Chapter Twenty-Three Soup & Honey
Caleb
I woke with the uncomfortable certainty that I had missed something important.
I lay there longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, replaying small details I should have paid attention to sooner.
The way Kitty had waved off concern without really meeting anyone’s eyes.
How she had been getting more stressed and more tired as the Winter Carnival went on.
I had been so busy measuring my own reactions that I had missed the cost she was paying.
By the time I got out of bed, I had made a decision.
I moved through my apartment on autopilot, gathering things without overthinking it.
Cold medicine, throat lozenges, honey from the kitchen.
I put a note on the music shop door that I was closed for the day and didn’t feel guilty about it.
Stopping at the local café down the street, I picked up two different kinds of soup, hoping Kitty would like one of them.
The SnowDrop Inn was quieter than I expected when I arrived. The lobby smelled faintly of coffee and pine cleaner, the kind of clean that suggested someone had tidied recently.
I hesitated, wondering what I should do.
“You’re Kitty’s boyfriend,” a matter of fact voice said.
I turned to see Meri approach from the hallway. She dumped a fat book with a colorful cover and curling cover corners indicating it was well read, on the lobby desk before tilting her head to study me.
“Caleb Green. We met a couple of days ago when we were all planning the Winter Carnival. I was hoping to see Kitty,” I mentioned.
“I don’t think she’s feeling well,” Meri commented.
“I brought soup and supplies,” I replied.
“She’s upstairs in our apartment, which is door twenty,” Meri told me. “I have a question. What is it like to be famous?”
“In my experience, it’s not great,” I honestly told her.
“That’s what I was thinking.” Meri nodded, one finger tapping the thick book. She refocused on me. “That soup is getting cold. You should go see Kitty.”
Not sure what else to say to that, I nodded then went upstairs to search for door twenty.
Kitty opened the door on the second knock. She looked smaller than she had the night before, wrapped in an oversized sweater that swallowed her hands. Her hair was pulled back in a way that suggested minimal effort, and her cheeks were flushed.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said, voice hoarse but firm.
“I wanted to,” I replied.
She studied me for a moment, then stepped aside without comment.
The apartment was small, with the kitchen and living room crowded into the space.
There was a small hallway which I guessed led to the bathroom and bedroom.
Someone had blankets and a pillow on the couch with a suitcase beside it.
There were books, magazines, and dishes drying in a dishrack. It was cozy.
I set the bag down on the small table and started unpacking quietly. She watched me arms folded, expression caught somewhere between gratitude and irritation.
“I’m fine,” she said, as if reading my thoughts.
“I didn’t say you weren’t,” I commented.
She huffed a weak laugh and sank down onto the mattress. “You brought half the pharmacy.”
“I brought the useful half.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it.
“Do you prefer chicken noodle or vegetable soup?” I questioned.
“Both.” Kitty grabbed a couple of bowls and spoons from the cupboard, bringing them to the table. “I like mixing them.”
“That works for me,” I easily replied. We divided up the soup and made tea before sitting down to eat together.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “I hate being sick.”
“Most people do,” I agreed, leaning back to look at her.
She shifted again, fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve. “Last night, when we talked about you discussing the music shop with Lydia… I reacted badly.”
“You reacted honestly.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t about Lydia. Not really.”
I waited patiently to hear what Kitty would say next.
“It’s just… it happens a lot,” she said, stirring what was left of her soup. Her voice wavered, then steadied “Being the last one to know what’s going on, the one who finds out after the decision’s already been made. I know no one means to do it, but knowing that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
This wasn’t just about not letting her know I had talked to her sister about social media for the music shop, I realized.
This was an accumulation of hurt that had happened over time with her family.
“I’m sorry. Going forward, I will make sure to do my best to keep you aware of what’s happening.
I don’t want you to ever feel excluded and if I happen to do something that hurts you, please call me out on it. ”
“You’re going to make me cry,” Kitty’s voice wobbled as she blinked rapidly.
I got up, moved my chair next to hers, sat down again and wrapped my arms around her, letting her lean on me.
“I’m going to make you sick,” she warned with a sniff.
“That’s okay. I’m here for the long term germ sharing,” I told her.
She had a hoarse laugh.
I reached for the honey and poured a small spoonful into a mug of tea, sliding it across the table toward her. “You should drink this. I know I heard somewhere that honey is good for the throat.”
She smiled faintly and cradled the mug in one hand, still leaning against me.
I cleared my throat. “When I heard that you talked to Dave, I defended you. I believed that you wouldn’t make a deal with him behind my back. I told Eva that you would call me and tell me about what happened. I knew you were busy, so I waited.”
“Then I didn’t call,” Kitty murmured.
“You have a lot on your mind with the Winter Carnival events. When I didn’t hear back from you, I thought I would just come and talk to you about it. Maybe I used the wrong words to explain that I was disappointed that you didn’t tell me right away. Yet, maybe that was too much to expect,” I mused.
“I should have told you right away. I just got busy and I thought since I told him that I wasn’t getting involved, it wasn’t a big deal. I was wrong. I should have known that Dave had probably tried to manipulate you through people close to you in the past,” Kitty replied.
“We both need to be more open with each other. I know we’re new in this relationship, but I think it will be better if we just tell each other what’s happening right away so neither of us gets upset,” I suggested.
“I agree,” Kitty said. Her gaze dropped to the mug again. “I don’t need to be the center of attention all the time. I just don’t want to feel invisible.”
“I don’t want that either,” I said.
She was quiet for a moment, absorbing that, then exhaled slowly. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I just needed you to understand why it hurt.”
“I do now.”
That seemed to matter more to her than an apology would have. Her shoulders eased, and she gave me a smile.
“There was something else about the social media,” I said, easing back into the chair so I could see her reaction better.
Her eyes flickered with interest. “Oh?”
“I talked to Lydia because she was there,” I continued. “Because she had a million ideas and no filter, and because I needed to make a decision quickly. That was on me.” I paused. “But I should have talked to you too.”
Kitty didn’t interrupt, which I took as permission to keep going.
“I don’t actually know what I’m doing. With the shop and the online stuff.
Monetizing without turning it into something that feels…
intrusive.” I gestured vaguely, as if the concept might be hovering nearby.
“Lydia has energy. She’s good at hype. But you’re good at structure and at knowing when something stops being helpful. ”
Her expression shifted, surprise giving way to something warmer.
“I was wondering,” I said carefully, “if you would want to be involved. I know you’re already doing too much so you can say no but I would like you to help if you want to.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly recalibrating.
“You really want my input?” she asked. “You’re not just asking because we had the conversation about how it feels to be excluded?”
“I want your opinions. I’m not saying I will agree with all of them, but I want to know what you think about the project,” I explained.
She studied me for a long moment, searching for something. When she seemed satisfied with what she found, she nodded slowly.
“I would like that,” she said. “But only if we’re clear about things.”
“I like clear,” I said.
“And if it ever starts to feel like too much, I can take a step back,” she added.
“Also agreed.”
She relaxed back into me again, a small sigh escaping her. “Okay, then yes.”
We stayed there, sipping our tea and just enjoying the moment. Just being present, and making space for someone else to matter.