✧･Chapter 13 Never Mine
It's been a week.
A full week of going out of my way to avoid Mae.
After that... conversation in the restroom at Lucia's tee-ball game - and whatever the hell that was at Helena's house afterward - everything just felt off. Not loud, not dramatic. Just... wrong. Like we both knew something had shifted and neither of us wanted to be the one to say it out loud.
Or maybe it was just me.
Because as much as I would love to actually talk about it, to figure out what the hell we're supposed to do with this, to try and put it somewhere instead of letting it sit there between us... Mae won't even look at me for more than a few seconds at a time.
And I tried, at first. Tried to catch her alone, tried to keep things normal, tried to give her an opening. But she shuts it down before it can even start.
So I stopped trying.
Now it's easier to just stay out of her way. To keep my distance, to let conversations end instead of dragging them out, to pretend I don't notice the way she goes quiet when I walk into a room.
I give her what she wants. Space. And the worst part is... she doesn't seem to mind it.
That's the part I can't wrap my head around.
I know it's messy. I know it's complicated and uncomfortable and probably something neither of us expected.
But I don't understand how it's so damn easy for her to just move past it.
To act like it didn't matter. To still pretend that that night had never happened.
At first, it was fine.
Hard, but fine.
Avoiding her the way she's been avoiding me almost felt...
fair, in a way. Like I was finally meeting her where she'd already decided to stand.
Keeping my distance, not pushing, not trying to force something she clearly didn't want - it made sense.
It gave me something solid to hold onto, some version of control in a situation that felt anything but.
But it didn't stay like that.
It shifted, slowly at first, then all at once.
Fine turned into something tighter, something that sat heavy in my chest every time we ended up in the same room and pretended we weren't doing exactly that - pretending.
And then that weight turned into hurt, sharp and quiet, the kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of normal moments.
And after that?
Anger.
Because I don't know what I'm supposed to do with any of this.
I don't know how to fix it, how to rewind things back to before it got complicated, before everything between us felt like it had edges.
I keep running through conversations in my head, different ways it could go, different things I could say that might make this easier, clearer... anything.
But there's nowhere to put any of it if she won't even meet me halfway. So I stay quiet. I stay back, and I tell myself it's what she wants. The problem is, no matter how hurt I am, no matter how frustrated or angry I get when I think about the way she's handled all of this...
None of that touches the other part. The part of me that's still so fucking proud of her.
It's stupid, maybe. Or inconvenient. But it's there, unwavering. I've seen pieces of her work over the years, heard about her shows, her progress, even brought some - but this? This is different. This is hers, fully hers. Something she built and fought for and poured herself into.
And she deserves to have people show up for that, even if I'm not sure where I stand with her anymore.
Which is how I end up here, standing just outside the gallery, staring at the entrance like it might decide for me whether I go in or not.
I've been out here for a few minutes now.
Long enough for the initial confidence to fade, long enough for doubt to start creeping in, quiet and persistent.
I could still leave. No one's seen me yet.
I could turn around, get in my car, and pretend I never came.
It would probably be easier.
I'm just starting to think I might actually do it when I feel a hand gently wrap around my elbow. I turn, a little startled, and find June standing beside me, smiling softly like she's been there longer than I realized.
Hey!
She signs, her expression immediately brightening as her eyes move over me.
Wow, you look so beautiful!
The warmth in it catches me off guard, cutting clean through the mess in my head, and I feel myself smile back without having to force it.
I'm in a simple black dress, fitted but not overdone, a small slit along my thigh that shifts slightly when I move.
Black heels, nothing too dramatic. I left my hair down, letting it fall in its natural waves, and kept my makeup light.
I didn't want to look like I was trying too hard, didn't want to give anything away.
I could say the same about you, I sign back, my movements easy, and she laughs silently, her shoulders lifting slightly as she grins.
June always has a way of making things feel lighter without even trying. She glances toward the entrance, then back at me, lifting her brows slightly as she gestures for us to go in.
And just like that, the moment of hesitation is gone. Or at least, I don't have the option to sit in it anymore and I let out a small breath, more to myself than anything, then nod.
We step inside together, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe normally.
The gallery is warm, softly lit, filled with quiet conversation and the low hum of music drifting somewhere beneath it all.
People move slowly through the space with wine glasses in hand, stopping in front of paintings, leaning toward one another to murmur opinions and interpretations like they're afraid to speak too loudly around something delicate.
And somehow, every inch of this place feels like Mae. There's pieces of her everywhere I look.
Not just in the paintings themselves, but in the atmosphere of it all. The emotion pressed into the walls, the careful detail in the setup, the softness underneath the sharp edges. It feels intimate in a way I don't think most people here would understand.
June lightly touches my arm to get my attention, signing something about the turnout already being good, her expression warm and proud. I smile back automatically, nodding as I follow her further inside, but my attention is already beginning to drift.
Because I can feel her before I even see her and maybe that's pathetic. Maybe it's worse that after six years, after all this distance and silence and frustration, some part of me still knows when Mae is in the room.
My eyes move over the crowd slowly at first, taking in strangers, flashes of color, pieces of artwork hanging along the walls, and then they find her. Everything in me stalls.
God.
Mae stands near the center of the room speaking to an older couple, one hand curled loosely around the stem of a wine glass while the other moves subtly as she talks.
She looks comfortable enough on the surface, poised in the way she always gets when she's trying to keep herself composed, but it's her dress that nearly knocks the air straight out of my lungs.
It's dark, deep enough in color it almost looks black until the light catches it and pulls softer tones from the dress. The dress drapes against her body like it was made specifically for her, fitting close at her waist before falling smoothly down her legs. Effortless.
Beautiful.
And fucking dangerous to my peace of mind.
Her hair is down tonight, loose waves falling over her shoulders and down her back, softer than I'm used to seeing it.
There's something unfair about it... something unfair about the way she absentmindedly brushes a piece behind her ear while listening to someone speak, or the way she smiles politely before ducking her head slightly when they compliment her work.
I can't stop staring and I hate that I can't. Because all I can think about is how badly I used to want this version of her. How badly I still do.
Not even just physically - though that's absolutely part of it. It's everything else too. The quiet confidence she's grown into and the way she carries herself now. The way her paintings surround her like physical proof of every feeling she never says out loud.
Pride swells painfully in my chest, and so does something far more dangerous. And then, like she feels me looking at her, Mae glances up.
Our eyes lock instantly and the effect is immediate.
The conversation around me dulls into background noise, blurred and distant, my heartbeat suddenly loud enough to make me aware of every pulse under my skin. Mae goes still in a way no one else would notice unless they knew her the way I do.
But I notice. God, I notice everything.
The way her fingers tighten slightly around her glass. The way her shoulders pull just a little straighter like she's bracing herself. The way her expression shifts, not dramatically, but enough. Enough for me to see the surprise first.
Then something softer. Then something that looks so painfully close to longing that it almost knocks me off balance.
And there it is again, that feeling. The one that always seems to exist between us now, thick and charged and impossible to properly name. It stretches across the room like a live wire, invisible to everyone else here but unbearably obvious to me.
Because when Mae looks at me, she doesn't look unaffected. She never does.
For a second, neither of us moves. I can feel the history between us sitting there in the silence of that eye contact alone. The bathroom at Lucia's game. Six years ago in that hotel room. Every avoided conversation. Every look held too long before one of us pulled away first.
Her lips part slightly like she might say something, or maybe breathe. I don't know. All I know is that my chest suddenly feels too tight for my own body.
Then someone beside her says her name, and the moment cracks apart.
Mae blinks quickly, looking away first, but not before I catch it... that split second of emotion she didn't lower her guard fast enough to hide.
I then feel June nudge me softly, tilting her head to gesture to start walking over to her, and I do, well, we do. It felt like everything was in slow-mo, and Mae's eyes never left mine, not once. By the time I reach her, I give her a small smile.
"Everything looks amazing, Mae." I say, and I meant it, because everything does look amazing. She stares at me for a moment, before nodding her head and giving me a soft smile that tugs at my heart.
"Thank you," she says, barely above a whisper.
Mae glances over at June, her smile widening as she signs something to her. June lights up immediately, signing back before leaning in to wrap Mae in a hug.
I open my mouth to say something, but I'm cut off by a woman's voice.
"Oh my goodness, sweetie! This is utterly amazing!"
Mae turns first, her eyes widening slightly. My brows pull together as I turn, spotting an older woman and a younger man making their way straight toward us.
"You look so beautiful, sweetie!" The woman gushes as she reaches her, cupping Mae's cheek. Mae nods, her cheeks flushing pink under the attention.
"Mom... you made it?" Mae says softly.
"Of course I did!" her mother replies, beaming. "You think I would miss my only daughter's gallery night?"
I inhale quietly, straightening my posture without meaning to and Mae's mother turns then, her attention shifting to June first. She signs a quick greeting before pulling her into a hug, and then her gaze lands on me.
Her smile stays, but there's a flicker of confusion now. "And who might you be?"
I return the smile, extending my hand and she takes it lightly. Up close, the resemblance is obvious. Same eyes, same features - just softer and smaller.
"I'm Claire," I say. "A friend of Mae's." Out of the corner of my eye, I catch it, how Mae goes still.
"Well, any friend of Mae's is a friend of mine," her mother says warmly. "I'm her mother and this is her brother, Jonathan."
I glance toward him. He's already looking at me, offering a small, polite smile and the resemblance to Mae is almost uncanny.
"Hi," he says simply.
"Oh, you are just gorgeous," Mae's mother continues, turning back to me. "Are you here all alone?"
The question catches me off guard.
"Mom," Mae cuts in under her breath, tension slipping into her voice. "Please. Leave her alone."
Mae's jaw tightens slightly beside me, but her mother either doesn't notice or chooses not to.
"I'm just so proud of you," she then says as she changes the topic, her voice warm, almost reverent as she gestures around the gallery. "All of this... it's such a blessing, truly. God has such a beautiful plan for you, Mae. I've always said that."
Mae exhales quietly next to me, the sound barely there, but I catch it. Her shoulders stay squared, her posture composed, like she's holding herself exactly where she's expected to be.
"And look at this," her mother goes on, shaking her head with a soft, disbelieving smile.
"Your gift, your talent, none of this is by accident.
This is exactly where you're meant to be.
You trusted Him, you stayed on the right path, and now...
" she gestures again, at the people, the space, the attention, "... now you're being rewarded for it."
Something in my chest shifts at that.
I glance at Mae, really look at her this time, not just the way she looks tonight, but the way she's standing in it. The way she isn't relaxing into any of it. The way her smile doesn't quite reach, like it's something practiced, something placed carefully where it belongs.
Her mother reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently, her voice softening. "You've done everything right, sweetheart. Everything."
The words settle heavier than they should.
Because suddenly it clicks, not all at once, but piece by piece, like something I should've understood a long time ago. The hesitation and the distance. The way Mae always pulls back just when things start to feel real. The way she looks at me like she's already bracing for something to go wrong.
It was never confusion. It was fear.
Not of me - but of what choosing me would mean.
I swallow, my gaze lingering on her as her mother keeps talking, filling the space with certainty, with belief, with something so unwavering it almost feels immovable.
A plan. A path. A life that already makes sense.
And I don't fit anywhere in it.
"Mae!"
The voice cuts through the moment, and Mae's head lifts quickly. I turn just as he comes into view, moving through the crowd with an ease that feels natural. Like this is where he's supposed to be.
"Oh!" Her mother lights up instantly, her entire expression shifting as she steps forward. "There he is!"
Chris barely gets a word out before she's pulling him into a hug, holding onto him like he belongs to her just as much as Mae does.
"I was wondering when you'd get here," she says, pulling back to look at him, her hands still resting on his arms. "Doesn't she look incredible tonight?"
Chris smiles, glancing over at Mae. "She always does."
Mae doesn't respond right away. When she does, it's quiet. "Thanks."
Her mother doesn't seem to notice the delay. She's already looking between them, her smile widening, something almost relieved settling into her expression.
"I was just telling her how all of this is part of God's plan," she says, gesturing around again before letting her hand fall lightly against Chris's arm. "And having someone like you by her side," she shakes her head, soft and certain, "it just makes everything even more perfect."
Perfect.
The word lands harder than it should.
I feel it then, fully this time. Not just the discomfort, not just the sense of being out of place, but the understanding underneath it.
This isn't just who Mae's mother wants her to be.
It's what Mae has been trying to hold onto this entire time.
The reason she keeps stepping back, the reason she never says too much, never lets anything linger long enough to become real.
Because real would mean choosing something else.
Choosing something harder.
Choosing something that doesn't come with approval, or certainty, or a plan already laid out in front of her.
Choosing me.
I glance at Mae again, searching her face without meaning to. There's something there - something tight, something conflicted - but she doesn't move. She doesn't step away from him, doesn't correct her mother, doesn't say anything that disrupts the picture being painted around her.
She just stays.
And that, more than anything, settles it.
This is her life. This is what makes sense for her. What fits, what's easy to explain, easy to accept, easy to keep.
I feel something in me give a little, not sharp or sudden, but quiet. Like a door closing without a sound.
I nod once, more to myself than anything else, and take a small step back. No one notices. They're still talking warm and certain and full of something I don't belong to.
Mae doesn't look at me. Or maybe she does. I don't stay long enough to find out.
I turn before I can second guess it, moving through the crowd the same way he did, except this time, it feels different. Like I'm slipping out of something I was never really part of to begin with.
By the time I reach the door, I don't look back.
I can't.
Not when everything inside me is already starting to come apart, slow and quiet, like something I didn't realize was holding me together in the first place. Not when I finally understand that this was never something I was going to win.
My hand tightens around the handle for a second longer than it should, my chest aching in a way that feels deeper than just hurt. It's heavier than that.
Because it isn't just about her standing there with him.
It's everything.
It's the way her life already has a shape to it, something steady, something certain, and something that makes sense to everyone around her.
Something I don't fit into, and maybe I never did.
I swallow hard, blinking against the burn behind my eyes, but the tears don't fall. They just sit there, waiting, like everything else I'm not going to let myself have.
Because this... whatever this is between us, it was never meant to last.
Not in her world.
Not in the life she's trying so hard to hold onto.
A shaky breath leaves me as I finally push the door open, the noise of the gallery fading behind me, replaced by something quieter.
I step outside and let the door fall shut behind me, the sound soft but absolute.
And that's when it settles in, fully.
The decision.
I press my lips together, my gaze dropping to the ground as I nod once, almost imperceptibly, like I'm agreeing to something no one else can hear.
She was never mine.
And I'm not going to be the reason she loses everything trying to choose me.