Page 104 of Until the Storm Breaks
“I want to,” he insists, setting the bags on the table. “Can’t have you living on takeout your first week.”
Chloe peers into the bags. “Daddy, did you put mac and cheese in there? She specifically ordered it.”
“Of course I did, bug. Two containers.” He looks back at me. “There’s lasagna, fresh bread, that arugula salad you like. Should last you a few days at least.”
“This is too much,” I protest, but he’s already pushing the bags toward me.
“It’s not. Moving is exhausting, and you need to eat.” His voice is kind but firm, the same tone he uses with Chloe when she needs taking care of but won’t admit it.
“The bar’s better with you in it,” Theo says as he walks me to the door while Chloe runs ahead to hold it open. “So’s this town.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise.
“Good. Chloe would’ve staged a protest. She’s been learning about civil disobedience in kindergarten.”
Before I leave, I crouch down to Chloe’s level. “Thanks for taking such good care of me today. Best service I’ve ever had.”
She throws her arms around my neck. “You can come eat mac and cheese whenever you’re sad,” she whispers.
I’m still smiling as I walk to my car, and it’s a small thing, that smile, but it feels like progress. Like maybe I can do this, start over in a new space that doesn’t have Calvin’s ghost in every corner. It’s not running away if you’re moving toward something, even if you’re not quite sure what that something is yet.
The Black Lantern is my church, my therapy, my constant. The familiar rhythm of setup soothes something raw in my chest. Chairs down, tables wiped, glasses polished until they shine. Everything in its place except me. I don’t know where I fit anymore.
I check wine levels, update the special board, restock garnish trays, my hands moving on autopilot while my mind drifts to Calvin. Urgent kisses against the door. Poems whispered in the dark. The way he looked at me that last morning, like he wanted to stay but didn’t know how. The way he left anyway.
The afternoon shift starts slow with the usual regulars trickling in. Eddie’s the third person today to ask where Calvin’s been, says he hasn’t seen him around lately. I manage something vague about him being busy with work, unable to say the truth: that he’s gone, that he left for Seattle two days ago, that whatever we had is over. A couple other locals make similar comments throughout the shift, and each time I deflect, change the subject, pour another drink. Everything aggressively, painfully normal while I pretend my chest doesn’t feel hollow. I keep checking my phone even though I know there won’t be anything new.
When Lark arrives at five, she takes one look at me and pulls me into the back office. “How’s the new place?” she asks gently.
“It’s fine. Still have boxes to unpack from yesterday’s rushed move. Theo had texted about the studio being ready, and I couldn’t spend another night in that cabin waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back. So I packed what I could fit in my car, and Laila and I slept there last night.”
“And Calvin?”
“He’s still in Seattle for his conference. No word back yet” I try to keep my voice neutral but know I’m failing. “He’s giving talks about finding meaning in loss, weathering storms. All the things he writes about so beautifully.”
She waits, knowing there’s more.
“I should have told him about the tattoo immediately,” I say, the admission painful but necessary. “I know that. I was scared and I kept putting it off and that was wrong. But when everything happened with his birth parents, when he found out, I thought we could talk through it. Work through it together. Instead he just... left.”
She squeezes my shoulder but doesn’t offer empty reassurances.
“I can’t keep hoping he’ll reach out,” I tell her. “I’ve spent tenyears taking care of this town, this bar, everyone else. For once, I’m going to take care of myself.”
She hugs me fierce and quick. “Good. It’s about time.”
By closing, my body aches but my mind feels clearer. The drive back to the studio is short but feels significant. Not walking to the cabins anymore. Not Calvin’s neighbor. Just me in my own space.
The studio already has my things scattered around from yesterday’s move, boxes stacked against one wall, Laila’s bed by the window where she likes to watch the street. I sit on the floor with my back against the wall, Laila’s head heavy in my lap, and let myself feel the weight of this change. My phone buzzes with Theo checking that I’m settling in okay, and after responding, I find myself scrolling to Calvin’s name in my contacts.
I could text him. Tell him I’ve moved out of the cabins. Tell him I love him but I’m done waiting. Instead, I delete the entire conversation thread. Every flirty exchange, every late-night confession, every promise that turned out to be temporary. It doesn’t change anything, but it feels like choice. Like agency. Like the first step toward whoever I’m going to be after this.
Laila sighs in her sleep, and I close my eyes and make myself a promise: No more waiting. No more shrinking. No more loving people who can only love me back in theory. Tomorrow I’ll continue unpacking, make this empty space more like home. Tonight, I just breathe until it stops feeling like drowning and starts feeling like swimming toward something better.
Even if I can’t see the shore yet.
CHAPTER 28
CALVIN
