Chapter 9 #2
“It’s one of the few moments when an entire community is focused on the same experience,” Melissa agreed. “No divisions, no politics. Just people looking up.”
“Sounds like the opposite of what you do.”
Melissa considered the question. “I hoped it would be different. I wanted to help people find common ground. But politics is messier than fireworks.”
“But you keep trying.”
“I keep trying.”
June was quiet for a moment. “I admire that. The persistence. I’m not sure I have it in me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when things got hard—in the kitchen, I mean—I left. I didn’t fight. I just… gave up.”
There was something in her voice, something raw beneath the casual words. Melissa wanted to ask, to push, to understand what had happened to make June sound like that. But Lila was between them, and the fireworks were about to start, and it wasn’t the right moment for confessions.
“Leaving isn’t the same as giving up,” Melissa said instead. “Sometimes leaving is the bravest thing you can do.”
June turned to look at her, and in the darkness her eyes were luminous, reflecting the distant lights of the festival. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do.” Melissa held her gaze. “I left my marriage when staying would have been easier. When staying would have let me pretend that everything was fine, that I could make it work through sheer force of will. Ending it meant admitting failure. But it was still the right choice.”
“What made you finally do it?”
The question was soft, intimate. Melissa was aware of how close they were—Lila asleep now against her side, June leaning in to hear her answer, their faces inches apart in the darkness.
“I realized I was modeling something for Lila that I didn’t want her to learn.
That relationships were about endurance instead of joy.
That you stayed with someone because you’d committed, not because you were happy.
” Melissa’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t want her to grow up thinking that was normal.
Yes, a relationship takes work, but it shouldn’t feel like love itself is constant work. ”
“And now? Do you think you could be happy? With someone?”
Melissa’s breath caught. The question hung between them, weighted with something neither of them was acknowledging.
Before she could answer, the first firework exploded overhead.
Lila jerked awake. “It’s starting!”
The sky erupted in color—red and gold and silver, blooms of light expanding and fading against the black canvas of night. Lila gasped and pointed, her tiredness forgotten, and Melissa watched the fireworks paint shifting patterns above them.
But she was aware, achingly aware, of June beside her.
The scent of her hair—something herbal, like rosemary and mint—drifting on the night air.
The way she’d tilted her head back to watch the sky, exposing the pale column of her throat.
The soft sound of her breath, catching each time a spectacular burst illuminated the darkness.
She’s too young, Melissa thought. She’s an employee. She’s—
June turned to say something, and found Melissa looking at her.
They both froze.
The fireworks continued overhead, explosions of color and sound, but Melissa couldn’t look away. June’s face was painted in shifting light—red, then gold, then silver—her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. She looked expectant.
She looked beautiful.
Melissa didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.
I should look away. I should—
But she couldn’t. She was caught in the moment, suspended between one heartbeat and the next, while the sky exploded above them and her daughter watched the sparkles and June looked at her with an expression that made Melissa’s chest ache.
The finale started—a rapid barrage of light and sound, the crowd cheering—and the spell broke. June blinked, looked away, applauded with everyone else.
“That was amazing,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“It was.”
“That was so awesome!” Lila said, voice filled with wonder. “Why don’t they do that every day? They should.”
“If it were every day, it wouldn’t be special,” Melissa said, getting her breathing under control again.
They walked back to the car in silence, June carrying their bag, Melissa holding Lila’s hand. The festival was winding down around them, families streaming toward the parking lots, children clutching glow sticks and remnants of cotton candy.
Lila settled into her seat, and Melissa kissed her forehead.
June was already in the passenger seat when Melissa climbed behind the wheel.
The car was quiet, intimate after the noise of the festival, and it took only a few minutes before Lila was asleep in the backseat.
She and June were alone, and whatever had passed between them during the fireworks was still hovering in the air, unacknowledged.
The drive home was longer than it usually was—twenty-five minutes through lots of traffic, everyone else leaving at the same time as them, until they got closer to home when it all turned into quiet streets and dark houses.
Neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it was heavy. Full of things unsaid.
When they pulled into the driveway, June finally broke the quiet.
“Today was lovely. Thank you for letting me tag along.”
“Of course.” Melissa turned off the engine but didn’t move to get out. “I haven’t enjoyed a Fourth of July like that in… I can’t remember how long.”
“Me neither.”
They sat there for a moment, the car ticking as the engine cooled. Through the windshield, Melissa could see the house—dark windows, empty rooms, the life they’d temporarily created together waiting inside.
“I should get Lila to bed,” she said finally.
“Of course.”
June helped her carry things inside while Melissa carried Lila upstairs. She changed the sleeping girl into pajamas, tucked her into bed, kissed her forehead. Lila didn’t stir.
When Melissa came back downstairs, June was just putting the last things away.
“Goodnight,” June said. “And happy Fourth of July.”
“Happy Fourth of July.”
June disappeared down the hall toward her room, and Melissa stood alone in the dark foyer, listening to the silence of the house settle around her.
I’m in trouble, she thought.
The words surfaced unbidden, but once they were there, she couldn’t unsee the truth of them.
She was attracted to June. Not just grateful, not just appreciative of her competence or her warmth with Lila—attracted.
In a way that made her pulse race and her skin flush and her thoughts scatter like startled birds.
She’s too young. She’s an employee. She’s a woman.
But none of those objections seemed to matter as much as they should have. Not when she could still smell June’s shampoo on the night air. Not when she could still see the way June had looked at her during the fireworks, expectant and uncertain and impossibly beautiful.
Melissa climbed the stairs to her own room, closed the door behind her, and sat on the edge of her bed in the darkness.
I’m in so much trouble.
She didn’t know what to do about it. She only knew that something had shifted tonight, something fundamental, and there was no going back to the way things had been before.