29. First Light, Again - Reese
First Light, Again - Reese
Reese wakes up before the alarm.
For a second she lies still, half expecting the old ache of being up too early for a meet she isn’t ready for, the rush of nerves, the scramble that used to define every morning of her life. But it never comes anymore. Not panic. Not the dread.
Just quiet.
She shifts under the blankets and listens to the house settling around her. The faint hum of the heater. The muted winter light presses at the edges of the curtains. Somewhere down the hall, Rowan’s fan whirs its constant little drone, the same one she has insisted on since she was nine.
Reese smiles to herself. She still has time before she needs to get them moving, but her body is awake, steady, calm. Maren always teased that she’d become a morning person eventually. Reese used to swear there wasn’t a chance in the world.
But here she is. Up first.
She slips out of bed quietly. Maren barely stirs, just rolls toward the warm spot Reese leaves behind. Reese takes a moment to look at her, at the soft fall of her hair across the pillow, at the faint crease in her cheek from the blanket. Her wedding ring glints in the dim light.
Reese pads down the hall and into the kitchen.
The early light through the window hits the far counter, illuminating the mug waiting beside the coffee maker.
Maren’s mug. The white ceramic one with her name written in a looping script across the side and the tiny heart next to it—the one Rowan made her for Christmas three years ago at one of those paint-your-own pottery places.
Maren insists it is the only mug she can drink from.
Reese reaches for it first, setting it gently under the machine, before grabbing her own. She moves with a rhythm she never used to have in the mornings, like her body learned this routine without asking permission.
The first cup drips steadily into Maren’s mug, steam curling upward. Reese rests her hands on the counter, letting the warmth bloom across her skin.
It’s going to be a big day. Rowan’s first high school swim meet.
But the house is still quiet right now.
She likes it this way.
Reese lets the coffee finish brewing and turns to lean against the counter. The kitchen looks different than it did five years ago, but in a way that makes her chest warm. Not dramatic changes. Just small ones. The kind that happens when people settle into life instead of passing through it.
The cork-board is on the wall now, covered in overlapping schedules.
Maren’s neat handwriting fills most of the pages with meet lineups, practice plans, morning dry land checklists, and one sheet titled “Holiday Swim Clinic” with doodled stars around the edges.
Reese’s scrawled notes sit between them, reminders about school events or Rowan’s orthodontist appointments.
At the very corner, she can see an aged, curled page peeking out, covered in glitter.
The ‘V’ from Rowan’s ‘Victory Picnic’ all those years ago.
The sight makes her heart smile every time she notices it.
A magnet on the fridge holds up a photo of the three of them at Rowan’s last age group state meet.
Reese has sunglasses pushed up on top of her head, Maren’s hair is wind-tangled, and Rowan is grinning with her medal between her teeth.
Reese still doesn’t know who took that picture, but she never took it down.
On the table sits Rowan’s meet bag, half open, spilling evidence of her life across the wood.
A pair of goggles, three mismatched hair ties, a crumpled granola bar wrapper she will swear she didn’t eat, and a deck of index cards she uses to memorize her warm-up routine.
Her high school sweatshirt is draped over the back of the chair like it sleeps there.
Reese walks past it to the living room, mug in hand.
The space is dim, the curtains are still drawn.
A stack of blankets is piled on the couch.
Maren will never watch a movie without at least two of them.
Reese smiles at that. She used to tease her about it.
Now she folds them neatly when she turns the TV off at night, because it feels right to leave them how Maren likes them.
Near the entryway sits Maren’s coaching backpack, already packed and zipped, the team logo bright against the navy fabric. Of course she had it ready last night. Of course, Reese still hasn’t checked if Rowan packed her own gear.
Reese sips her coffee and looks around the quiet house.
It isn’t the house itself that feels different.
It’s the life inside of it.
The settled feeling of it.
The belonging.
Reese never used to understand how people built something steady without losing pieces of themselves in the process. But here, in the soft stillness of her morning, she feels it press warm and certain against her soul.
This is theirs.
All of it.
Reese moves toward the hallway, sipping slowly, letting herself enjoy the moment before the house wakes up all the way. On the wall beside the entryway is a framed collage Rowan made last year for a school project titled “What Makes Me, Me.”
Reese pauses the way she always does.
There’s a photo of Rowan mid-breakout, dolphin kick long and powerful, not just enthusiastic anymore.
A snapshot of her and Maren laughing on the pool deck during summer training.
A cut-out of a diving platform, still part of her, even if she chose the water differently.
A corner filled with her team’s colors in marker streaks.
And in the center, a sentence in Rowan’s handwriting:
“I am strong when I love things.”
Reese touches the frame lightly with her fingertips.
She thinks of the early years, the endless questions, the tangled or missing goggles, the way Rowan believed she was Olympic-ready before she could even swim a 400 IM in competition. The way she used to buzz with excitement, talking without taking a breath.
She still buzzes.
But now it’s different.
There is a focus beneath it.
Discipline.
Heart, still huge, but honed.
Reese learned a long time ago not to underestimate that kid. She dives into things with the same stubborn intensity Reese always had, but she moves through the world with a steadiness that reminds Reese more of Maren.
They have the same crease between their eyebrows when they are thinking.
The same habit of pacing when nervous.
The same way of watching the pool as if they are reading it.
Reese smiles into her coffee. It’s wild, really, seeing the person Rowan is becoming.
A freshman who swims like she’s been waiting her whole life to make her mark.
A girl who loves early mornings and hard sets.
A kid who puts her team first. Someone who has grown into confidence without losing any of her curiosity.
There is a pride there, sure.
But also, something softer.
Something that lives in Reese’s chest and makes her feel like she did something right.
Even on the days when she wasn’t sure she knew what the hell she was doing.
She takes another sip of coffee.
Rowan has a meet today.
Her first high school swim meet.
Reese can already picture it, the nerves Rowan will pretend she doesn’t have. The way she will check her cap three times, the way she’ll glance at Maren for reassurance even while insisting she doesn’t need it.
Reese feels warmth blooming in her again.
This is big for Rowan.
And big for them.
Reese hears the soft shuffle of feet on the hallway carpet before she sees her.
Maren always walks the same way first thing in the morning, slow and careful, like she’s still deciding whether she’s fully awake yet.
A second later, she rounds the corner, wrapped in one of Reese’s old hoodies and a pair of sleep shorts, hair gathered in a messy knot on top of her head.
She blinks at Reese, eyes still hazy with sleep. “You’re up early.”
Reese lifts Maren’s mug toward her. “Beat you to it.”
Maren smiles, the kind she only ever gives Reese in the very early hours, soft around the edges and almost lazy. She steps into the kitchen and takes the mug from Reese’s hand, brushing her fingers along with Reese’s knuckles as she does.
“You’re spoiling me,” she murmurs, taking a sip.
Reese leans a hip against the counter. “Well, it is meet day. Coach Callahan-Clarke needs her caffeine.”
Maren snorts lightly into the cup. “Head coach Callahan-Clarke, thank you very much.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.” Reese grins, reaching out to tug gently at the hoodie string near Maren’s collarbone. “You get bossier every season.”
Maren rolls her eyes, but her cheeks pink a little, and Reese knows she loves the teasing. She always has.
Maren moves past her into the living room, setting her mug on the coffee table as she starts gathering the blankets Reese folded earlier.
Reese follows with her own cup, watching the familiar rhythm of Maren’s morning, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way she checks the clock twice in a row without thinking, the way she hums under her breath when she’s replaying a meet schedule in her head.
“Did Rowan pack her meet bag?” Maren asks, eyes narrowing with coach-mode precision.
“Define… pack,” Reese winces. “If you mean a bag explosion all over the kitchen table, then yes, she is ‘packed’”
Maren turns, leveling a look at her. The same look she gives freshmen who try to skip warm-ups. “Reese.”
“I checked the goggles at least,” Reese offers, lifting her mug defensively. “One pair, and they are more than likely hers.”
Maren shakes her head, but she’s smiling, the quiet I love you smile she never quite hides. “Go wake her up. And make sure the suit is in the bag this time.”
Reese stands up out of her chair with a sigh that is only half exaggerated. “Yes, Coach.”
Maren’s hand catches her wrist before she gets far. Reese stops, turning back. Maren stands up, sliding her fingers up the hem of Reese’s shirt, warm against her skin, grounding in a way that still hits Reese square in the chest.