✧･Chapter 7 I Wouldve
The conversation blurs together before I even try to follow it.
Laughter, glasses clinking, Helena saying something from the kitchen that makes everyone at the table groan, it all melts into noise, background static I can't quite latch onto.
I'm sitting here, I know that much, elbow hooked over the back of my chair, a drink in my hand I don't remember asking for, but none of it feels solid. None of it sticks.
Because she's here.
Mae sits across from me, angled slightly toward June, nodding along to whatever story's being told like she's completely present, completely fine, like there isn't a single crack running through her.
My grip tightens slightly around the glass, the cold biting into my palm as I watch her laugh, that soft, easy, and familiar sound that hits me all over in a way that feels almost cruel.
I know that laugh. I know the way it sounds when it breaks apart, when it catches, when it turns into something quieter, something meant just for me.
Or at least- I did know.
I drag my gaze away before it lingers too long, tipping the glass back just for something to do, something to ground myself, but it doesn't help.
Nothing really does. Not when every time I look up, my eyes find her again like it's instinct, like it's something wired into me I don't know how to shut off.
Four years, and somehow that hasn't changed.
Worse, maybe.
Because I know what it felt like to have her, even if it was just for a night.
I know the weight of her hands, the way she said my name like it mattered, like I mattered - and sitting here, watching her tuck a piece of hair behind her ear like she didn't unravel in my arms that night, like she didn't come undone beneath me, it does something sharp and ugly to my chest.
I shift in my seat, forcing my attention back to the table just as Lucas says something that earns a laugh, and I follow a second too late, letting out a quiet huff like I'm actually part of this, like I'm not somewhere else entirely.
"Claire."
Lucas's voice cuts through just enough to pull me back, and I glance over at him, blinking once like I need a second to catch up. He's watching me with that knowing look, one brow slightly raised, like he's clocked the fact that I haven't been paying attention for the last... however long.
"Yeah?" I answer, my tone easy, automatic, like I haven't been halfway somewhere else.
He leans back in his chair, gesturing vaguely with his fork. "I asked if you were even listening, or if you just like the sound of your own silence now."
A small laugh slips out of me, quiet but real enough to pass. "Please," I say, shifting forward just slightly, resting my elbow against the table. "If I liked the sound of my own silence, none of you would get a word in."
That earns a couple of reactions as August huffs out a laugh and Helena calls something indistinct from the kitchen, but I'm already settling back into it, letting that familiar rhythm take over.
Lucas snorts. "That's not what I asked."
"No, but it's the answer you got," I shoot back, a faint smirk tugging at my lips as I lift my glass. "Ask better questions next time."
It lingers there for a second, light and easy, exactly the kind of exchange I've always been good at slipping into without effort.
The table settles back into its rhythm, laughter fading into smaller conversations, until I hear Chris clear his throat.
He sets his drink down and looks at me directly, like he's just decided I'm the most interesting thing at the table.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch it as Mae went just a little too still.
"I heard you just moved back after, what, four years?" he asks.
I let my gaze settle on him, easy and controlled, like there's nothing else pulling at my attention. "Yeah," I say, offering a small, polite smile. "I was in California, overseeing a new branch opening for Helena's company."
"California, huh?" He leans back slightly, clearly settling in. "That's gotta be a big shift from here. You like it?"
"It was different," I answer, lifting my glass for another sip. "Met a lot of people. Mostly worked, though."
I don't look at Mae and I didn't need to. I can feel it, the tension sitting just under her skin, the awareness of this conversation stretching a little too tight between the three of us.
Chris nods, like that tracks, like he's putting together a version of me that makes sense to him. "Boyfriend?" he asks, casual.
The laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, low and automatic, and Lucas snorts into his drink. "Claire? In a relationship?" He cuts in. "She'd rather die alone."
Chris raises a brow, glancing between us, and I flick my eyes toward Mae without thinking. Just for a second, then back to him.
"I'm not the biggest fan of dating," I say, picking my glass back up.
"Oh... I didn't realize," Chris replies quickly.
"Don't be," I shrug, easy. "You don't know me yet. I just like being free."
The words land the way they always do. Light and dismissive, not meant to carry any weight. Except this time, they do. I see it in the way Mae's fingers tighten slightly around her fork, the way her gaze drops to her plate like she suddenly finds it very interesting.
"Have you ever been in love, then?"
I nearly choke on my drink. It goes down the wrong way, sharp and burning, and I cough, turning slightly as I press a fist to my mouth. Lucas immediately starts laughing beside me, leaning back in his chair like this is the best thing he's seen all night.
"Oh, that's a yes," he says, pointing at me. "That is absolutely a yes."
"Shut up," I mutter, clearing my throat as I set my glass down, shooting him a look. "I choked. That doesn't mean anything."
"Mm," he hums, completely unconvinced. "You choke, you hesitate, those are signs, Claire. Very telling signs."
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh as I lean back in my chair, trying to brush it off like it's nothing. "You've been watching too many movies."
"And you're avoiding the question," he shoots back easily.
Chris glances between us, amused but still curious, clearly enjoying the shift in attention. "It's not that serious," he says. "Just a question."
"Exactly," Lucas adds, leaning forward slightly now, like he's locked in. "So answer it."
I exhale quietly through my nose, picking my glass back up and turning it between my fingers, letting the motion give me something to focus on.
It shouldn't matter. It's a simple question, one I could dodge the same way I always do.
And yet, out of the corner of my eye, I can feel it - Mae's attention, steady and waiting, even if she's pretending otherwise.
I don't look at her.
"Why do you care so much?" I ask instead, glancing back at Lucas.
"Because," he says, not missing a beat, "you've spent your entire life acting like you're emotionally unavailable on purpose. I'm just trying to figure out if that's a personality trait or a defense mechanism."
A quiet laugh slips out of me, but there's no real humor behind it. "That's a bold assumption."
"It's an accurate one," he replies.
Chris chuckles under his breath. "He's got a point."
"Of course he does," I mutter, taking a small sip of my drink just to give myself a second longer.
The table goes expectant in that subtle way conversations do when people are waiting for you to either commit or deflect. It's light, easy, nothing that should feel like pressure, but it does anyway.
I set my glass down again, my fingers tightening slightly around the stem before I let it go, my gaze dropping to the table for a brief moment.
"I wouldn't say love. I'm not usually the sticking-around type," I say finally, my tone casual and familiar, something I've said in one form or another a hundred times before.
Lucas snorts immediately. "Yeah, no shit."
A faint smirk tugs at my lips, automatic, but it doesn't quite land the way it usually does. I lean back slightly, like I'm settling into it, like that answer should be enough.
But it isn't.
"There was one, though... One I would've stuck around for." I add, almost absentmindedly, like it doesn't matter, like it's just something I remembered too late to keep to myself.
It shifts the air instantly and Lucas straightens. "Oh, now that's interesting," he says, eyes narrowing slightly. "Who was it?"
I huff out a quiet breath, reaching for my glass again even though I don't drink from it. "Relax."
"No," he says, shaking his head, a grin still tugging at his mouth but his tone more insistent now. "You don't get to just casually drop that and move on. Who was it?"
"Does it matter?" I ask, glancing at him.
"Yeah, it does," he presses. "You? Almost sticking around for someone? That's not exactly on brand for you."
Chris nods slightly, still relaxed but clearly interested now. "I'm a little curious too."
Of course he is.
I roll the stem of my glass between my fingers, my gaze staying down for a second longer before I finally shrug, like it's nothing. Like it doesn't sit heavier than it should.
"It didn't go anywhere," I say, keeping my tone even. "So no, it doesn't matter."
Lucas studies me for a moment, like he's trying to decide if he's going to push harder, but then he leans back with a short laugh, shaking his head.
"Unbelievable," he mutters. "Whoever that was-" he pauses, a smirk pulling at his mouth, "-they didn't stand a chance."
Something in my chest tightens, sharper than I expect and before I can stop myself, I look up. Not at him, at her.
Mae is already looking at me, like she couldn't help it, like she's been waiting for whatever I was going to say next. There's something tight in her expression, something too still, like she already knows.
My voice is quieter when I speak again, the edge gone from it without me meaning for it to be.
"Yeah no," I say, holding her gaze before continuing, "turns out I never stood a chance."
Mae doesn't miss it.
I see it in the way she stills, in the way her fingers curl slightly against the table, like she needs something to ground herself. Her breath catches, barely noticeable, but I catch it anyway.
Because she remembers, I know she does. Because she knows exactly what I'm talking about. I don't look away, not this time, not when it feels like something real is finally sitting between us instead of all the things we're pretending not to say.
But she does.
Her gaze drops too quickly, her hand reaching for her glass like she needs something to do, something to break whatever just passed between us before anyone else can notice.
Around us, the conversation shifts again, Lucas saying something else, Chris responding, the moment dissolving into something lighter, easier.
Like nothing just happened.
The conversation shifts around us, Lucas already moving on to something else, Chris chiming in, the noise of it all filling the space just enough to cover what just happened.
It should feel normal again. It should be easy to slip back into it, to let the moment disappear the way moments like that usually do.
But it doesn't.
I take a slow sip of my drink, more for something to do than anything else, letting my gaze drift from the table, from the tension still sitting heavy in my chest.
And that's when I see her. Helena is standing just off to the side of the table, half in, half out of the conversation, a dish towel draped over her shoulder like she'd been in the middle of doing something else before she stopped. She's not speaking, not interrupting, just... watching.
Specifically, she's watching me. Our eyes meet, and something in my stomach tightens immediately. Because it's not casual or curious.
It's knowing.
Helena raises an eyebrow slightly, the smallest shift in her expression, but it's enough. The kind of look that says she didn't hear everything - but she heard enough. The kind of look that says she's been paying attention a lot longer than I thought.
Nothing ever gets past her.
I hold her gaze for a second, keeping my expression neutral, controlled, like there's nothing there to find, nothing to question. It's instinct at this point as deflect and downplay, make it look easy.
But Helena doesn't buy it. She tilts her head just slightly, her eyes flicking quick and subtle toward Mae, then back to me.
It's not obvious, no one else at the table would catch it. But I do. And just like that, something shifts again, because now it's not just me and Mae sitting in this quiet, unspoken tension. Now someone else sees it.
Or at least... suspects it.
I let out a slow breath, leaning back in my chair as I drag my attention away from her, forcing myself to look back at Lucas as he says something I didn't quite catch.
"Sorry," I mutter, more automatic than anything. "What was that?"
Lucas gives me a look, half amused, half suspicious. "Wow. You're really somewhere else tonight."
"I'm just tired." I reply lightly, as I reach for my glass again.
But I can still feel it. Helena's eyes, even when I don't look back.