20. Intertwined Paths #3
I carry Liam on my hip as Destiny reaches out to pinch his cheek. “You’re getting too big,” she says.
“I know,” I say. “He doesn’t care that my back is breaking.”
Destiny smirks. “That’s what happens when you make cute kids.”
I laugh, shifting Liam before he wriggles out of my hold completely. It’s comfortable here—familial noise, teasing, warmth. Reid usually fits into this chaos pretty well, but without him, the imbalance feels sharper.
Hazel walks in a few minutes later, holding iced lattes like they’re rare gifts from the heavens. She hands one to me with a flourish. “Fuel for the overachiever.”
I snort. “Thank you.”
She leans in and whispers, “Saw pictures from the dinner. You looked good.”
“Thanks.”
“No, like… ‘I’m thriving’ good.”
I shake my head. “Stop.”
“Never,” she says.
Mom pops her head in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Amelia, baby, bring Liam’s bag in from the car. I’m going to feed him soon.”
“I’ll get it,” I say, setting him down and following Mom outside.
On the porch, she pauses before opening the door. “By the way,” she says casually, “I heard from Aunt Rochelle that Reid’s graduation is in two years? Give or take?”
I blink. “Yeah. Why?”
She shrugs a little too deliberately. “People are curious how that’s going to work.”
“How what’s going to work?” I ask.
“Your job here,” she says. “His life there. Your little family… wherever. You two have choices coming. Big ones.”
I don’t respond for a moment. I just stare at her, because I know she’s not judging—she’s warning. Preparing me. Planting the kind of seeds she plants when she’s worried I’m in a rush or in denial.
“I know,” I say quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”
Mom nods, but the look she gives me makes my chest tighten. It’s not doubt in Reid. It’s not doubt in me. It’s doubt in the logistics of everything that stands between us.
Back inside, Hazel is in the living room with Destiny and Iris, all of them mid-laugh. I grab Liam’s bag from the couch, but Iris gives me a look—pointed, curious.
“So,” Iris says, “when Reid graduates, are you guys gonna move somewhere? Or is he moving back here? Or are you gonna leave Nexus? Or what?”
Destiny elbows her. “Girl. Chill.”
“I’m just asking,” Iris says. “Everybody’s thinking it.”
Everyone looks at me. My stomach dips.
“I don’t know yet,” I say honestly.
Hazel raises a brow. “And do you want to know yet?”
I let out a slow breath. “Not really.”
There’s no judgment from them—just understanding.
The kind that comes from watching me juggle a toddler on five hours of sleep and a job that demands everything.
But the weight of their unspoken questions lingers.
Where are we heading? What’s the plan? What happens when our paths finally collide or diverge?
I don’t have answers. I barely have time to breathe.
That night, after we get home and Liam is asleep, I call Reid.
He answers immediately. “Hey,” Reid says, smiling. “How was the family thing?”
“Loud,” I say. “Good. Loud.”
He laughs. “Sounds about right.”
We fall into easy conversation—how his week looks, how mine is going, what Liam did today, the small things that build closeness. But as we talk, I hear a shift in his voice. Not frustration. Just exhaustion wrapped in resolve.
“I applied for the research assistant position,” he says suddenly. “Remember the one I told you about? The long-hours one.”
“That’s great,” I say. “Are you excited?”
“Yeah. I mean, nervous. But it’s a big opportunity.”
I smile at the pride in his voice. “You’ll get it.”
“I hope,” he says.
“So what happens if you do?” I ask lightly.
“Longer workdays,” he says. “More on my plate. More experience.”
More distance. More juggling. More time where he’s in one world and I’m in another. He doesn’t say that. He doesn’t have to.
“We’ll figure it out,” Reid says softly.
“We will,” I say.
The promise hangs there between us. Real. Meaningful. But fragile, too—like a thread we’re both holding onto from opposite ends. There’s a long pause before he speaks again.
“I don’t want you thinking,” Reid says quietly, “that just because our lives look different right now, we’re growing apart.”
“I know,” I say.
“You’re building something. And I’m trying to build something too. I want us to meet in the middle.”
My chest tightens—not painfully. Just with that familiar blend of hope and fear.
“I want that too,” I say.
“Good,” he says, voice softening. “We’ll get there.”
We talk for a few more minutes before hanging up. When the call ends, the apartment feels both bigger and smaller at the same time. I crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling for a while. We’re trying. Trying to grow. Trying to stay connected. Trying to not let the distance define us.
But trying doesn’t erase the fact that our paths are getting more complicated.
And even though there’s hope in all of it, there’s also a quiet truth settling in: Some days, love is enough.
Some days, it isn’t. Most days, it’s somewhere in between.
For now, though… we’re holding on. For now, that’s enough.