Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tuesday nights with Bella usually meant leftovers and wine.
Mac was halfway through a generous glass of wine when Bella said, “So, Daisy Fitz wants to throw me a slumber-party birthday on Friday.”
Setting down her glass, Mac shifted on the front porch glider to face her friend. “A what?”
Bella leaned back, fingers curved around the stem of her glass like she was already picturing it. “Sleeping bags. Bad movies. Way too much food. Daisy’s idea. She says if I’m committing to another year of adulthood, I should do it properly.”
Mac laughed before she could stop herself. How easily it came surprised her. “That actually sounds amazing.”
“I know.” Bella’s eyes lit. “She wants to have it at her place. She asked who else I’d like there, and I said you.”
For a moment, Mac let herself imagine it. Stretching out on the floor with a pillow, no schedule, no early-morning workout waiting to ambush her. Just staying up too late, and watching bad movies, with a couple of girlfriends just because she wanted to.
Then reality slipped back in.
“The slumber party would be this Friday?” she asked.
Bella nodded. “Yeah.”
Mac exhaled slowly. “I’m scheduled at the high school.”
Bella’s smile softened, not disappearing but adjusting. “Open gym?”
“Yeah. Check-in table. Scoreboard. Keeping an eye on things.” Mac shrugged like she was stating the weather. “I already said yes.”
“You could come late?”
Mac shook her head. “I’m covering the morning shift, too.”
Bella studied her for a beat, then nodded. “I understand.”
No disappointment. No guilt. Just acceptance.
Mac hadn’t realized how much she’d braced herself until she felt her shoulders ease.
“I get it,” Bella added gently.
“Maybe next time,” Mac said automatically.
The words came out the way they always did—smooth, practiced, final.
They finished their wine, talking about Bella’s catering jobs and Mac’s workouts. The early-evening light slanted across the porch, glimmering against the green of the frog planter.
The scene felt calm. Orderly. Exactly the way she’d trained it to be—the slow creak of the glider, the cool glass in her hand, the familiar quiet settling in.
And for some reason, tonight it all felt…insufficient.
Bella was making sounds about needing to leave when they heard a door opening and shifted their attention.
Connor was halfway down his front steps when he saw them. “Hey,” he said, surprised and pleased all at once. “Good to see you, Bella.”
“Hi, Connor.” Bella lifted her keys slightly and rose. “I’d love to stay longer, but it’s time for me to get to work.”
“Don’t hurry off on my account,” he said.
“I’ve a lot to get done, especially if I’m going to party on Friday.” Bella turned to Mac. “I wish you could be there, but I understand.”
Bella got in her car and drove off.
Connor’s gaze remained on Mac. “What’s up?”
She told him about Daisy hosting a slumber party that would conflict with her open-gym shifts.
Connor listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he asked, “What do you do during a shift at the gym?”
She blinked. “Supervising. Checking kids in. Running the scoreboard. Making sure no one gets dumb ideas.”
He nodded once. “I could cover those shifts for you—if you want.”
The offer sat there. Simple. Uncomplicated.
“No, it’s fine.” The answer came fast. “I’ve got it.”
Connor didn’t argue.
Mac thought about his offer, but asking someone to bend for her felt heavier than bending herself.
If she handled things herself, nobody had to rearrange their life around her.
“I already said no to the invite,” she said.
“Then it’s your call,” Connor replied.
No pressure. Just space.
Mac stared at the strip of sidewalk between their houses. Same few steps. Same easy distance.
She wasn’t choosing between a commitment and fun.
She was choosing what she always chose.
The safe thing.
“I want to go to the party,” she heard herself say.
Connor’s smile was quiet. Steady. “Okay.”
The word loosened something inside her.
“I’ll text the gym coordinator,” she said.
She nodded, heart thudding. Not from nerves. Not from fear.
From relief.
And then Mac realized something else.
The relief wasn’t about going to a slumber party.
It was about the quiet realization that she didn’t always have to be the one who filled the gap.
And that felt new.
Daisy Fitz’s house looked exactly like Mac had expected it to—a cute little bungalow at the end of a dead-end street. Every light on, a “Happy Birthday, Bella!” banner strung across the front porch, laughter spilling through the open front windows.
Mac stood on the sidewalk for a second longer than necessary, overnight bag slung over her shoulder, listening.
Someone—Daisy, she thought—shrieked with laughter. A door banged shut. Music thumped, something nostalgic, loud enough to argue with.
She smiled before she could stop herself.
This was happening.
Inside, Daisy’s living room had surrendered to the party. Furniture pushed back. Sleeping bags spread across the floor in overlapping colors and patterns. Pillows piled in corners like a fort someone had given up on building halfway through.
A folding table sagged under the weight of snacks—bowls of popcorn, chips and candy, several wrappers already torn open and tossed.
Bella spotted her first.
“There she is!” Bella called, halfway across the room. “I was about to send a search party.”
Mac barely had time to set her bag down before Bella pulled her into a hug. She smelled like vanilla, flour and something warm—cake batter, maybe.
“You came,” Bella said, like she hadn’t fully believed she would.
“I said I would,” Mac replied. And realized how rare it was for her to say that without calculating the cost.
Daisy appeared at Bella’s shoulder, arms flung wide. “Mac! Welcome to the most age-inappropriate birthday celebration of my life.”
Mac laughed. “It looks perfect.”
“It is perfect,” Daisy said firmly. “Phones down, standards low, pajamas mandatory.”
She gestured toward a pile of sleeping bags near the couch. “Pick your poison. Bella has already chosen hers.”
Mac knelt and sorted through the sleeping bags. Nothing matched. Nothing coordinated. She chose one with a faded constellation pattern and rolled it out near the one that Bella indicated was hers.
Daisy shoved a cup into her hand. Bella turned the music louder. The house hummed—not polished, not curated. Just alive.
At some point, Daisy disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tray of brownies that were still warm in the middle.
“These are structurally unsound,” she announced. “Eat at your own risk.”
Mac sat cross-legged on the floor, a brownie balanced on a paper napkin, chocolate already smudged on her fingers. She licked it off without thinking, then laughed at herself.
Bella caught her eye and grinned. “Look at you. Wild.”
Mac snorted. “Careful. I might stay up past ten.”
“Oh, we’re absolutely ruining your routine tonight,” Bella said. “That’s the plan.”
No one could fully agree on a movie, so Bella cast the deciding vote, queuing up something bad enough to be funny and familiar enough to feel safe.
Mac stretched out on her stomach, chin propped in her hands, watching the screen under the glow of string lights Daisy had tacked along the ceiling. Laughter came in waves—too loud, too sudden, the kind that made ribs ache.
At one point, Daisy pulled out face masks—green, pink, glittery goop.
“No,” Mac said automatically.
Bella raised an eyebrow. “Just try it.”
Mac hesitated, then shrugged. “Fine.”
Daisy leaned forward and smeared something cool and minty across her cheeks. Mac caught her reflection in a darkened window—, face shiny and ridiculous—and laughed out loud.
This was what she’d missed.
Not the things themselves, but the ease. The lack of focus on a particular outcome.
Hours passed without being counted.
They talked about everything and nothing. Old stories. Embarrassing moments. Half-formed plans that didn’t need follow-through.
Mac listened more than she spoke, curled into her sleeping bag, feeling something in her chest loosen.
No scoreboard.
No schedule.
No version of herself she had to maintain.
Just presence.
Sometime after midnight, when the movie credits rolled unnoticed, Bella turned toward her. “Having fun?” she asked, her voice soft.
Mac nodded, surprised by the thickness in her throat. “Yeah. I really am.”
Bella smiled and bumped her foot gently against Mac’s. “Good.”
Mac lay awake later, long after the house had settled into the uneven rhythm of sleep—soft breathing, a quiet snore, Daisy shifting on the floor.
She stared up at the faint glow of lights no one had bothered to turn off and didn’t feel the urge to get up and take care of that.
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel behind.
She didn’t feel like she’d chosen wrong.
She felt—simply, unmistakably—present.
Connor was crouched at the edge of his driveway, one knee on the concrete, the bike chain looped loose over the gears. He turned the pedal slowly with one hand, listening for the hitch that had started on his last ride. It clicked again, faint but there.
He frowned, adjusted the tension, tried once more.
Better.
He wiped his hands on the hem of his T-shirt and reached for the water bottle by the curb just as Mac’s garage door opened.
She stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, wheeling her bike.
Hair wild. Oversized sweatshirt. Bike helmet dangling from one hand, keys from the other. She looked rested in a way that wasn’t about sleep—more like something had been set down and stayed there.
Connor straightened without thinking.
“Hey,” he said.
““Hey.” She smiled, small but easy. “How’d the gym go this morning?”
“Surprisingly painless,” he said. “Nobody mutinied.”
“That’s always the goal,” she said, glancing at the bike. “Chain trouble?”
“Trying to get ahead of it before it gets any ideas.”
She walked closer, stopping at the edge of his driveway. “Must be the day for bikes.”
“Going for a ride somewhere specific?”
“Nowhere in particular,” she said. “It’s just too nice a day to be inside.”
“Mind if I join you?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
She propped her bike against the mailbox and sat on the curb beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. He was aware of it without needing to look—heat, presence.
Connor gave the chain one last test, then flipped the bike upright. “Ready.”
They rolled off together, setting an easy pace on surprisingly quiet neighborhood streets. Sprinklers ticked in the yards. A dog barked once and then settled. The lake breeze carried that clean, fresh smell it always did when the wind kicked up.
For a while, they didn’t talk.
She rode like someone who knew her body well—no wasted motion, no urgency. Not showy. Just steady.
He liked that.
They turned toward the path that ran along the water, gravel crunching under their tires. Sunlight flashed through the trees in quick bursts, dappling her sweatshirt.
“You look different today,” he said, then immediately wished he’d phrased it better.
She glanced over, eyebrow lifting. “Different how?”
He considered. “Lighter,” he said finally. “Like you’re not bracing for something.”
She smiled at that—not wide, not surprised. Just acknowledging it. “Last night, I stayed up too late. Ate way too much chocolate.”
He laughed. “That’ll do it.”
They rode on, the lake opening up beside them, blue and bright and busy with boats cutting clean lines through the water.
“Bella had a good birthday?” he asked.
“She did.” A pause. “So did I.”
He nodded, accepting that without asking for more.
They slowed near the overlook, coasting to a stop. Connor rested a foot on the ground, watching her take in the view like she hadn’t realized what she’d been missing.
“You want to keep going?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s just…wander.”
They did.
No route. No destination. Just the sound of tires and breath and the quiet satisfaction of moving forward together.
When they finally turned back toward home, the path grew busier. Mac rode ahead of him now, laughing when she hit a rough patch of gravel, calling back over her shoulder, “You alive back there?”
“Barely,” he said.
She grinned and slowed, letting him pull alongside her again.
As they reached her driveway, he coasted to a stop beside her.
She put a foot down, steady, unhurried.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said.
“Anytime.”
She smiled, then turned toward her garage as the door slid upward.
Connor stayed where he was a second longer, hands resting on the handlebars, chest still warm from the ride, and watched until she disappeared inside.