Page 131 of ICED
I swallow. One ofus.
He leans in and kisses my forehead. Just a small, careful kiss. But it cracks something open in me. Sends heat through my chest like sunlight after a storm. I close my eyes and lean into him for a beat longer than necessary.
Sophie calls around midday, just as I’m reorganising the spice rack. I’m not sure when I started nesting, but I’ve now alphabetised cumin and coriander like it’s the most urgent task on earth. Owen has three different kinds of paprika. I don’t even question it.
“Hey, you okay?” Sophie asks, voice soft but alert.
“I’m... managing.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “Murphy told me what happened. Said you screamed bloody murder.”
“Yeah.” I let out a rough sound. Not quite a laugh. “I did.”
“Good,” she says. “You did exactly what you needed to.”
I blink. “You think?”
“Hell yes. You yelled and theyran. That’s what a team’s for. That’s whatfamilydoes.”
That word again. Family.
Sophie keeps going, voice sure and unwavering. “You don’t owe anyone quiet, Maya. You don’t have to shrink to keep the peace anymore.”
I sink onto the sofa, hand over my eyes. My throat tightens.
“You’ve got people now,” she says. “Not just Jacko. Me. Murph. Mia. Dylan. Ollie too, once he grows a brain.”
I snort, startled into laughter. “I’m not used to this.”
“To what?”
“To people showing up. Staying. Caring.”
“Well, buckle up,” she says. “Because you’ve got a ride-or-die girl gang now. Mia’s already planning a spa night, and I’m insisting on feeding you way too many cookies once this baby comes out.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. Because welike you. I know it’s hard to trust that. But this, what you have with Jacko, it’s real. And it doesn’t come with strings. Just support.”
“I’m trying to believe that.”
“Try harder. You deserve it.”
After we hang up, I sit with her words like they’re a blanket I’m not sure I’m allowed to wrap around myself.
Then I wrap it anyway.
After the call, I find Lila sprawled in the reading nook Owen made from couch cushions and blankets. She’s attempting to readRoom on the Broomto Dave the sourdough starter, who is tucked into a kitchen towel beside her.
“Bear says he’s fir-minty,” she whispers, very seriously. “So he can’t play right now.”
“Fermenting. Of course,” I say, biting back a smile.
I sit beside her, stroking her curls. Her body is loose, calm. No fear, no tightness in her voice. She’s safe, too.
I should feel trapped here. I don’t. I feel like I can breathe.
Later, she insists on helping Owen make banana muffins. She wears one of his oversized T-shirts tied at the waist like an apron, her curls escaping every hairband I own. She’s chaos incarnate; flour in her eyebrows, chocolate chips on the floor, batter smeared across her cheek.
