daughter here.
I lean in closer to Nora, lowering my voice only for her ears to hear. “Are you terrified to be here because of Cali’s dad?”
Nora’s breath hitches, and for a second, I think she might bolt. Her eyes flick toward the door like she’s calculating the distance. But instead, she stays still, draws in a slow, shaky inhale, and locks eyes with me.
“It’s not what you think, Tia.” Her voice is thin, fraying at the edges. “I don’t think I’m ready to—I don’t think I can?—”
Her words crumble, and I see how fast her eyes fill with tears she’s trying so hard to blink away.
I reach across the table and take her hands in mine, gently lacing our fingers. It’s not much, but it’s the only thing I can offer her in this moment. A silent reminder she’s safe and not alone.
Whatever she’s been carrying for the last twelve years, I’m not here to pry it out of her. I just want her to know I’m here when she’s ready to lay it down.
And the fact that she got on a plane and came home—that she’s sitting across from me now, in the town she swore she’d never return to—is already more than I ever thought I’d get.
And for that alone, I’m grateful.
“Cali’s dad never hurt me. Far from it, actually.” A wistful look softens her face, like she’s drifting through a fond, far-off memory. But as her gaze lingers, something quieter settles in—an undercurrent of melancholy that deepens the longer she stays lost in it.
“But to answer your question, Tia—yes. Cali’s dad is a big part of why I’m terrified to be back here.” She pauses, eyes glassy as she stares past me, as if bracing herself against whatever’s about to surface.
