Chapter 3 Clara
THREE
CLARA
A sliver of morning light filtered through the curtain, illuminating the diamond ring on my left hand. The brilliant round stone sent sparks flying across the ceiling, and I watched in awe at how the light danced when I moved my hand.
I wasn’t exactly sure why I was still wearing it, but something about it represented the life I had been building.
An uncertain adulthood of chasing a dream, an exciting life in the city, and not worrying about bills.
That life had looked so good on paper—steady money, glossy social media stories, a built-in plus-one for every event.
It was the kind of life my parents called secure, and I’d convinced myself it was enough.
It was a life I wasn’t quite ready to let go of yet.
As the fire from my ring danced across the walls, I looked around at my childhood bedroom.
Mom and Dad hadn’t changed a thing since I left at eighteen.
The bedsheets were still a dusty pink with tiny roses.
My vanity was covered in old makeup and nail polish I was certain had long dried up.
Pictures of high school friends were stuck to the corkboard.
I’d kept in touch with a few of them, but there were others that had gone their separate ways and we’d never spoken again.
Nothing about the room felt like me anymore.
I’d tried on so many versions of myself since leaving this house—college Clara, model Clara, fake-fiancée Clara—that this old high school version felt like a costume I’d outgrown and stuffed in the back of the closet.
It was strange to feel relief that I no longer had to lie about my relationship anymore, but at the same time be consumed with uncertainty.
I couldn’t live with my parents forever but I’d taken Greg’s financial generosity for granted, and now that I was left to figure things out by myself, I was just . . . lost.
Greg hadn’t even reached out to talk, and I was still mad at him for how publicly our drama had played out.
Online gossip columns made me the butt of many jokes, and it seemed like our mutual friends were all on Greg’s side.
Yes, I was happy he could openly love whomever he wanted to, but was getting a heads-up too much to ask?
It was like life had hit rewind and dropped me back at the starting line while everyone else kept running.
Burying my head in the sand was the most comforting option.
“Clara, breakfast!” my mother’s voice called from down the hall.
I was thirty-one and living with my parents, but it came with free breakfast, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.
When I didn’t respond, Mom opened the door without knocking and waltzed right in. “Time to get up, lazy bones.” She moved toward the window and jerked open the curtains, blinding me. The sunlight felt like an interrogation lamp, spotlighting my smeared mascara and the ring I still hadn’t taken off.
My hand covered my eyes. “Jeez, Mom. A little warning next time.”
She tsked and walked around the room, gathering my discarded clothes in her arms. “You didn’t learn to be any tidier while you were away, I see.” Her soft green eyes pinned me in place.
I offered a sheepish grin.
Mom patted my leg. “Let’s go. The day’s wasting.”
I groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets across my shoulders. Free breakfast wasn’t quite worth moving yet.
“Morning, Clara.” Dad’s cheery voice floated across the room as he walked in. My dad was pretty fit for his age and often attributed his sunny disposition to early-morning runs. “Let’s get a move on.”
Frustrated, I sat up. “Can’t a girl wallow for a while?”
Dad smiled but shook his head. “Our house, our rules.”
My face twisted. My parents’ rules had never been all that strict, but with five kids, we’d learned early that rules in Angela and Burt’s house were what helped keep it a well-oiled machine. I never imagined those rules would still apply to me as an adult.
“Fiiine.” I dragged out the word in hopes they’d feel my annoyance.
“Atta girl,” Mom chirped. She continued infiltrating my space as I sat up, moving things over, and generally attempting to organize my chaos.
She plucked a thong from the ground and held it up with two fingers. “Now what in the world does this cover?”
I laughed and swiped it from her hands. “Not much. That’s the point.”
Scandalized, my mother shook her head. “I swear, I don’t understand young women today. Maybe that’s why things didn’t work out . . .”
There it was—the gentle, well-meaning insinuation that if I’d just been a little different, a little less, things might have gone another way.
She didn’t mean any harm in her words, but defensiveness reared up anyway. “Greg and I didn’t work out because he’s gay, not because my underwear was too scandalous for you.”
She shook her head and lifted her shoulders like maybe she didn’t believe it. “I’m just saying is all . . .”
“Okay.” I tossed the blankets aside and stood. “I’m up. Can this conversation please be over?”
Mom moved to the doorway, and before she left, tossed a wink over her shoulder. She had goaded me just enough to drag my sorry ass out of bed, and I’d fallen for it.
Downstairs, nostalgia hit me square in the chest. The air smelled of sweet pancakes and hearty bacon.
It looked like my parents had already eaten, but left a stack just for me.
I’d spent years chasing trendy brunch spots and overpriced oat milk lattes, but nothing touched a quiet kitchen and a plate someone made because they knew you were coming.
I pulled one pancake off the top, placed a strip of bacon over it, and rolled the pancake up.
I took a bite and moaned.
“Gross. Make out with your breakfast somewhere else.” My little sister Kit’s voice had me turning. She shot me a grin before sticking out her tongue.
Simply because I could gross her out, I opened my mouth to show her my half-chewed food.
She laughed, throwing a tiny piece of bacon in my direction. “That’s so hot.”
I giggled and swallowed down the food. I looked over her shoulder to make sure my parents were not within earshot. “Let me move in with you.”
The words tumbled out before I could prettify them. I sounded desperate because I was. I loved my parents, but I was one “So, what’s next?” away from a full mental breakdown.
Kit looked sympathetic but shook her head. “No can do. One-bedroom apartment. I’d rather keep warm with someone besides my sister. No offense.”
I pouted but knew she was right. Though I hadn’t seen it in person, her apartment seemed tiny, and we’d be practically on top of each other. I’d arranged for movers to clear out the apartment I’d shared with Greg, and the boxes were slated to arrive later in the week. I sighed.
I already miss that closet.
It wasn’t just the hangers and square footage I missed. It was the version of me who’d stood in that closet and believed she was one good break away from making it.
“Get dressed. I’m going to the farm, and you can come with me,” Kit said.
“Yes, I’m in.” I shoved another bite of bacon pancake into my mouth and went to get myself ready.
Cal and my sister Elodie lived together. He owned the local inn, and together they were renovating the neighboring farm property. She’d turned it into a family-friendly destination, and they were even opening a restaurant on-site. I couldn’t wait to see it in person.
As Kit drove past the Drifted Spirit Inn, I stared up at the beautifully peaked roofline of the old Victorian house. “Maybe Cal will rent me a room.”
It came out half joke, half plea. Anything to avoid being the thirty-one-year-old cautionary tale living at home with her parents and a stack of moving boxes.
Kit’s barking laugh shot out. “Good luck with that. Once Elodie revamped Star Harbor Family Farm, the inn’s been booked solid. The waitlist is over a year long.”
I was disappointed for myself, but happy for my sister.
While my life was falling apart, hers was falling perfectly into place.
Kit drove past the inn and toward the huge blue barn on the farm property.
The once-overgrown farmland had been transformed into a family destination.
A soft blanket of snow covered the pumpkin patch.
In the distance, the dunes of Lake Michigan created a breathtaking view of the lake.
Old trees dotted the property, and immediately my mind went to a winter wedding with twinkle lights and an old chandelier hanging from the branches. I wondered whether Elodie had ever considered using the property for weddings. She’d make a killing.
I could already see it: velvet bridesmaid dresses, fur wraps, hot cocoa bar in the corner, the signature cocktails named something cute and romantic. My brain slipped into work mode without asking my permission.
Kit turned off the car engine, and we both climbed out. The huge blue barn was still under construction inside—together they were creating a farm-to-table restaurant, and the crew was still working on the interior.
As we walked in, cozy, warm lighting greeted us. “This is stunning.”
The soft glow made the raw beams and unfinished edges feel intentional, like the whole place was mid-transformation. I felt a sharp, stupid pang of envy. The farm knew exactly what it was becoming.
I did not.
Kit grinned. “She really did it.”
Warmth filled my chest as happiness for my sister spread through me. I could see her vision so clearly, but it was intermixed with my own thoughts of how gorgeous a wedding could be there.
From the restaurant side of the barn, my sister walked toward us. Her brown hair swung past her shoulders, and pure happiness made her green eyes glow. Being in love looked good on her.
“This is a nice surprise!” Elodie wiped her hands on a rag before she greeted us with hugs. “Sorry. I’m a mess. We’re all dusty over there.”
I smiled at her. “This is incredible. I can’t believe what you’ve done with the old farm.”
Her grin widened. “Isn’t it great? Wes and his guys do some really impressive work.”