Chapter 2 #3
Carolina, behind Ella, said nothing.
Ella swept carefully, the bristles clicking over shards. Lara kept apologizing until it became harder to comfort her than to mourn the glass.
“It’s really okay,” Ella said again, gentler. “Please don’t worry.”
“I’ll replace it.”
“You probably can’t. It was from a flea market in Maine.”
Lara’s face crumpled a little.
Ella immediately wished she had not said that.
“I mean, it doesn’t matter,” she added quickly. “I’m just saying don’t worry about replacing it.”
Noah crouched to help pick up larger pieces with a paper towel. “This was from Bar Harbor, right?”
“Portland,” Lara said.
Ella looked up.
Lara blinked. “Wasn’t it Portland? You said the mug was Maine, and I thought—sorry, I assumed.”
Noah glanced between them. “The mugs were Bar Harbor. The glasses were Portland.”
“Oh,” Ella said.
He smiled faintly. “You always mix those up.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. The woman with the dog who kept stealing coasters?”
“That was Portland?”
“Definitely Portland.”
Ella stared at the blue fragments in the dustpan and laughed, because it was such a small thing and because she did apparently mix them up.
“Right,” she said. “Portland.”
Lara hugged herself, looking miserable. “I still feel terrible.”
“Don’t.” Ella dumped the glass into the trash and tied the bag before Noah could forget and press it down later with his hand, which he absolutely would. “It was an accident.”
Carolina’s eyes were on Lara.
Lara did not seem to notice. She took the paper towel from Noah and insisted on wiping the floor after Ella swept it. Then she insisted on checking Noah’s feet for cuts because he had moved too quickly.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You say that when you’re bleeding.”
“I’m not bleeding.”
“You also say that before you check.”
Noah rolled his eyes, but he lifted one foot obediently.
Ella watched Lara bend over his foot, brows drawn in concentration, her hand curved lightly around his ankle for balance.
It was such a normal gesture. Concern. Habit. Friendship.
Still, something pinched.
Not hard. Not enough to hurt.
Just enough that when Carolina touched Ella’s elbow, Ella knew she had noticed.
“I’m going to head out,” Carolina said.
“Already?”
“I have an early call.”
“You never have early calls.”
“I have one tomorrow because God is testing me.” She kissed Ella’s cheek. “Walk me out?”
Ella followed her to the entry.
Carolina wrapped her scarf around her neck slowly, waiting until they were out of earshot.
“It could be nothing,” she said.
Ella exhaled. “Carolina.”
“I mean it. It could be nothing. Broken glass is broken glass.”
“Then why are you doing your murder podcast voice?”
“Because she broke your glass and somehow she go cozy tending to Noah.”
Ella opened her mouth, then closed it. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“That is not an accusation,” Carolina said. “It’s an observation.”
“It was an accident.”
“I know.”
“He was barefoot.”
“I know that too.”
Ella rubbed at her forehead. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Then don’t. Just notice.”
“Notice what?”
“When something happens, who loses space and who gains it.”
The words sat between them, unpleasant and oddly shaped.
“That sounds paranoid,” Ella said.
“Maybe.” Carolina’s gaze softened. “Maybe not. Either way, you don’t have to turn your generosity into blindness to prove you’re a good person.”
Ella looked back toward the kitchen. Noah was laughing at something Lara had said. The sound should have made her happy. It usually did.
It still did.
Mostly.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Ella said.
“You better.”
Carolina opened the front door, then turned back. “For the record, I hope I’m being unfair.”
“Me too.”
After Carolina left, Ella stood in the entry for a moment with her hand on the lock.
The house was warm behind her. Light spilled from the kitchen.
Noah and Lara’s voices rose and fell easily, familiar and harmless.
Ella told herself Carolina was protective to the point of overreach because that was how Carolina loved.
She saw knives in every shadow and called it pattern recognition.
Ella did not want knives.
She wanted to go back into the kitchen and kiss her fiancé and tell Lara again not to worry about the glass.
So she did.
Lara looked up as Ella entered, still guilty. “I wiped the floor twice.”
“Good, because Noah is has low pain tolerance and cannot survive minor injury.”
Noah pointed at her. “That joke is hostile.”
“It not untrue though,” Lara said.
Ella laughed.
The rest of the night settled. Lara went upstairs early. Noah loaded the dishwasher, badly. Ella corrected him, because love did not require allowing chaos in the utensil basket. They went to bed with the house quiet around them.
Noah fell asleep quickly.
Ella did not.
She lay on her side, facing the window, and thought about the blue glass.
Not because Lara had broken it.
Because when Ella had misremembered where it came from, Lara had almost remembered correctly.
Almost.
Which meant nothing.
Ella closed her eyes.
It was a glass. It was soup. It was coffee with milk.
It was nothing at all.