37. Chapter 37
Caitlin
I wake to sunlight streaming through my blinds, casting thin stripes across my bedspread.
My eyelids feel glued together, heavy and swollen.
When I finally pry them open, the full weight of yesterday crashes down on me; Adam’s confession about the cruise, the way I completely fell apart in front of him.
My head throbs, a dull, persistent ache that matches the hollowed-out feeling in my chest.
I roll onto my side and find Luna curled against me, her small furry body warm and vibrating with a gentle purr.
She opens one eye, gives me a slow blink, then closes it again, continuing to purr.
I stroke her silky head, grateful for her uncomplicated presence.
“At least you don’t judge me for being a mess,” I whisper.
She stretches one paw toward me in what I choose to interpret as solidarity.
Memories from yesterday play through my mind like scenes from a movie I wish I hadn’t watched.
Adam on his knees in front of me, his eyes raw with regret.
The look on Rachel’s face when she saw I’d been crying.
The weight of Adam’s arms around me as I sobbed against his chest. The confession about Millie kissing him, about sharing a room with her.
I close my eyes, wishing I could block it all out, but the images just play more vividly against my eyelids.
With a groan, I push myself up. Luna makes a small chirping sound of protest but resettles herself against my pillow.
The clock on my nightstand reads 9:47. I never sleep this late, but Rachel must have decided to let me rest. Her bedroom door stands open across the hall, bed already made. She’s probably been at work for hours.
I shuffle to the bathroom and wince at my reflection.
My eyes are red-rimmed and puffy; my hair is a tangled mess.
I splash cold water on my face, brush my teeth, and run a brush through my hair, taming it enough to pull back into a loose ponytail.
I don’t have the energy for anything more involved.
As I make my way downstairs, a familiar scent wafts up to meet me, bacon and coffee and something sweet, maybe pancakes. For a moment I think Rachel must have come back, but then I hear humming, a tune I’ve known all my life. Aunt Charlene.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs, watching her move around the kitchen with practiced ease.
She’s wearing a bright yellow sweater that makes her look like a sunflower, her blonde hair pinned neatly up.
The kitchen island is covered with flour, eggs, a carton of blueberries, a stick of butter, and she’s stirring something in a large mixing bowl, hips swaying slightly to whatever song is playing in her head.
“Aunt Charlene?” My voice comes out scratchy, still rough from yesterday’s crying.
She turns, wooden spoon in hand, face lighting up when she sees me. “There she is,” she says warmly. “I was just about to come check on you, see if you were still breathing under all those blankets.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, moving further into the kitchen. “Don’t you have the breakfast shift at the restaurant?”
“Peter’s handling it.” She sets down the spoon and crosses to me, pulling me into a hug that smells like breakfast and her familiar perfume. “Rachel texted me last night. Said you’d had a rough evening and might need some looking after this morning.”
I let myself lean into her embrace, surprised by how much I needed this, the warm, solid presence of someone who’s known me my whole life, who loves me without question or condition. Aunt Charlene has been more of a mother to me than my actual mother ever was.
“I’m fine,” I mumble against her shoulder, even as fresh tears prick at my eyes. “You didn’t have to come all the way over.”
She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, her eyes searching my face.
“Honey, your eyes are so swollen I’m not sure you can see straight.
And fine people don’t usually cry themselves to sleep.
” Her voice is gentle, no judgment in it.
“Now, you sit down and let me fix you some breakfast. Then we can talk about it, or not talk about it, whatever you need.”
“Okay,” I concede, too tired to argue. I sit at the kitchen table, watching as she returns to her mixing bowl.
“I’m making blueberry pancakes,” she says, sprinkling the berries into the batter. “And there’s bacon keeping warm in the oven. The coffee’s fresh, help yourself.”
I pour myself a cup, wrapping my hands around the warm mug, letting the steam rise to my face. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For coming over. For breakfast. For everything.”
Charlene glances over her shoulder at me, her smile soft and understanding.
“That’s what family does, sweetheart. We show up.
Especially when there’s been a whole lot of crying.
” She turns back to the stove, pouring batter onto a hot griddle.
“And if you feel like adding a few more tears to yesterday’s count, well, my shoulder’s right here.
I’ve got plenty of tissues, and nothing important to do today except be here for you. ”
“The pancakes smell amazing,” I tell her, taking a sip of my coffee. And then, because it’s Aunt Charlene and I’ve never been able to hide things from her: “And I might take you up on that shoulder offer later.”
She nods, flipping a perfectly golden pancake. “Whenever you’re ready, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”
The first bite of pancake melts in my mouth, sweet and warm with bursts of tangy blueberry.
I didn’t realize how hungry I was until food was actually in front of me.
My stomach growls appreciatively as I cut another piece, dragging it through the pool of maple syrup on my plate.
Aunt Charlene sits across from me at the small kitchen table, her own plate barely touched as she watches me eat with the satisfied expression of someone who shows love through feeding others.
“These are amazing,” I tell her, reaching for a piece of bacon. “I didn’t think I was hungry, but…”
“Crying takes a lot out of you,” she says matter-of-factly. “Your body needs fuel to recover, just like after you’ve been sick.”
I nod, focusing on my food, avoiding the conversation I know is coming.
Aunt Charlene doesn’t press. She sips her coffee and eats her own breakfast, letting the silence stretch between us, comfortable and undemanding.
That’s always been her way, creating space for me to talk without pushing, letting me come to her in my own time.
Luna appears from wherever she’s been hiding, winding her way around Charlene’s ankles before hopping onto the empty chair between us. She settles herself there like she’s joining the conversation, green eyes blinking lazily in the morning light.
“She’s such a pretty cat,” Charlene says, reaching out to scratch behind Luna’s ears. “Rachel mentioned you found her at Louise’s house?”
“In the garden shed,” I confirm, grateful for the neutral topic. “Adam and I were there, looking over the property, and we heard her inside.”
At the mention of Adam’s name, Charlene’s eyes flick to mine, but she doesn’t pounce. Instead, she just smiles and continues petting Luna. “She certainly landed on her feet finding you.”
I take a deep breath, setting down my fork. “We were talking about Mount Pella yesterday,” I say abruptly. “Adam and me. About what happened there.”
Charlene nods. “I figured it might be something like that.”
“He told me things—” My voice catches, and I reach for my coffee, taking a sip to steady myself. “Things I’ve been wondering about for months. About Millie. About…everything.”
I pause, gathering my thoughts, trying to figure out where to start. Charlene waits, and her calm is a balm to my frayed nerves.
I recount the conversation Adam and I had.
From the dinner dates to the cruise to the kiss.
As I talk, Charlene’s eyebrows rise slightly, but she doesn’t look shocked or outraged, just thoughtful.
At one particularly difficult point, she reaches across the table to take my hand.
Her palm is warm against mine, grounding me.
“All of this must have been very painful to hear,” she says quietly.
“It was. It is.” I push my plate away, no longer hungry.
“And hearing the full scope of it made you break down,” Charlene guesses.
“Yes.” I press my fingers to my eyes, remembering the flood of emotions that overtook me.
“It was like something inside me just snapped. All these months of wondering what really happened, of not knowing if he had feelings for her, if something happened between them…it all just came pouring out. I couldn’t stop crying. ”
Luna jumps from her chair onto my lap, as if sensing my distress. I stroke her fur, finding comfort in her warm weight.
“And now?” Charlene asks gently. “How do you feel today?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice small. “Part of me feels relieved to finally know the truth. The worst part of the last few months has been the wondering. What he did with Millie. How he felt about Millie. But I’m also angry and hurt all over again.”
“It’s a lot to process,” Charlene says, squeezing my hand.
“It is,” I agree, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. “And the hardest part is, I still don’t know what to do with it all. I don’t know where to go from here.”
Charlene nods, her eyes full of understanding. “That’s okay, honey. You don’t have to figure it all out today.”
“What do you think?” I ask, looking up at Charlene.
“About all of it, I mean.” Luna kneads my thigh with her paws, purring loudly in the silence that follows my question.
I wait as Charlene seems to gather her thoughts, her expression thoughtful as she traces the rim of her coffee mug with one finger.
“I think it’s complicated,” she finally says. “More complicated than just Adam being a jerk who treated you badly.”