Chapter 22
Pancakes and Clarifications
June
June woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and the warm weight of Melissa’s arm across her waist.
Not unfamiliar anymore, really. She’d been waking up like this for a week now—in Melissa’s room, in Melissa’s bed, tangled together in sheets that smelled like cedar and rain and something warmer underneath that was just the two of them together, a smell that hadn’t existed before this and belonged to no one else.
The guest room at the end of the hall sat empty, its careful neutrality no longer needed.
She turned her head, watching Melissa sleep.
In the morning light, she looked softer than she ever did during the day—the sharp lines of her face relaxed, her dark hair spread across the pillow, one hand curled loosely near June’s hip.
The armor she wore for the world was gone, stripped away by sleep and trust and whatever they’d built together over these strange, difficult, beautiful months.
I get to have this, June thought. I actually get to have this.
Not stolen. Not hidden. Just this: morning light and Melissa’s weight and the specific quiet of a house that was hers to be in.
Melissa stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “You’re staring.”
“You’re worth staring at.”
“Flatterer.” But Melissa was smiling, that private smile that June had learned was just for her. She stretched, catlike, and pulled June closer. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight. Lila will be up soon.”
“Mmm. Five more minutes.”
“Okay.” June laughed and kissed her—a soft, slow kiss that came from knowing there would be more. Melissa’s hand slid into her hair, deepening it, and for a moment June let herself forget about the day waiting outside the bedroom door.
Then, from down the hall, the unmistakable sound of small feet on hardwood.
They pulled apart, both of them breathless.
“Duty calls,” Melissa said ruefully.
“I’ll start breakfast. You shower.”
“Deal.”
June slipped out of bed and grabbed her robe from the chair—her robe that had a spot in the closet, just like her toothbrush had a place beside Melissa’s in the bathroom, just like her handwriting was on the grocery list still stuck to the refrigerator with a sunflower magnet.
Small things. Ordinary things. Evidence of a life being built.
She padded down to the kitchen just as Lila appeared in the doorway, still in her pajamas, her hair a tangled mess.
“Morning, sweetheart. Pancakes or eggs?”
“Pancakes.” Lila climbed onto her usual stool at the island. “With blueberries.”
“Coming right up.”
June moved through the familiar kitchen—pulling ingredients from cabinets she’d organized herself, using the cast-iron pan she’d brought from her parents’ house, humming a soft tune while she worked.
The herbs on the windowsill had been replaced twice since spring; the sunflowers in the backyard were starting to droop with the weight of late summer.
Everything was different. Everything was the same.
“June?” Lila’s voice was thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Are you and Mom… like Mom and Dad used to be?”
June’s hands stilled on the bowl of batter. She turned slowly, giving herself time to think. Lila was watching her with those too-old eyes, her expression curious rather than troubled.
“What makes you ask that?”
“I saw you kiss last night.”
June cocked her head to the side. “Little miss Lila, were you up after bedtime?”
“I just needed to go to the bathroom,” Lila said, a note of steel in her voice that said she wasn’t going to get chastised for this.
“And I heard you and Mom talk, so I thought… and I saw you kissing.” Lila tilted her head.
“And Mom smiles more. She smiles the way she used to smile at Daddy, except different.”
June set down the whisk and came around the island, crouching so she was at Lila’s eye level. “You’re very observant, you know that?”
“I know.”
“Yes,” June said carefully. “Your mom and I are… together. Like she and your dad used to be. Is that okay with you?”
Lila’s brow furrowed, as if the question confused her. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
“Some kids might feel weird about it. About their parent being with someone new.”
“But you’re not new. You’ve been here all summer.” Lila considered this for a moment. “And you make Mom happy. And you make good pancakes. And you know more otter facts than anyone except me.”
June felt her throat tighten. “So you’re okay with it?”
“I already said I was.” Lila’s tone suggested that June was being unnecessarily slow. “Can you make the pancakes now? I’m hungry.”
June laughed and hugged Lila tight. “Yeah, sweetheart. I can make the pancakes now.”
The morning passed in comfortable domesticity. Breakfast, then dishes, then Lila’s request to work in the garden before it got too hot. Melissa joined them after her shower, coffee in hand, watching from the porch while June and Lila inspected the sunflowers.
They had all bloomed.
June stopped when she saw them. They’d grown taller than June. Their heads were heavy and golden, tipping in the morning breeze.
“They’re beautiful,” Lila said, grinning and pointing to the tallest bloom. “And it’s got seeds, so we can use those and grow new sunflowers next year.”
“The circle of life,” Melissa said, smiling from the porch.
Lila grinned. “Like in The Lion King.”
“Exactly like that.”
June’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen—another unknown number, the fifth this week.
She declined the call and shoved the phone back in her pocket.
“Reporters again?” Melissa asked quietly.
“Probably. I’ve stopped answering numbers I don’t recognize.”
The press interest had spiked after Melissa’s speech at the hearing, then subsided as another story took over, then increased again as that story died down.
For a few days, she’d gotten calls constantly: journalists wanting her side of the story, tabloid writers fishing for scandal, even a few podcast producers asking if she’d be interested in telling her truth.
She’d said no to all of them. Her truth wasn’t for public consumption. It was here, in this garden, with these people.
“I can have David send a statement,” Melissa offered. “Something official, asking for privacy—”
“It’s fine. They’ll get bored eventually.” June knelt down to help Lila check the tomato plants. “Besides, ignoring them feels kind of satisfying. Like I’m in control of the narrative for once.”
Melissa’s expression softened. “You are in control. Whatever happens with the press, however people react… you get to decide what this means to you.”
“I know.” June smiled up at her. “I’m starting to believe it.”
Rachel arrived in the early afternoon, while Melissa was at the office for a few hours of catch-up work. She swept into the kitchen with her usual brisk energy, wearing jeans and a soft sweater, her dark curls loose around her shoulders, carrying a paper bag.
“I come bearing gifts,” Rachel announced, setting the paper bag on the counter to reveal its content: glazed, delicious-looking donuts. “And also nosiness. Fair warning.”
“Noted.” June wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Lila’s in her room reading. Want to sit on the porch?”
“God, yes. I’ve been in the hospital since six a.m. I need fresh air and gossip, in that order. Non-hospital gossip, that is, because there’s plenty of drama going on at RH General.”
“Do I want to know?” June asked with a laugh.
“It involves heart transplants and previously-rivals-turned-lovers and all sorts of craziness. So, no.”
“You just want politician/nanny craziness instead.”
Rachel grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”
They settled into the chairs on the back porch, and they each grabbed a donut—June one with chocolate, Rachel one with just white glaze—the afternoon stretching warm and lazy ahead of them.
“So,” Rachel said, calmer now. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.”
“For good?”
June swallowed a bite of her donut, considering the question. “I think so. We’re taking it slow, but… yeah. For good.”
Rachel studied her for a moment with an assessing look—the one that made her an excellent doctor and a slightly scary friend. “You look happy. Both of you. Happier than I’ve seen Melissa in years.”
“I feel happy. It’s a little scary, honestly.”
“Why scary?”
“Because I keep waiting for something to go wrong.” June picked at the remaining donut, pulling off a small piece. “I know that’s not fair. Melissa has done everything right since the hearing. But part of me is still braced for impact, you know? Like I can’t quite believe this is real.”
“That’s trauma talking. Your past, the way Melissa first handled the press—your nervous system learned that good things don’t last.” Rachel’s voice was gentle. “It’ll take time to unlearn that. But you will.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I am very sure. Because I know Mel, and I know she doesn’t do anything halfway. If she’s in, she’s in.” Rachel paused. “And because I saw the way she looked at you at that hearing. That wasn’t a woman hedging her bets. That was a woman burning her ships.”
June felt warmth spread through her chest. “She did kind of burn her ships, didn’t she?”
“Spectacularly. In front of the entire Oregon state legislature and approximately forty thousand C-SPAN viewers.” Rachel grinned. “It was very romantic. In a chaotic, politically inadvisable sort of way.”
June laughed. “That should be our tagline. ‘Chaotic and politically inadvisable: a love story.’”
“I’d read that book.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sunflowers sway in the afternoon breeze, finishing their donuts. The garden was showing signs of late summer—tomatoes heavy on the vine, herbs going wild, everything lush and a little overgrown.
“Can I ask you something?” June said finally.
“Always.”
“When you came to see Melissa, after I left—what did you say to her? She mentioned you were the one who pushed her to change, but she didn’t give me details.”