Chapter 1 Tash #2
Huey immediately ran inside and started house patrol. He zipped through the front hall, nails clicking. He doubled back, sniffed every corner, and finished by flopping against Fifi's leg as if he'd earned a treat. She knelt to scratch his neck.
"If it passes Huey's test, it has to be good," I said.
We got out of the way as the movers brought in the first of the furniture, and I told them where to put it.
Mere stared into the open living room. "Wow. It's a lot bigger than our old place."
I stood back and let them explore. Sometimes it helped to let them scope things out before I started assigning chores.
Mere moved straight for the kitchen, she always did.
Peeked in every cabinet, studied the pantry, and made a delighted sound at the sight of a double oven.
Fifi hung back, examining the fireplace, then the big window looking out onto the creek.
The movers, old pros, dodged around them, bringing in the labelled boxes.
For a moment, I saw the little girls they used to be, pigtailed, giggling, chasing Huey through the weeds back in the yard at our first apartment. I missed that. Maybe I'd get pieces of it back here.
"Can we see our rooms?" Fifi finally asked, eyes darting.
"Of course. First bedroom up the stairs to the right, second one's at the very end. You two can pick. Whichever you want, just let me know. Mine's behind the kitchen."
Mere was gone before I finished the sentence.
Fifi trailed after, Huey glued to her side.
I lugged the first of their suitcases in and listened to them shout room claims down the corridor.
Fifi wanted the one with the view of the creek.
Mere was more interested in the built-in desk. An old argument, perfectly predictable.
I smiled to myself. Predictable was nice. It meant they were settling in. And being able to direct their beds and dressers to the right rooms was nice too.
Once the movers were gone and the kitchen partially unpacked, I walked upstairs. I found Fifi sprawled on her bare bed, no sheets in sight, phone in hand. Huey was curled up in the dip behind her knees. "Wi-Fi password?" she asked, barely glancing up.
"Check the envelope on the kitchen counter. Should be in there with the welcome brochure and emergency numbers."
She made a little salute, then got up and headed downstairs.
I left her to it and found Mere arranging her clothes in the empty closet. At sixteen, she just wanted her shirts color-coded. She pointed at the blank wall across from the window. "If it's okay, I want to get one of those plant shelf thingies. Like a vertical garden."
"If it doesn't violate the rental rules, go for it. We'll add it to the shopping list."
She smiled, her whole face lighting up. "Thanks, Mom."
I settled bags in my own room, did a quick lap to make sure there were no obvious issues like water leaking, thermostat working, all that jazz, and double-checked the kitchen for fire extinguishers. I couldn't help myself. Years of living alone with twins meant always being prepared for disaster.
Upstairs, I heard muted laughter, Fifi reading something to Mere, probably a meme neither would explain to me even if I asked. I let myself lean into the moment. As long as they were laughing, we'd figure out the rest.
I cracked a cherry soda and opened the laptop at the kitchen table to check my email at the Natural Resources Conservation Service, NRCS, just to make sure nothing was on fire at work.
Nothing urgent, just a roster update and a reminder about the upcoming virtual check-in.
I'd have to start my reports on the hellbenders soon, but for tonight, I could pretend we were a normal family moving into a fresh house.
Normal. Whatever that looked like.
After a while, the girls wandered back in, drawn by the promise of food.
"Did you ever finish the government paperwork to adopt a salamander?" Fifi asked, her tone full-on deadpan. "Because I was thinking, if you need a lab assistant, I'd be willing to raise a hellbender. Name it Steve. Teach it tricks."
I snorted. "Steve would require at least six months of forms, three people to approve, and he'd need to sign up for a biometric scan. Hellbenders are notorious for their paperwork avoidance."
Fifi grinned. "Lazy little dudes."
Mere leaned against the counter. "Steve, the hellbender. Could probably run for mayor in this town."
"Only if Steve promises to outlaw birdseed," I said.
Fifi's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Wow, you're really adapting to small-town life."
"Give me a week, I'll have a secret identity and a casserole recipe." I didn't tell them the real reason I'd picked Laurel Gap wasn't just the salamanders or the scenery, but the hope that a new place could give us a reset. Maybe for all of us.
I caught Fifi watching me. Her gaze was different now, less exhausted or just curious.
"Do you think it's going to snow?" she asked.
"Sooner or later. Mountain weather is all or nothing."
She nodded, staring outside at the dimming woods. "It's really pretty."
There. That was something.
We finished up the night with microwaved pasta, because neither of us could find the box with the kitchen pans. I let the girls scroll their phones and promised we'd make the trek to the bakery in the morning.
After dinner, Huey executed his second round-the-house patrol, then collapsed dramatically at Fifi's feet like a mophead that had gotten loose.
I checked on Mere. She'd found a spot by the window to set up a cluster of potted succulents, already fussing with their arrangement. She was humming quietly, a little habit from when she was small.
I stood at the doorway and listened, just for a minute. Let the memories drift up, the chaos of moving day, Gran's stories about second chances, the way my girls always found their own rhythms, no matter what happened.
Tomorrow, there'd be unpacking. Groceries.
Maybe a hike, or at the very least, a walk down to the creek to see what kind of aquatic life we'd inherited.
There'd also be moments where everything felt impossible and the house too quiet.
But tonight, I'd count my wins. Two teens fed and not actively arguing, a dog asleep on the rug, and a safe place to start again.
Still, beneath the tired relief, something tugged at me.
An old, forgotten thread pulling tight. I brushed it off as moving-day nerves.
Or maybe it was the strange sensation I'd had earlier, that weird flicker in my stomach when we passed the bakery sign with the dragon curled around a cupcake. Familiar, in a way I couldn't place.
I filled the tea kettle and watched the automatic porch lights flicker on, one by one. For the first time in months, maybe years, the sense of tightness in my chest loosened just a little.
"Hey, girls, if you're not tired yet, come check out the deck," I called. "There should be a clear view of the stars out here."
Fifi arrived first, hoodie zipped all the way, with Huey in her arms. Mere followed, pulling on an extra layer against the wind. We stood side by side, taking in the dark and the hush and the slow burble of the creek.
A warm breeze drifted from somewhere down the valley, carrying the faintest scent of smoke and spice.
My breath hitched. It was probably someone's wood stove or the bakery's late-night prep, but for one strange moment, I felt like we were being watched.
Not in a bad way, but in a way that prickled under my skin, like someone out there was thinking about me too.
"It's so quiet," Mere said. "I mean, really quiet."
"Bet you could hear bears coming a mile away," Fifi said.
I watched them, side by side, still sparring, not broken. If there was hope to be had, it was in small moments like this.
We lingered until the night turned our breath to fog, then headed back inside. Lights glowed warm in every window, and for once, the world outside could stay there.
Mere yawned and stretched, already turning toward her room. "Wake me up when it's breakfast time."
"Might wake up to rolls from the dragon bakery."
Fifi managed another smile. "I don't want to miss that."
They disappeared up the stairs, footsteps already softening into the hush of the house. I closed up the kitchen, pulled out my phone to set my alarm early, and leaned against the counter for a minute.
The house settled into silence, but my nerves didn't. I rubbed the tight spot between my eyebrows, annoyed at myself. I hadn't been on a date in… God, forever, and yet tonight some weird, low hum under my skin wouldn't let me relax. Like I was bracing for something. Or someone.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I caught myself thinking about that college night. The blur of lights, the music, the warmth of his hands on my hips. A memory I'd forced into a box years ago, surfacing now, of all times. I shook it off, but the echo of it clung to me as I turned out the lights.
Somewhere out there, the hellbenders and work were waiting. But tonight, my girls slept safely. My job wasn't done, but it felt a little more possible.