Chapter 16
BECCA
My last morning with Bernie has arrived. As I’m zipping up my carry-on, I hear Mrs. Rothschild walk in. “Oh, there is my sweet, sweet, Bernard!” She crouches on the ground, more agile than I expected for a woman her age.
Bernie gives her sloppy dog kisses, clearly excited to have his parents home.
“Who is the best boy? Yes, Mommy missed you so, so much!”
Mr. Rothschild smiles indulgently at his wife and dog. They both look sun-kissed from the Amalfi Coast, relaxed and glowing like people who spent two extra weeks drinking wine by the sea.
“Becca, thank you for taking care of the place. I especially appreciated the daily updates; it kept my Abigail happy to know her flowers were growing and her boy was happy.”
“No problem at all, Mr. Rothschild, I was happy to do so.”
“Everything looks perfect, I can’t thank you enough, Becca!” Mrs. Rothschild beams, not letting go of Bernie. “Here is your check. Thank you again, and we will talk next summer. We are thinking of a tour of the Galapagos next!”
A pang hits me as I look at their life. Their love, their ability to travel, but I squash the feeling. Just because I haven’t gone anywhere yet doesn’t mean I won’t, with or without my husband.
I pack my things and deposit the check on my mobile banking app. My eyes grow larger at the amount: $1,500! It’s more than our agreed upon amount, and definitely unnecessary. With this, I can make an extra payment to Bennet to help pay down my loan more quickly. I send him a quick text:
Me: Hey, can I make an extra payment this month? I want to start tackling the payment plan you gave me aggressively.
As I wait for a response, I drive to the cabin and go over the mental checklist still left to do. I brought the box of tile Sam picked out earlier, and I intend to install it later. How hard can it be? I have seen enough HGTV episodes; I think I've got it.
As I pull in, I look over to the fire pit and see two beautifully painted Adirondack chairs in the same color as the cabin.
I have always wanted these. I had hinted to Sam for years that I find these the best chairs, and the plastic ones just don’t cut it.
I know right away these are from him; the craftsmanship and attention to detail couldn’t be from anyone else.
I snap a photo and send a quick text to
I am having a Zentrology Night at the cabin tonight. The additional seating will be useful … I will try not to let the girls perform any fiery rituals near it.
Sam
Of course. Be safe and have fun. Let me know if you need anything.
I walk into the cabin, mentally preparing myself for the cluster of the backsplash install, when my eyes widen. The beautiful tile has already been installed. Tucked back into the corner, barely seen behind the cabinet lip, is a piece of paper, another build note.
I keep thinking about how I said it was my money, and how easy that came out.
Like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. Because I never had to think about it the way you do.
You planned for it, stretched it. You gave it away even when you didn’t have enough.
I took what we built and acted like it was mine to decide. It wasn’t, and I see that now.
I close my eyes and inhale a shaky breath. I know our circumstances, our personal experiences, shape our worldview, especially when it comes to money. Sam knew I had financial anxiety and how hard we worked.
Maybe to him, saving up that amount felt possible, easily repeatable. It doesn’t make it okay, but when money has always been in abundance, it feels different.
I fold the note once, then again, and tuck it into the drawer. I don't know what to do with it yet.
Not wanting to dwell on these topics anymore, I get busy unloading my clothes into the small closet and unpacking my toiletries.
It’s tight, even with my limited supply, but still homey.
The kitchen’s stocked with mismatched thrift store finds—plates, glasses, silverware that don’t quite match but somehow works.
The mismatched coffee mugs from local areas in Cascadia are my personal favorite.
I barely finish putting away my stuff before headlights sweep across the trees. I step back outside as doors start slamming and voices carry across the clearing.
“Okay, this is cute,” Mack says immediately, scanning the cabin. “Like, annoyingly cute.”
Phoenix walks past her, already assessing. “It’s giving an independent woman with a backup generator vibe.”
“I do have a backup generator,” I call after her.
“Of course you do,” she mutters.
Nessa’s car door opens last. She steps out carefully, like she’s transporting something fragile, maybe dangerous, and then rounds the car with a massive box in her arms.
I narrow my eyes. “What in the hell is that?”
She sets it down with ceremony. “This, my friend, is the New Beginnings Kit, our theme for the night.”
Phoenix deadpans, “That sounds expensive and unnecessary.”
“Not expensive, definitely necessary, and it’s intentional,” Nessa corrects, already digging through it. “We are not cleansing the cabin. We are claiming it.”
Mack pauses mid-unfold of her chair. “Okay … I like that better.”
Nessa pulls out a bundle of cedar tied with twine. “Cleansing cedar. Not sage. We’re not basic like that.”
Phoenix crosses her arms. “Debatable.”
Next comes a tangled mess of fairy lights. “And these,” Nessa continues, holding them up proudly, “are for chaotic energy realignment.”
“They’re not even plugged in,” Mack points out.
“Exactly,” Nessa retorts with a wink. “Unpredictable.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I grab a chair and drag it closer to the fire pit. The Adirondack wood is smooth under my palm, and the curve of the armrest is familiar in its craftsmanship.
Phoenix is already crouched by the fire, lighting kindling. “So what’s the actual plan here? Are we manifesting, or are we just drinking?”
“Both,” Nessa says with a sarcastic scoff. “Obviously.”
Mack looks at me then, quieter. “You okay being out here alone?”
I busy myself with adjusting my sleeve. “I’ve got Wi-Fi, a fire pit, and emotionally unstable lighting. I’m thriving.” I shrug.
Phoenix doesn’t look up from the flame she’s coaxing to life. “That wasn’t the question.”
The fire catches, small at first, then steady. I exhale, watching the flames instead of them. “I’m … figuring it out.”
That seems to be enough for no one to push. Nessa claps once. “Perfect. Then let’s begin.”
“God,” Phoenix mutters. “We’re really doing this.”
Nessa hands each of us a candle, none of which appear to match. Mine is crooked, slightly melted at the base.
“Step one,” she says. “You say something you’re leaving behind.”
Mack goes first. “Bad skincare decisions.”
“Low bar.” Phoenix wrinkles her nose in disapproval.
“Let me live!” Mack exclaims.
Phoenix sighs, then adds, “Waiting around to be chosen.”
A weighted pause settles amongst us. Nessa nods approvingly. “Growth.”
Then they all look at me. I stare at the candle for a second longer than I mean to. “Pretending I’m ‘fine’ with less,” I say finally.
Mack’s eyebrows lift. “Good, finally!”
Phoenix glances at me, something softer in her expression. “Yeah, as it should be.”
Nessa simply nods. “Good. We don’t carry that forward.” She lights my candle last.
“For the record,” Phoenix adds, settling into her chair, “if you need help installing anything, I can YouTube with the best of them. Got plenty of experience with the duplex now.”
I huff a laugh. “Too late.”
Mack looks over. “What do you mean?”
“The backsplash is already done.” That gets their attention.
Mack straightens. “Wait, like, done-done? Yesterday, you asked in the chat if you could just use super glue.”
“Yes, done-done. And I still think that is a viable option.”
Phoenix’s eyes narrow slightly. “No, no, it is not. And I’m guessing you didn’t do the install?”
“Nope.”
The fire has settled into a steady glow, the kind that makes everything feel quieter. Mack is halfway reclined in her chair. Phoenix is staring into the flames like she’s solving a problem no one else can see. Nessa is still fighting with the fairy lights and losing.
“This is a fire hazard,” Phoenix points out.
“This is ambiance,” Nessa corrects.
My phone buzzes in my lap, I glance down, Sam. I hesitate for half a second, then open it. Phoenix notices immediately.
“What is it now?” she probes.
I exhale through a small smile. “Another update.”
Mack leans forward. “Like … spreadsheet update?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’m gonna need to hear this,” Nessa says, abandoning the lights entirely.
I turn my screen toward them. “He switched car insurance providers,” I say, scrolling. “Lower deductible, somehow still cheaper. And,”—I skim the notes—“he negotiated bulk pricing with one of his suppliers instead of ordering job by job.”
Phoenix nods once. “That’s actually smart.”
Nessa squints. “Is he … learning?” Her eyes widen in disbelief.
“Apparently,” I mutter, “looks like he sold off some extra materials he had sitting in storage. Stuff he wasn’t using.”
Mack whistles softly. “Okay, that’s actually … kind of impressive.”
I don’t say anything, just keep scrolling.
Phi tilts her head. “What’s the total at now?”
I pause, scrolling. “Fifty-one thousand, two hundred forty-seven … and thirty-five cents,” I read.
“Thirty-five cents?” Mack repeats.
Phoenix huffs a quiet laugh. “He included the thirty-five cents?”
Nessa leans in. “Oh, he’s in it.”
Mack leans back slowly. “He’s serious.”
Phoenix nods once. “Yeah. He is.”
Nessa looks between me and the screen. “And he’s not … asking for anything? Not trying to get you back home or demand you forgive him?”
“No.” I lock my phone and set it face-down beside me. “Nothing.”
I trace my finger along the arm of the chair, the smooth wood catching slightly at the edge where it curves. Everything he makes has rounded edges, so I won’t bump my clumsy hip or shin and get a bruise.
Mack nudges my foot with hers. “You don’t have to decide anything right now.”
“I know.”
Phoenix adds, quieter, “But you’re allowed to notice it.”
I stare into the fire. “I do.”