Chapter 24 #2
I laugh, setting my bag down and reaching for the scrapbook. “Yes, ma’am.”
We gather around the dining table as I flip to the latest page. The newest ultrasound photos tucked into the corners with care, little captions written in pen.
Mom traces the image of Baby A with gentle fingers. “Look at that,” she murmurs. “She has your profile, Olive. Just like you did at that size.”
“You’re having girls?” Phern asks, her voice soft with wonder.
“Just a feeling,” I say, resting my hand on my stomach. “They feel like girls.”
My mom nods, proud and certain. “Twin girls run in the family.”
My chest tightens with the warmth of it. This moment, these women, this feeling of belonging.
But a piece of me still aches. Still misses the one person who should be sitting here with us, grinning like an idiot and making name suggestions I’d roll my eyes at. And I wonder just for a second if he’s somewhere, holding that same ache.
Dad gets home a bit later, his boots clunking on the porch just like they always have.
The second he steps inside, I hold up the scrapbook.
He doesn’t even take his coat off. And we all do it again, oohing and aahing over the twins, laughing about how alike they already look, comparing noses and chins and their little fists.
It’s the kind of evening I didn’t know I needed until I was in the middle of it.
By the time dinner rolls around, my cheeks ache from smiling. My ribs feel looser. My heart lighter.
As Mom starts pulling dishes from the oven, she says over her shoulder, “Olive, why don’t you take Phern to your room so she can freshen up before dinner?”
I nod, waving Phern along as I head down the hall.
“I should warn you,” I say. “This room is frozen in time.”
I open the door and step inside, immediately hit with the scent of old candles, forgotten perfume, and the dust of memories.
Nothing’s changed. The same twin beds sit on either side of the room, one with a faded purple comforter, the other covered in Opal’s old denim quilt.
The walls are still plastered with posters, magazine clippings, and a corkboard full of photos.
Phern stops just inside the doorway and slowly turns, surveying everything.
Then she smirks. “Wow. One Direction. Why am I not surprised?”
I point to the opposite wall with mock indignation. “That’s Opal’s side of the room.”
Phern raises an eyebrow and points to a corner near my dresser. “I’m not going to mention that there’s a One Direction poster over there, too.”
I grin. “Fine. But in my defense, I was easily manipulated by my sister.”
We both laugh, the kind that bubbles up from the belly. It’s the first time I’ve talked about Opal’s side of the room without choking up. Something about Phern being here makes it feel a little less fragile. A little more alive.
Phern crosses the room and sits on the edge of Opal’s old bed, brushing her hand over the quilt.
“This feels like you,” she says softly. “And her.”
I nod, throat thick. “It was us,” I whisper. “For a long time, it was everything.”
She looks up at me. “It still is.”
Phern smooths her hand across Opal’s quilt again, her fingers catching on the worn stitching of a butterfly patch near the corner.
“She had good taste,” she says quietly.
“She was loud about it,” I reply with a smile. “Everything had to have sparkle or denim or both. You should’ve seen what she wore to our eighth-grade graduation. Tried to get me to match, like we were Britany and Justin, circa 2001.”
Phern laughs under her breath, but there’s something heavier in her eyes now. “I wish I could’ve met her.”
“She would’ve loved you,” I say, no hesitation. “She had a nose for bullshit and loyalty. You would’ve been instant friends. Probably would've ganged up on me.”
“Definitely would have,” she teases.
I sit down on the bed across from her, curling my legs underneath me. “I miss her every day.”
Phern nods. “I can tell.”
“I spent so long trying to be the one who didn’t fall apart,” I whisper. “After she died, I just… held everything. For my parents. For myself. For what was left.”
“And then Liam,” she says softly.
I nod. “And then Liam.”
The air shifts a little, sadness curling in the corners like dusk.
“I didn’t mean to fall for him,” I admit. “I just did. And when it was good, it was so good. But when it started unraveling—” I shake my head. “I couldn’t catch it fast enough.”
Phern looks at me for a long beat, then says, “Do you ever wish you’d stayed quiet? Not told him about the babies?”
“No,” I whisper. “I wish he’d heard me and I definitely wish he’d believed me. But I don’t regret telling him.”
She nods slowly, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what he’s doing, Olive. I don’t know why he hasn’t come after you. But I do know he’s miserable. And so are you.”
I bite my lip, the weight of that truth pressing down on my chest.
“But even if he never comes,” she continues, “you’ll still have something beautiful. You’ve already made something beautiful. That’s what Opal would’ve seen. Not what you lost but what you’re still building.”
Tears fill my eyes, and I don’t bother to blink them away. “I’m so scared.”
Phern reaches across the space between us and takes my hand. “Then be scared. And keep going anyway. You have to. We both do.”
I look up at her in question, but all she does is shake her head, like she’s not ready to talk about whatever sent her running to Kansas.
We sit like that for a while with our hands clasped. Just two girls who’ve seen love twist and tangle and try to undo them. But we’re still here.
And sometimes, that’s enough.