Chapter 18 Evie #3
Kaia goes still. “Hi,” she says softly.
Gran strides forward with the confidence of a woman who, in her mind, is still in full command of the world. She stops in front of Kaia like she’s inspecting her.
“You’re late for pancakes,” Gran informs her.
Kaia’s mouth opens, startled. She glances at me like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“I’m sorry,” Kaia says, voice gentle. “I got… held up.”
Yeah, held up for years. I bite my tongue.
Gran hums, satisfied, like this is a normal excuse. Then she reaches out and pats Kaia’s cheek.
My stomach flips.
Kaia’s eyes close for a split second like she’s absorbing the touch.
“You look tired,” Gran says, matter-of-fact. “You been singing again?”
Kaia swallows. “Yes, ma’am.”
Gran nods firmly. “Good. Use your gift. But you still have to make time to eat.”
“My mom used to say that,” Kaia adds, quieter, like it slips out before she can stop it. “When I came home hoarse, she’d make kimchi jeon and tell me it would scare bad spirits away.”
Gran beams, delighted. “Pancakes that fight ghosts,” she declares, as if this is the most sensible thing anyone’s said all morning.
Kaia’s smile flickers. “Exactly.”
I turn back to the stove before my face can betray me. Batter into the pan. Bubbles forming. Flip.
My hands know what to do even when my heart doesn’t.
Behind me, Gran keeps talking.
“You still like blueberries?” she asks Kaia.
Kaia’s voice is careful. “Yes.”
“Evie never puts enough in,” Gran complains, like I’m not standing three feet away. “Stingy.”
“I can hear you,” I call, and my voice comes out rougher than I mean.
Gran waves a hand dismissively. “You can hear lots of things. Doesn’t mean you listen.”
Kaia huffs a quiet laugh—soft, delighted—and the sound hits me like a memory.
For a second, it really is like old times. Not perfect. Not healed. But… familiar.
I slide a plate in front of Gran first.
“Gran,” I say gently, “that’s yours.”
She looks up, confused. “Oh.”
Then she pushes the plate toward Kaia anyway. “Eat,” she orders.
Kaia’s eyes flick to mine. I nod once, because what am I going to do—argue with the tide? Kaia takes the plate like it’s a sacred object.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
Gran beams like she’s solved something important. “There. Better.”
I set another plate down in front of Gran and then a third in front of myself.
We eat.
It’s quiet at first, though I keep catching Kaia’s eyes and can’t help but smile softly.
Gran breaks it by pointing her fork at Kaia. “You gonna sing at the festival?”
Kaia’s posture tightens. “Tonight,” she says carefully. “Yes.”
Gran nods, pleased. “Good. Evie likes it.”
I almost choke on my coffee.
“Gran,” I say, warning.
Grandma looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “You do,” she insists. “You always did. You used to yell from the crowd like a seagull.”
Kaia’s mouth twitches. Her gaze drops to her plate like she’s trying not to look directly at me and explode.
My face burns.
“I did not yell like a seagull,” I mutter.
Kaia’s voice is quiet, amused. “You did.”
I shoot her a look that says don’t you start too.
Kaia’s eyes soften anyway, and for half a second the air between us goes warm and dangerous.
Gran watches us with vague satisfaction like she can sense something right even if she can’t name it.
Then her attention drifts. Her gaze slides to the window, to the fog outside.
“Your mother’s coming?” she asks suddenly.
My stomach drops.
“No,” I say quickly. “No, Gran. It’s just us.”
She frowns, upset. “She said she’d come.”
Gran has been doing this more lately—waiting for my mom the way you wait for a bus that stopped running years ago.
My mom has been dead since I was little, long enough that the grief should’ve settled into something quiet and manageable.
Gran raised me alone after that. She held the whole world up with her hands.
And now her brain keeps reaching for the easiest, safest story it can find: She’s coming home. She’ll walk through the door. Everything will make sense again.
Like loss is something you can undo with a knock on the porch.
Kaia’s hand stills on her fork.
I force my voice gentle. “She’s not coming today.”
Gran’s face tightens, confused and angry, emotion rising without a place to land. “Liar,” she says, and it’s not even aimed. It’s just a word her fear picks.
I reach out and cover her hand with mine. “Hey,” I say softly. “Hey. You’re okay.”
Her breathing quickens. Her eyes dart, searching for something she can trust.
Kaia moves without thinking.
She reaches out too—slow, careful—and places her hand lightly on Gran’s other wrist, like she’s offering steadiness without demanding anything.
Gran looks at her.
Kaia’s voice is gentle. “It’s okay,” she says, like she’s said it onstage to crowds and in quiet rooms to herself. “You’re safe. You’re home.”
Gran’s shoulders loosen a fraction. She blinks, then her eyes soften, and she pats Kaia’s hand like she’s grateful but doesn’t know why.
“Good girl,” Gran murmurs.
Kaia’s throat works.
I have to look away.
I scrape my chair back and go to the sink under the excuse of rinsing a plate, because my eyes sting and I’m not giving either of them that.
When I turn back, Gran is humming again, calmer, eating syrup-soaked bites like the moment of fear never happened.
Kaia sits very still, like she’s holding herself together by force.
I slide back into my chair and keep my voice casual because it’s the only thing I can do.
“More coffee?” I ask.
Kaia nods. “Please.”
Gran points her fork at me again. “Don’t be stingy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter.
For a few minutes, it is almost normal.
Then there’s a soft knock at the front door. Three knocks. Controlled. Polite. Kaia’s whole body tenses.
She glances toward the hallway. “That’ll be—”
“Your people,” I say flatly.
Kaia winces. “Technically Blaire’s people.”
We both stand at the same time like we’re being pulled by the same invisible string. Kaia wipes her hands on her jeans—pointless, nervous—then turns toward the kitchen doorway.
“Grandma Calder,” she says, gentle, the way you speak to someone you actually respect. “It was really nice to see you again.”
Gran looks up from her plate, syrup on her fork, pleased as a queen. “You ate,” she says, approving. “Good.”
Kaia smiles, soft and real. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And you come back,” Gran adds, like she’s issuing a schedule. “Next weekend. Pancakes.”
Kaia’s voice catches just slightly. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll… try.”
Gran nods, satisfied. “Good girl.”
Kaia’s eyes flick to me—quick, private—then she steps toward the front. I follow her to the door and open it.
Fog beads on the porch railing. The streetlight makes everything look softer than it is. A black SUV idles at the curb, engine whispering, windows tinted like secrets.
Jules and Remy stand nearby pretending to be casual civilians even though I’m pretty sure Jules is physically incapable of casual.
Jules lifts a hand. “Hi,” she whispers too loudly. “Sorry to interrupt domestic bliss.”
Kaia steps onto the porch. “What are you two doing here?”
Jules’ grin goes wider. “Oh, I wasn’t about to miss this.” She jerks her thumb at Remy. “And she’s only here because Blaire made her come with me.”
Remy rolls her eyes like it physically pains her to be associated with Jules in daylight. “I’m here because you can’t be trusted to stand near a sidewalk without causing a scene.”
Jules gasps. “I can be trusted. I’m a professional.”
“Professional menace,” Remy replies, deadpan.
I glance at Kaia and see she’s already got her hoodie zipped, hair tucked back, shoulders set—moving like she’s putting the mask on.
Like the girl at my table is already being folded up and packed away.
Gran calls from the kitchen, cheerful. “Tell the singing girl to take leftovers!”
Kaia’s face softens so fast it almost breaks me.
“I will,” I call back.
Then she looks at me. Just me.
Kaia’s voice drops. “Can I… text you later?”
My pulse kicks, stupidly.
She swallows. “Is your number still the same?”
For a second I just stare at her, because it’s such a small question and it holds so much history I can taste it.
Then I nod once. “Yeah,” I say, rough. “It’s the same.”
Relief flashes across her face—quick, bright, almost painful.
“Okay,” she whispers, like she’s anchoring it. Like she’s afraid if she says it too loudly the world will steal it. “Okay.”
She steps onto the porch, and I follow her out automatically, like my body refuses to let her leave without watching it happen.
The fog is colder now. The world feels too awake.
Kaia stops at the bottom step and turns back.
“I’ll text you.”
I nod once. “Okay.”
Kaia’s gaze lingers, like she wants to kiss me, like she’s choosing not to because Jules is five feet away vibrating with curiosity.
Instead she reaches out and squeezes my hand once—quick, private.
Then she lets go.
She walks toward the SUV.
Jules opens the back door with exaggerated politeness, like she’s chauffeuring royalty. “M’lady.”
Kaia flips her off without looking, and Jules cackles. Remy’s gaze flicks to me, unreadable, then she gives me the smallest nod—acknowledgment, not pity.
Kaia slides into the car. The door shuts with a soft, final thunk.
The SUV pulls away, taillights blurring into fog.
I stand on the porch in my pajama shorts and old hoodie like an idiot, watching it go until the street is empty again.
Behind me, Gran calls, “Evie! More pancakes!”
I swallow hard, turn back toward the warmth of the kitchen, and tell myself I’m fine.
Because the alternative is admitting that for a few minutes at my table, my life looked like a version of itself that never got the chance to happen.
And then it drove away.
***
I spend festival day pretending I’m fine at a professional level.
Really, I’m one breeze away from snapping in half.