Chapter 4 #3
The air feels different today—heavier as the world settles back into its usual rhythm after the fevered haze of Richard’s birthday weekend.
Grant’s outside with Richard, tossing our bags into the trunk of his car, and Dean’s with me in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.
His eyes flicker between Noelle and me as she packs away the last remnants of our breakfast, giving us all to-go containers for the road.
I can tell he’s not quite ready to leave yet, and frankly neither am I.
There’s a subtle heaviness to Noelle’s movements, a quiet melancholy that tugs at something deep in my chest.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
The soft curve of her lips is tempered by a faint frown that she’s trying to hide as she snaps the last container shut and sets it down in the bag.
The weekend was a whirlwind of Richard’s birthday dinner, the laughter and the wine shared between us all, and the stolen moments in her room where Grant, Dean, and I got to know her on a level we never thought possible.
Now though, with the festivities behind us, this place feels far too quiet and sad.
Moving away from the doorway, I cross the kitchen to stand beside her.
She’s packed our to-go bag to the brim with pancakes that still fog the plastic and syrup in little dipping containers tucked between two containers of fresh berries.
It’s more than enough to hold us over on the trip back home, but for some reason it makes a pit form in my stomach.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
“Smells good,” I say and nudge her, trying to coax a smile from her.
She glances up, her eyes meeting mine, and I see that flicker of warmth that makes my pulse kick up.
Today it’s dimmed though by the sadness lurking in her expression.
She sighs. “Thanks.”
I want to reach for her, to pull her close and chase away that look, but her dad could walk in at any second and the last thing I want to do is catch us all in a scandal.
So I settle for brushing my fingers up her arm, a fleeting touch that makes her lips twitch into a small smile.
“Think she’s trying to fatten us up before we go, Cal,” Dean says, nodding to the bag. “If I don’t end up gaining ten pounds by next week, it’ll be a miracle.”
She rolls her eyes and swats at him with a spatula. “Oh, hush, you. I didn’t hear you complaining all weekend.”
He leaps back, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “That’s because I’m finally coming out of my food coma.”
“Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t starve on the road,” she shoots back.
For a moment, the tension breaks.
Her laugh brightens the room like sunlight cutting through dark clouds overhead.
I feel it tug at something deep in me, and before I can stop it my own smile starts to form.
Just a small one, but real.
Relief pools in my chest seeing her like this, eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the heat of the stove.
Waking up this morning to find her elbow-deep in pancake batter with that deep scowl on her face…it had twisted something in me.
I wanted to fix it, say something stupid and lighthearted just to make her smile again, but the truth was I didn’t know how.
Now, though, watching her laugh, watching the way the corners of her eyes crinkle and the tension finally bleed from her shoulders, it’s like I can breathe again.
My mouth parts as the words we’ll be back soon nearly cross my tongue.
The words hover at the back of my throat, bitter and heavy, and I swallow them down before they can turn into a lie.
She doesn’t deserve that.
Not the false hope that the three of us will come back here and sit around the same table with her like nothing’s changed.
Everything has changed.
This weekend has been more than just a whirlwind. Something in me has been altered in a way that can’t be undone no matter how much I might wish otherwise.
The things we said, the things we did, there’s no pretending we can just walk away and just slip back into the lives we had beforehand.
Then the sound of footsteps draws my attention.
Grant steps into the kitchen, his jacket slung over his shoulders, his hair still mussed from sleep.
He looks softer like this, less like the man who always has a plan and someone more human.
I can tell by the way his gaze lingers on Noelle that he’s feeling the same, that he’s caught between wanting to stay and knowing he can’t.
He glances at us and for a heartbeat the silence stretches.
I can feel the clock ticking between us, and when the time comes to leave he’ll struggle with that too.
At least Dean and I aren’t alone in this.
Eventually, Noelle ties up the bag and hands it over, a small sigh leaving her in the process.
We walk to the front of the house and over to the front door where Richard’s already waiting.
“You boys drive back safe, now.” He claps me hard on the shoulder, doing the same for Dean and Grant as they pass too.
I nod, forcing myself not to look over at Noelle one last time. “Thanks. We’ll text you when we make it. Hopefully without a trip to the hospital first.”
“Hey now,” Dean protests. “You weren’t saying jack shit about my driving last time when you got to take a nap in the backseat.”
“Let’s not jinx it.”
Richard lets out a hearty laugh and shakes his head.
We pile into Grant’s car soon after, the engine rumbling to life once our limbs are tucked in and our doors shut.
I look back as we pull out of the driveway, through the rearview window and see Noelle’s standing on the porch with her arms wrapped around herself.
Next to her, Richard’s got his arm slung around her shoulders, pulling her against his side while waving at us.
She waves too in a small, wistful gesture, and I feel that ache again settling in my chest, sharp and insistent.
She looks smaller from this distance, framed by the doorway like a memory I already know I’ll replay too many times once I’m back under my own roof and tucked into a bed that feels far too cold.
I try to wave back, but the movement feels clumsy.
“Shit,” Dean mutters, shifting the car into drive while pulling out of the driveway.
The road stretches out ahead of us, the quiet town fading into the distance, but my mind’s still in that house, in her room, wrapped inside the warmth of her laughter and the heat of her touch.
We don’t talk about it.
We don’t need to.
It’s there in every shared glance, in every quiet breath, how we all feel about finally being forced to return back to reality.
I hope, one day, we can return again.