Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
Izzy
The Texas heat was sticky and relentless, even in the early hours of the morning, as the first rays of light stretched across Maggie’s quiet Austin neighborhood. Izzy sat on the back porch, legs pulled up onto the worn wooden chair, a mug of coffee cradled between her hands. The cicadas buzzed in the trees, their constant, low drone a comfort at this point in her visit. She didn’t know how long she’d been there — two weeks? The days blurred together.
Inside, the house was quiet. The kids were still asleep, giving Izzy a rare sliver of stillness. Her shoulders ached from holding everything in. For days, she’d been the steady one — wiping counters, ordering takeout, intercepting awkward visits from neighbors. She didn’t know why Maggie seemed to freeze every time Gwen entered the room, only that the silence between them was starting to feel like a wall. That morning, Gwen had made eggs, and Maggie had managed the smallest smile. It wasn’t a fix, but it was something. Izzy couldn’t glue them back together. She could keep the laundry moving, keep the fridge stocked, keep the lights on.
Work was another thing entirely. When Gwen was home or the kids were in school, Izzy had thrown herself into Second Star with a focus she hadn’t felt in months. She was tired of feeling like a barnacle to Pete’s brilliance. The guilt from Maggie’s loss had morphed into a burning need to take control of something .
It was a major step out of her comfort zone to talk to community members who would be good mentors. It was only when Denver-based soccer star Sage Carson and her wife Willa signed on to mentor a few teenagers who were interested in sports after barely hearing two sentences, that Izzy felt like maybe this was something she could do. She believed in the work and she believed in Pete, and it was heartening that others seemed to believe in it, too.
When Izzy wasn’t busy, the quiet caught up to her. The moments when Maggie was asleep or the kids were at school were when her thoughts spiraled. It wasn’t like she could ask Kiera to stay in Denver on her account — Izzy knew that. Kiera had kids, a life to rebuild, real decisions to make. But still, the sting of it surprised her. Just as she’d finally let herself imagine something here, something real — Denver, Kiera, all of it — the ground shifted again. And what was worse was how selfish it felt to even be upset. This wasn’t about her. But knowing that didn’t make the ache go away. It just made her quieter about it. Like if she kept her disappointment small enough, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much when Kiera left.
Of course. Of course she’d fallen for someone who might leave. Izzy wanted to laugh at herself, but it wouldn’t come out right. She should’ve known better — did know better — and still, she’d let herself hope. Let herself picture something solid this time, something mutual. But Kiera was already slipping through her fingers, and Izzy was left wondering if she’d learned anything at all. It was the same pattern in a prettier disguise: want the person who can’t stay. And then act surprised when they don’t.
"I want to tell you not to take that job, but that’s not my place, and I’m scared of what might happen if I push too hard, too fast."
She had typed those words more times than she could count. Every time, she deleted them before she hit send. It had felt exciting to see that Kiera told the group first… Maybe that meant she was ready for more.
It felt wrong to be thinking about Kiera while Maggie was buried in grief, but Izzy couldn’t help it. Her mind kept pulling back to Denver — to the way Kiera had looked at her before that first kiss, to the quiet hesitation in her voice when she said she wanted more. Izzy could still feel the press of Kiera’s hand at the small of her back, the way she’d leaned in like it meant something. She tried to push it aside. This wasn’t the time. Not when Maggie could barely get out of bed, not when Gwen couldn’t make it through a conversation without shutting down. But the feelings were there anyway, sharp and persistent, threading their way through every quiet moment.
The back door creaked open behind her. Izzy turned her head just enough to see Gwen stepping onto the porch, her salt-and-pepper hair slightly mussed, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. She was still in the clothes she’d worn the night before, the fabric wrinkled from sleep — if she’d even gotten any. She’d been sleeping in the family room again.
Gwen blinked at Izzy like she was surprised to see her there. “Didn’t think anyone else would be up yet,” she murmured, her voice still rough from sleep.
Izzy shifted in her chair, setting her coffee down on the armrest. “I’m an early bird.”
Gwen nodded and rubbed at her face before crossing the porch to lean against the railing. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The cicadas droned on, filling the silence.
Izzy watched her from the corner of her eye. Gwen was usually so meticulous, so put-together, but she seemed to be unraveling at the edges. Her sharp, architectural mind was always oriented toward solutions — finding a flaw in the design, fixing it before the cracks could spread.
Izzy watched Gwen yawn and rub at her eyes. “You should go back to bed,” Izzy said after a moment.
Gwen let out a hollow laugh. “I can’t sleep. Not much point in trying.”
Izzy frowned. “Gwen?—”
“I don’t know what she needs from me,” Gwen interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never not known how to fix something with her before.”
The admission was unexpected. Izzy had been prepared for Gwen’s usual stiff silence, the way she held herself just far enough away from things to maintain control. But this? This was something else.
Izzy shifted forward in her chair, resting her forearms on her knees. “I don’t think she knows either,” she said. “
Gwen sighed. “She won’t talk to me. Barely looks at me. I know she’s grieving, but it feels like… like I’m not even here.” Her fingers drummed on the deck railing. “Like she’s already decided I’m part of what she’s losing.”
Izzy bit her lip. She had noticed it, too — that strange, intangible space Maggie kept between them, like something had already broken that neither of them could name.
Gwen shook her head, a rough sound escaping her throat. “And I don’t know how to stop it.”
Izzy sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t think you can.”
Gwen finally looked at her then, brow furrowing. “You’re shockingly bad at pep talks.”
Izzy huffed a soft laugh. “I mean it. This isn’t something you can fix with logic. Maggie’s going through something bigger than either of you and all you can do is be there for her.”
Gwen swallowed. “Waiting for her to come back to me is making me feel insane.”
As Gwen said it, the words hit harder than Izzy expected. Because wasn’t she doing the same thing with Kiera? Sitting back, waiting, hoping things would sort themselves out — just like she always had. Letting other people lead, afraid to want too much in case they didn’t want her back. But watching Gwen hesitate, stay silent, refuse to move even when everything was falling apart — it made something snap into focus. Izzy didn’t want to float through this. She didn’t want to keep waiting for Kiera to wake up one day and suddenly see her standing there. She wanted to be chosen on purpose . And she was done pretending that wasn’t what she needed.
Gwen dropped her hands, letting them fall to her sides. She turned fully to face Izzy, something searching in her expression. She hesitated, exhaling. “It’s like I’m clinging onto what we had with all our might and she’s not even trying. Has she said anything to you about it?”
“She hasn’t,” Izzy said honestly. “But I do know Maggie still loves you, and if you still love her, then there’s still something worth fighting for.”
Gwen fell silent, staring up at the trees for a long moment.
“Did you know that cicadas live on all continents except Antarctica?” Izzy offered.
Gwen glanced back over her shoulder toward Izzy with a confused expression.
“They only leave the ground when it’s 64 degrees,” Izzy added.
“How do you know this?” Gwen asked.
“The internet.”
“Should have guessed.” Gwen nodded, then sighed. “I’m going to go wake up Arlo and Jude with my new weird bug facts.”
Izzy sat back as Gwen slipped inside, leaving her alone again with the dawn stretching over the Austin sky.
Watching Gwen shut down again had left Izzy feeling raw. She could see how much Maggie needed her, how much Gwen loved her, and yet neither of them could say the thing that mattered most. It made her heart ache — not just for them, but for all the ways people missed each other while trying not to need too much. Izzy had been waiting quietly, trying not to press, hoping someone would choose her without being asked to. But that wasn’t enough anymore.
She would stay here for as long as Maggie needed her — of course she would — but the next time she saw Kiera, she wasn’t going to hold back. She was going to say what she wanted. And this time, she wouldn’t apologize for wanting it.
Another handful of days passed in a haze of grief, responsibility, and exhaustion. The household began to settle into something resembling a routine — morning playtime, packing lunches, driving the boys to and from school, taking Rosie to the playground to wear her out, evening board games that ended with scattered pieces and sleepy yawns. The house never felt truly quiet, not with Maggie’s other family members checking in, Gwen moving around like a ghost, and the ever-present neediness of small children demanding snacks or attention. But somehow, it still felt hollow.
Gwen had locked herself in her office most days, and Izzy tried not to notice the blankets on the family room couch.
Izzy wasn’t sure what was keeping her in Austin anymore. At first, it was Maggie. The need to be the one solid thing Maggie could lean on without guilt, without explanation. In the past few days, Maggie got back into the swing of parenthood, though Izzy frequently helped when Maggie was exhausted or needed a break. Lately, she’d started wondering if it was also a way to delay making decisions about her own life. About Denver. About Kiera.
One evening, after the kids had gone to bed and Gwen was still hidden away in her office, Izzy found Maggie in the kitchen, staring out the window with a faraway look. The kitchen light cast soft shadows against the walls, the half-empty glass of wine in Maggie’s hand reflecting amber in the dim glow.
The exhaustion was still there, but something had shifted. Maggie’s shoulders seemed just a little less weighed down.
"Izzy," Maggie said quietly, her voice so soft it was difficult to hear.
"Yeah?" Izzy organized a few pieces of mail on the counter.
"You need to go home."
Izzy froze, setting down one of the never-ending Hello Fresh advertisements. "I’m not sure?—"
"You’ve done more than enough," Maggie interrupted, finally turning to face her. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, the skin beneath them dark and swollen like bruises — the kind of exhaustion that clung to the bones, untouched by sleep. "You’ve been here for me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. But I can’t keep leaning on you like this. You need to get back to your life." Her voice was steady.
"I’m fine staying here as long as you need,” Izzy said.
Maggie shook her head, her smile small, bittersweet. "I’ll never be ready for you to leave," she admitted, raw honesty in her voice. "I wish I could shrink you and keep you in my pocket. But I need to figure some things out." Her voice wavered slightly, but she held Izzy’s gaze with quiet resolve. "And you’ve got a job to get back to.”
“My job is flexible, and Pete’s my boss, so she knows I’ve been taking care of more important things and working from here when I can.”
Maggie leveled her with a look Izzy was pretty sure came in some kind of How To Be A Parent handbook, equal parts concerned, disappointed, and exasperated.
Izzy swallowed hard. The thought of leaving felt like abandoning Maggie in the middle of a storm, but deep down, she knew her friend was right. Still, it was hard to let go.
Maggie reached out and took Izzy’s hand in hers, squeezing gently. "Don’t you need to go figure things out with Kiera?”
Izzy exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. Her voice was light, teasing. “We’re taking things slow.”
Maggie arched a brow. "Taking things slow or avoiding things altogether?"
Izzy narrowed her eyes. “You’re way too smug for someone who’s kicking me out.”
Maggie grinned, just for a moment, before her expression softened. “I like the idea of you two together. I like that you’re not afraid of heartbreak anymore.”
“I’ve never been afraid of heartbreak,” Izzy admitted. “What scares me is being fully seen and still left behind, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s about to happen yet again.” She hadn’t ever admitted that out loud, barely even to herself.
“Only one way to find out,” Maggie said, reaching to squeeze Izzy’s shoulder as she turned away.
Izzy hesitated, studying Maggie’s face. She was avoiding direct eye contact now, suddenly preoccupied with an invisible speck on the countertop. "And you and Gwen? Will you be okay?"
Maggie’s easy expression faltered for the first time. "Oh, yeah, sure," she said, but the words were rushed, forced. She lifted a shoulder in an almost careless shrug, but it was obvious, painfully obvious, that she was putting on a front.
Izzy frowned. “Mags.”
“I mean it,” Maggie said quickly, reaching for the drying rack to start putting away cups. “We’re fine.”
Izzy bit her lip. “I’m going to put my Meddling Maggie hat on real quick here. You leave the room or don’t respond when she tries to talk to you. She sleeps in the family room. I’ve barely seen you look at her. Do you want to talk about it?”
Maggie swallowed visibly, staring down into the drinking glass she was holding. For a second, Izzy thought she might say something — might finally crack and let it spill. But instead, Maggie let out a breath, set the glass in the cupboard with careful precision, and shook her head.
“Okay,” Izzy said, backing off. “Well, I’m here when you’re ready for that.” She hesitated, then added, "You’re not alone, okay?"
Maggie paused, her back still half-turned toward Izzy. "I know. I love you for that."
She felt tears begin at the corners of her eyes, but she willed them away. "I love you, too."
Maggie finally turned back to her, her eyes glassy. “Izzy,” she said, softer now, more careful. "I know it feels like leaving is the wrong thing. Like you’re letting go too soon. But you’re not. You're allowed to want something for yourself, too."
Izzy swallowed hard. She thought of Denver, of Kiera, of what she wanted but had been too afraid to really acknowledge. And she thought of Gwen — of the slow, silent way things had unraveled between her and Maggie, of what happened when two people loved each other but never quite reached for each other in time.
“I know,” Izzy said quietly.
They stood in silence for a long beat, the only sound the clinking of glasses as she put them away, the gravity of goodbye settling around them.
Maggie was right.
It was time to go home.