Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
Kiera
Kiera sat stiffly at the kitchen table the next morning, staring at her phone beside a cooling cup of herbal tea that her mom had placed in front of her with gentle insistence. She’d texted Maggie an hour ago, just a quiet I’m here if you need me, and hadn’t expected a reply. The scent of sage lingered in the air — a residue of the cleansing and calming ritual her parents had performed earlier that morning in the house after Kiera had told them about Maggie’s mom passing. Her dad had finished pacing through the rooms, murmuring affirmations under his breath, ringing a small brass bell meant to bring peace and clarity.
Instead of clarity, Kiera felt a tension throughout her body, like a rope tightening inside her chest, pulling tighter with every breath.
Rationally, she knew that Maggie’s mom dying shouldn’t affect her so much, but it brought so many intense thoughts to the surface. She worried about her own parent’s dying, her friend’s grief, Izzy’s panic. The way Izzy’s hands shook as she booked her flight to get to Maggie.
She sent Izzy a good morning text, then asked how Maggie was feeling.
Izzy: She’s existing. Barely eating. Barely sleeping. Just… frozen. It’s awful, actually.
Kiera: Fuck, that does sound awful.
Izzy: And the kids, they’re like extra weird because Maggie’s weird. Arlo tried to push Jude down the stairs like some little psycho this morning.
“Mommy, can we have cookies for breakfast?” Eliza asked suddenly, her hopeful eyes cutting through Kiera’s spiraling thoughts. “They are oatmeal chocolate chip, and oatmeal is a breakfast food.”
“Yeah, cookies!” Quinn chimed in, bouncing on her toes.
Kiera forced a smile and reached out to ruffle Quinn’s hair. “That is a surprisingly good argument, Eliza. Go for it.”
The girls cheered and ran toward the cookie jar, their excitement cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over the house. It should’ve been comforting — these small, ordinary moments — but her thoughts kept drifting back to Maggie. To the raw, broken sound of her voice on the phone. The exhaustion laced into every word when Izzy called late last night.
Maggie’s mom was gone. Just like that. She’d died of a heart attack, gone within seconds. Every life ended too soon was a dark reminder of how fragile every day was.
A wave of grief for both Maggie and her mom washed over Kiera, an unexpected ache blossoming in her entire body.
Her parents were moving around the house in a gentle, hovering way — close but giving her space. Her mom puttered near the sink, pretending to busy herself with dishes that didn’t need washing. Her dad was adjusting a plant by the window for the third time.
Kiera couldn’t take it anymore.
She crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around her mom in a tight hug. Her mom stilled for a moment, surprised, before returning the embrace with soft, steady hands on Kiera’s back.
“I love you, Mom,” Kiera whispered, her voice catching.
Her mom pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a tear off Kiera’s cheek with her thumb. “Aw, love you too, honey. More than I probably say out loud.”
Kiera turned to her dad and stepped into his arms. He wrapped her up in a firm, familiar hug and kissed the top of her head.
“I just… needed to say it,” she murmured. “I don’t want to take any of this for granted.”
Her dad gave her a squeeze. “You don’t. You never have. We’ve got you, kiddo. Always.”
Their presence helped her breathe easier, but it didn’t make the heaviness go away.
“Do you want us to watch the girls so you can go out and be with Maggie?” Her mom asked, voice soft as she rubbed Kiera’s back. “And Izzy?”
Tears welled in Kiera’s eyes and she sniffled, nodding. “I think flights might be pretty expensive, and I think her mom’s service is in just a few days.”
“Money is a stupid thing to get in the way of being there for the ones you love. We can help with whatever cost and watch the girls for however long you need,” her dad responded.
Kiera wiped at her eyes. “Thank you, both. So much. Have I told you lately?—”
“That I love you,” her mom burst into song, interrupting her.
Kiera shook her head. “Oh, no.”
“You fill my heart with gladness,” her dad added, not even trying to be in the right key. Or a key at all, it seemed.
“You’re being ridiculous.” Kiera smiled through her tears. “I was going to say that I really do appreciate you.”
“Could you say we ease your troubles?” her dad said, ruffling her hair in exactly the same way she’d ruffled Quinn’s hair a few moments before. “That’s what we do.”
“How did I ever turn out normal with parents like you?” Kiera teased.
“Oh, John,” her mom said, pressing a hand to her chest like she was emotional over something adorable. “She thinks she’s the normal one.”
Kiera rolled her eyes.
Her dad put a hand on her shoulder, steadying and supportive. “Okay, now go to Austin and don’t worry about us.”
Kiera
I can be there around 2pm, if you need me. And if you think Maggie would be okay with that.
Izzy
I would never say no. But you don’t have to. I’d never want to ask you to be away from your girls.
Kiera
I’m coming. I’ll send you my flight details.
Izzy
Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that. See you soon, then.
The flight to Austin was a blur. When Kiera finally arrived, Maggie’s house was heavy with the kind of silence that lingered after loss. She let herself in with the code Izzy had given her, the weight of grief pressing against her chest before she even stepped inside.
Maggie was curled up on the couch, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun. She was wrapped in one of her mom’s old cardigans, her body small and hunched over, like she was trying to disappear. Izzy sat beside her, a hand on her arm. The kids sat on the floor, watching a movie and playing with a magnetic tile set. “Hey champs,” Kiera said gently to the kids, who she’d only ever met on Facetime. They barely even looked up from the elaborate garage they were building as Kiera crossed the room and sat next to Maggie, pulling her into a gentle hug.
“Hey, Mags,” Kiera whispered, brushing Maggie’s hair from her face. What else was there to say? That she was sorry? That she was here to help? No words could come close to being the right ones, so instead she did the only thing she knew was right. She held space for whatever Maggie needed.
Maggie didn’t speak, didn’t react. She just folded into Kiera’s embrace and shook with silent, gut-wrenching sobs. Kiera gently rubbed Maggie’s back, offering comfort.
She met Izzy’s eyes, noticing the heavy circles there. She was right to have come. She reached out and squeezed Izzy’s arm in silent greeting.
Kiera and Izzy sat like that for hours, flanking Maggie on the couch, shifting only when she needed something — someone’s hand to squeeze, a shoulder to lean on, a tissue passed wordlessly. One of them would get up occasionally to fix snacks or warm leftovers from the fridge, to refill juice cups or remind the kids to take a few bites of something. They kept encouraging Maggie to eat too, nudging a bowl of soup into her hands or unwrapping a granola bar and setting it beside her without saying anything. No one filled the silence with advice or platitudes. They just stayed close, offering what they could.
They watched both Frozen movies, then Moana , the TV quietly looping through familiar songs and bright animation while the afternoon slipped quietly into evening.
Eventually, the front door clicked open and Kiera glanced up to see Gwen walk in. Her shoulders were tight with worry, dark eyes shadowed by exhaustion. She looked worn, like she had been carrying her own version of heartbreak the whole way here. The kids ran to her, shouting and excited to see their mom. Maggie flinched at the noise, then turned toward Gwen but didn’t move. Her face was unreadable — no tears of relief, no rush into Gwen’s arms. Just… blank.
Izzy glanced toward Kiera, brow furrowed, but didn’t say anything.
Kiera stiffened slightly, then moved from Maggie’s side. She and Izzy both stood to give Gwen a hug, then cleared out of the way and ushered the kids toward the kitchen to give Gwen and Maggie some space.
Kiera tried not to eavesdrop as she passed out fruit snacks to twins Arlo and Jude and their little sister Rosie.
She needn’t worry about overhearing something. The silence coming from the living room was thick and uncomfortable. When she glanced toward the couch, she saw Gwen and Maggie sitting together on the couch. Maggie, however, pulled her cardigan tight like a shield, turning slightly away from Gwen.
Kiera’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She leaned into Izzy, wanting to feel the comfort and warmth of her. Instead of her usual scent of cherry and ginger, Izzy smelled simply of fresh laundry. Izzy’s gentle hug was a balm to her soul, an easy thing to hold onto in the darkness of the moment. “I just feel powerless to help her,” Kiera whispered.
Izzy chest hummed against Kiera’s ear as she spoke. “I know.”
“She’s just so sad,” Kiera murmured.
Izzy sighed, her voice softening. “I know.”
Later, after the house quieted and the kids were finally asleep, Kiera sat on the back patio with Izzy, sharing the silence between them. The night air was thick with the scent of jasmine. The Texas heat had relented, a slow breeze rustling the trees in the backyard, carrying the distant buzz of cicadas.
Kiera sighed, stretching her legs out in front of her, the wooden deck warm beneath her bare feet. She rolled a cold bottle of beer between her palms before taking a sip, the grapefruit and spice a welcome change from the herbal tea she’d been making Maggie all afternoon.
“I don’t get it,” she whispered, staring out into the night, her voice barely more than a breath. “Why is Maggie being so cold to Gwen?”
Izzy was curled up in the patio chair beside her, one knee pulled to her chest, the other foot tucked beneath her. She exhaled slowly before taking a drink of her own beer, tilting her head back slightly as she swallowed. The glow from the patio light caught the angles of her face, the shadow of her lashes against her cheekbones.
“When my dad died,” Izzy said, her voice quieter than usual, “I couldn’t handle being close to the people who should have made me feel better.”
Kiera turned to look at her, studying the way Izzy’s fingers tightened just slightly around the bottle in her hands. “Like, your mom?”
Izzy gave a small, tight smile, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Well, I don’t know why I ever expected that. My mom wasn’t the most… affectionate, I guess. I do believe my therapist has used the word, ‘withholding of love.’ After Dad died, that tie completely unraveled. We aren’t close or anything now.”
“That’s so hard. I’m so sorry you had to endure that.” Kiera said quietly, waiting for Izzy to feel comfortable enough to continue.
“But grief has this way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it. Like, now, being around another grieving person makes me feel my own grief all over again.” Izzy let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Like some asshole lurking in the dark, waiting for the right moment to punch you in the gut.”
Kiera smiled despite herself at the frank description, shaking her head.
A silent moment followed Izzy's words, a shared understanding hanging in the air between them. Kiera sipped her beer again, feeling the fizz on her tongue, the cold glass a contrast to the evening's heat.
“I just wish I could help more,” Kiera admitted, rubbing a thumb over the condensation on the bottle. “I thought that when Gwen got here, Maggie would feel a little better, but it’s like she can’t even look at her for more than a few seconds.”
Izzy shifted, resting her head against the back of her chair, her gaze flickering over to Kiera. “I wonder if the person you love the most is the hardest person to be around when you’re falling apart.” Her voice was softer now, more thoughtful. “Because they know you. They see all of it. And if they reach for you and you let them in, it’s like admitting to yourself just how bad it really is. It’s like… it hurts more to be comforted because it forces you to feel everything.”
She understood now in a way she never would have before — before the divorce, before she was forced to rebuild from the ground up. Sometimes it was easier to keep moving, to avoid looking too closely at the wreckage. Letting someone witness the full extent of your grief meant acknowledging it yourself, and maybe Maggie wasn’t ready for that.
Kiera nodded slowly, letting the thought settle. “I don’t know. I think there’s something really beautiful in letting the people you love most see you and love you through the mess.”
The cicadas buzzed through the brief silence that stretched out.
Izzy let out a small hum of consideration. “Maybe I’ve just never had that kind of love.”
Kiera sighed. “Yeah, I certainly haven’t had it in a partner.”
Still, Kiera hated feeling helpless when it came to helping Maggie through it.
She looked at Izzy, watching her fingers trace idle patterns along the condensation of her bottle, catching the distant look in her eyes. “How long ago did your dad pass?”
“My senior year of high school.” Izzy hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I shut down. Pushed my brother and my mom away… though, to be fair, neither put up much of a fight. I don’t regret not talking to either of them, don’t get me wrong.” A small, bitter smile flickered across her lips before disappearing. “But I got really good at pretending I was fine.”
Kiera watched her for a long moment, feeling the weight of that admission settle in the air between them. Izzy had been dealing with that all those years ago and Kiera had never even known. She wondered if Izzy even realized how much she was revealing, how much she was letting Kiera see.
On impulse, Kiera took Izzy’s hand, her fingers entwining with Izzy’s. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” Kiera murmured.
Izzy pressed her mouth into a thin line as though she was thinking deeply. She looked down at their joined hands, her thumb brushing lightly against Kiera’s before she squeezed back.
“What I’m trying to say is, you’re doing enough for Maggie by just being here,” Izzy whispered. “And for me.”
“Listen, before Danica and Pete get here… should we talk about…” Kiera started, gesturing with her bottle to Izzy and back to herself. “Us?”
“Can I be honest? I’m so emotionally exhausted from being here that I don’t think I can take Pete and Danica’s pestering questions on top of everything,” Izzy admitted.
“No, I completely agree. I was going to say that maybe we should just keep it quiet for now, since we need to all focus on Maggie. But we’re still… good, right?” She asked, feeling only slightly awkward.
Izzy smiled, pulling Kiera’s hand to give her knuckles a kiss. “We’re still good.”
Kiera swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, nodding. “Good.”
Kiera balanced her phone between her shoulder and ear as she poured pancake batter onto the griddle, the sizzle of the batter filling the quiet kitchen. “I know you and Pete are stressed about not being able to get here today,” she told Danica, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. “But Maggie’s aunt will be here soon, and a few of her cousins just arrived, so the house is already packed. It’s no problem to get here tomorrow for the service.”
Danica sighed on the other end of the line. “That makes sense. I just…” She groaned. “I hate not being there.”
Kiera glanced over at the dining table, where Maggie’s five-year-old twins, Arlo and Jude, were coloring. Their little sister, three-year-old Rosie, was perched on her knees beside them, gripping a crayon like it was a sword. A few feet away, Gwen sat at the far end of the table, a mug of untouched coffee in front of her, her hand running absently through her short salt and pepper hair. She hadn’t been talking much since she arrived. She was there, present in the house, but the space between her and Maggie felt so thick it was almost suffocating.
“I know. But Izzy and are keeping the wheels on for now,” Kiera reassured Danica. She paused, glancing at Gwen again. “Just trying to make sure everything stays as steady as it can.”
“I trust you,” Danica said. “And how are you doing?”
Kiera hesitated, pressing the spatula against one of the pancakes. The warmth of her connection with Izzy from the previous night lingered; she recalled Izzy's shy smile that morning in the guest bathroom as they brushed their teeth. Izzy had crashed on the couch after insisting that Kiera take the guest bedroom. Kiera finally said, “Just trying not to think of how many chickens the girls are going to con my parents into buying while I’m gone.”
“Oh, you think they’re hatching a plan?” Danica said with an amused tone.
“Of course they are — Wait a second, I just got that.” Kiera laughed.
“Took you a moment. I thought it was pretty egg-cellent.”
“Did my parents give you this script?” Kiera teased.
Danica let out an even louder laugh. “You’re right, I should text your mom to remind her how funny I am.”
“She’d love it,” Kiera assured her.
“Chicken puns aside, how are you doing there?” Danica pressed.
“I’m doing fine,” Kiera finally said.
“If you say so.” Danica made a small sound that told Kiera she wasn’t convinced, but thankfully, she didn’t push. “Just let me know if anything changes. And tell Maggie we love her, okay?”
“Of course.” Kiera slid the last of the pancakes onto a plate, then balanced it on her arm as she turned back toward the table. “Gotta go, I’m on breakfast duty.”
She hung up just as Arlo perked up. “Is it ready now?”
“Patience, my tiny minions.” Kiera set the plate of golden pancakes in the center of the table, ruffling his hair and suddenly feeling homesick to see Eliza and Quinn. She’d called them early this morning, and they’d sounded sweet and sleepy. She hoped she’d get to call them again that afternoon. “But yes. It’s ready now.”
Jude gasped dramatically. “Butter! We need butter!”
Kiera told them to take a deep breath, setting down a bowl of softened butter and a jar of syrup. The kids dug in immediately, all sticky fingers and happy chatter. She let herself take a beat, absorbing the normalcy of the moment, the illusion that, for a little while, everything was okay.
As she turned to grab her cup of coffee from the counter, she caught sight of Gwen finally stirring from her seat, rubbing at her temple before standing. It was the first time Kiera had seen her look anything other than frozen since she arrived.
“Gwen, do you want something to eat?” Kiera asked, keeping her voice light.
Gwen blinked, as if only just realizing she was being spoken to. “Oh. Uh, sure. Thanks.” She hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry. I’m still — jet lag, I guess.”
“This is a lot. You’re allowed to feel exhausted about it.” Kiera tilted her head. “You flew in from Lisbon, right?”
Gwen nodded, pressing her lips together before finally sitting back down. “Yeah. I was at a conference for work when Maggie called. I caught the first flight I could, but…” She exhaled slowly, shaking her head.
Kiera handed her a plate, watching Gwen poke at the pancakes absently. “Was it an architecture thing?”
“Yeah. I was supposed to present on sustainable urban development. Spent months preparing, but…” She trailed off, jaw tightening as she set her fork down. “None of it feels important now.”
Kiera hesitated before sitting across from her. “That seriously sucks. I’m so sorry. Do you think you’ll be able to reuse your presentation at another conference?”
Gwen looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “I hope so.”
Before Kiera could say anything else, Izzy appeared beside her, close enough that Kiera could feel the brush of her arm. Izzy reached for a spoon, stirring her own coffee absently.
Kiera glanced at her, catching the faint dark circles under Izzy’s eyes, the tension in her shoulders as she slid into a seat beside her. The past two days had taken a toll on all of them.
Izzy exhaled, then, without a word, reached under the table and gave Kiera’s hand a quick, firm squeeze.
A secret moment just for them. Kiera stifled a smile that would have revealed exactly how much just a simple hand squeeze could make her feel giddy.
The spell was broken when Jude shouted, “Aunt Izzy, I need more syrup!”
Izzy pulled back, clearing her throat. “On it, kiddo,” she called back, reaching for the syrup bottle and handing it over.
Kiera swallowed, her hands still tingling where Izzy had touched her.