2. Sophie
SOPHIE
There’s nothing left but the tiny pool of red at the bottom of our glasses. The bottle’s down to the dregs, another reminder that time’s almost up. There’s never enough of it, not for us, not for this.
I’m not even sure what I taste anymore. Most of it is the tang of exhaustion.
I look around at what remains of our late dinner—a thoroughly picked-over roast chicken from a box, a half-wilted salad, and day-old rolls slathered in butter. The plates are still on the table, slick with sauce and crumbs and fingerprints.
Noah’s across from me, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his forearms bracing the table. He’s studying the remnants of his own meal as if, by staring long enough, the bones might reconstitute into something less complicated.
We haven’t said anything in a while. Most of the time, the quiet between us is companionable. Tonight, though, all it does is echo into the empty spaces between my ribs.
Then my phone buzzes against the wood, the sound so sudden that I almost drop the fork I’d been dangling between my fingers.
It’s June. Of course it is.
June: Heads up, the boys just left.
For a second, I want to laugh. For another, I want to throw the phone across the room. Most of all, I want to scream at the universe for never letting me have even one normal night.
I read the message twice, then I meet Noah’s eyes across the remnants of our store-bought dinner.
His mouth twitches. “Is that them?”
“Yeah.” I hear the disappointment in my own voice. It’s not that I don’t want to see them; it’s that I don’t want to have to give up seeing Noah to do so. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes. Tops.”
He’s on his feet before I am, already reaching for empty plates to stack.
This is a game we’re familiar with. We each have roles to play, and we execute them as if we’ve been doing this for years.
He clears the table; I sweep up napkins and wine glasses, then scrape leftovers into Tupperware that will likely live in the fridge for a week before they get thrown out.
I sigh and realize Danny will probably eat them, and somehow, that makes me smile.
As I work, my body moves as if it belongs to someone else.
My limbs are heavy, and exhaustion threatens to take me down.
No amount of caffeine or stubbornness can shake either feeling.
My temples throb, and my chest is tight.
Every time I bend down to grab something from the lower cupboard, my knees threaten to lock.
Noah has picked up on it. He’s nothing if not observant, even when he wants everyone to think he’s just a grump with forearms. He rinses plates under a blast of water, stacking them so they don’t clatter, and every so often, he glances over his shoulder at me.
“Wine bottle?” He lifts his head, using it to point at the empty suspect on the table.
I grab it without thinking, whipping the label off and tucking it straight into the recycling bin. I go for the glasses, too, running hot water over them and hoping the smell doesn’t linger in the sink.
Behind me, his footsteps are soft. He wipes down the table with a fresh cloth, then the kitchen counters, and finally double-checks the lock on the sliding glass door, even though nobody but us ever uses it.
We work this way a lot. In tandem. We’re actually quite good at it. We’re both quiet, efficient, and used to cleaning up after ourselves. After years of being alone, you start to realize the only thing you can control is the mess you leave behind.
I don’t look at him directly until my hands are empty, the counters are shining again, and there’s no trace of our makeshift date.
He’s got his arms folded, leaning against the sink, casual as anything.
But there’s tension in him tonight. He’s wound tight and waiting for the chance to snap.
Lord knows, I don’t want it to be at me.
My phone buzzes again. It’s Trent this time. Just a single word. Home.
Everything inside me goes cold, then hot, then cold again.
Noah glances at the clock. “That’s our cue.”
I nod, and we do one last little dance, checking for any details we might’ve missed. We move around each other in a choreography that’s become so automatic that I forget it shouldn’t have to be. As much as I hate it, I also find comfort in having a ritual with a man at all, because I never have.
He’s already holding out my bag when I turn.
Our hands brush, and instead of letting go, he just…
hangs on. There’s a beat where neither of us moves.
Then he squeezes my hand, brushing his thumb against my knuckles in a soothing caress.
It’s grounding, startling. It almost undoes me. I’m hanging on by a thread as it is.
He holds me for longer than required, and then, quietly, he says, “I’ve been thinking.”
Those three words never mean anything good. My heart sinks, and I wonder if this is about to end before it even gets started. But his tone is gentler than usual.
If I were braver, I’d let myself lean into it. Instead, I brace myself. “Yeah?”
He exhales through his nose, like getting the next part out actually takes effort. “Maybe it’s time we stop sneaking around.”
The silence that follows is less like silence and more like a slow drop off a cliff. One I don’t know how to handle. The thought of losing him after losing my mom is more than I can manage, but I’m also not sure how the boys will take the news.
I study the floor tiles. My grip tightens around my own elbow. “Noah…”
He cuts me off before I can muster an excuse, but his voice remains soft. “I know, Soph. I know everything’s a mess right now. I know you’re tired, and the timing couldn’t be worse. But—” He stops, his eyes searching my face.
But hiding is getting harder. He doesn’t have to say it. I know it. We both know it.
I swallow. The words are there, but they get stuck. Instead, I shake my head.
“I just…” I start, and then the stuttering, awful honesty of it comes out.
“I’m barely holding it together. Most mornings, I can’t even get out of bed.
I make it to the bathroom, but I end up sitting on the toilet, talking to myself or staring at my reflection, not recognizing the woman looking back at me.
I negotiate with myself to get a cup of coffee, or stick out a shift at the Shack, or whatever comes after that.
And it still doesn’t feel possible. Every one of those things takes a Herculean effort. ”
I rub at my eyes, pressing hard into the sockets to hold back the familiar sting.
“It’s been two weeks without Mom, and I keep waiting for it to be easier, but it’s not. It’s just…heavier.”
He takes it all in. Doesn’t flinch or look away. Just squeezes my hand again and pulls me to his chest, holding me closer.
Feeling helpless, I shake my head. “I know it’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to be someone’s secret?—”
“It’s not about fair.” He tilts my chin up. Not rough, just insistent. “It’s about this being real. I want you, Sophie. I want what we have. But I don’t want to spend the rest of the summer acting like I’m breaking the law every time I see you.”
I laugh, a sound made of glass shards. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”
His expression is flat. “Not really. You haven’t seen my kid when he wants to make a point about house rules.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, but it’s weak. I’ve been there with Trent more times than I can count.
My throat’s closing up again.
He takes a softer approach. “Look, I’m not saying we shout it from the rooftops. I get it. Trent’s had a rough year, too. But sneaking around feels like we’re ashamed. And I’m not. Not for a second. And I never want you to think I am.”
Hesitant, I let my gaze slide away. “We’ll tell him. We have to. I know we have to.”
He waits, giving me what little time we have to think through what he’s asking.
I force myself to fill the space, even though the words taste like loss.
“I just need a little time. Please, Noah. I can’t do it tonight.
I can’t do it tomorrow. I don’t even know when, but I need to feel a little less…
brittle. I need Trent not to hate me when I rip out the last thing he thought he could trust.”
He’s silent for a long moment. Then he pulls me in again, his arms folding around my shoulders like insulation, like the walls of a house you didn’t know you missed until you suddenly realize they provide all the comfort, warmth, and security in your life.
His chin settles on the top of my head. “Okay. You can have your time. But not forever, Soph. I want to show up for you, not just watch you from the window.”
I close my eyes and let the warmth of him work its way in through my skin. “Not forever,” I promise. “Just a little longer.”
I let go first, squeezing his hand in return before I square my shoulders and wipe away any trace of what just happened from my hair, my skin, my mouth. Noah steps back, kisses my forehead, and then lets the air settle.
He hesitates with his hand on the knob. “You sure you’re good?”
I want to say yes. I want to say no. Instead, I just say, “I’ll text you when I get home.”
He nods, eyes softer now.
Then I’m gone.
I step into the night and let the darkness pull me forward, one step at a time, toward the next argument, the next heartbreak, the next piece of myself I’ll have to glue back together when this is all over.
But I’ll do it. I always do.
The house is dark except for the kitchen light, casting Trent’s shadow across the wall like something out of a bad detective movie.
He’s planted himself at the table, arms crossed, face set in a line so flat it’d worry me if I hadn’t seen it a hundred times before.
One leg bounces under the table, restless to the point of violence.
The only sounds are the intermittent drumming of his fingertips on the tanned skin of his opposite arm.
I let the door shut behind me and try to enter like I’m not walking into a trap. “Hey,” I say, aiming for normal. “You’re home early.”
He doesn’t bite. Instead, he locks eyes with me, and it’s a laser—hot, unwavering, impossible to sidestep. “Where were you?”
I drop my keys onto the hook and slip off my shoes by the door. I keep my gaze on the floor. “Just…needed some air.”
He laughs. Not a real laugh—a bark, mean and sharp. “You needed air for three hours?”
I don’t have to justify myself to a kid I’m responsible for, but I recognize concern bleeding through the anger, so I bite back the snarky response I want to let loose. “I was driving around,” I say, unloading my purse onto the counter. “Thinking.”
“Thinking where?” His voice rises. “You never go anywhere without telling me.” His accusation should bother me, but somehow, it feels earned.
I can feel his eyes tracking me. I pass the fridge to the sink, searching for anything to do that isn’t being confronted by my little brother.
My fingers tremble when I turn on the tap, so I grip the counter.
The wetness of my palms is embarrassing, but that’s the least of my problems. “It’s not a big deal, Trent. I just needed a break.”
He snorts, and the sound is hard enough to shatter glass. “From what? Me? From being responsible for someone?”
I clench my jaw until it aches. I’m not doing this. Not tonight.
I turn to face him, crossing my arms as if it might shield me from the shrapnel. “In case you’ve missed it, the last couple of weeks have been pretty tough for me. Can we not do this? Please? I’m tired.”
He leans forward and pushes up from the chair like a coiled spring. “No, actually. We are doing this. Because you keep acting like everything’s fine, and it’s not.” He’s so angry he’s shaking.
He’s also not wrong.
“I’m fine. I just needed to be alone for a minute. That’s not a crime.”
He steps around the table and into the narrow gap between the fridge and the counter, blocking my escape. “Alone with who?”
My heart’s racing fast enough to make me dizzy.
“Nobody,” I say, and it sounds false even to me. My hands find the back of a dining chair as I remind myself I don’t owe him an explanation. “Kinda hard to be alone with someone else; is it not?”
“You’re lying.” He says it with the certainty of a punch. “You’re lying to me, just like—” His mouth snaps shut, but I know what he’s not saying. Like everyone.
My frustration finally boils over, bitter and sharp. “I don’t need to report my every move to you!”
“Yeah?” His voice spikes. “Yeah, you do, actually. Because you promised no more secrets, Soph. You promised me, and now you’re disappearing all night and pretending it doesn’t matter?”
Every muscle in my body is taut. My jaw hurts. My nails dig crescents into my palms. “I took time for myself for one night. And you were out, too. Are you going to tell me who you were with, minute by minute? Or does that only go one way?”
His face flushes. “I wasn’t lying! I told you I was going to June’s! I always tell you! Because that’s what people do if they want someone to trust them!”
The words ricochet off the walls and the inside of my skull. There’s maybe three feet between us, but it feels like miles.
I can’t stand the look of betrayal on his face. Or maybe it’s disappointment. That’s worse.
He shakes his head. “You know what? Forget it.” He breaks eye contact and stalks to the hook by the door. He yanks his keys free and flings open the door.
I move before I think. “Where are you going?”
He doesn’t look back. “Wherever I can be around people who don’t treat me like a little kid.”
Another blow, straight to the gut.
I try to soften it, but my voice cracks. “You’re not a kid. I know you’re not.”
“Then tell me the truth. Just once.”
I can’t. Not here. Not tonight. Not with everything else weighing on me. It’s not just me who would be implicated, and I can’t drag Noah into this by blindsiding him with Danny. So, I stay silent.
He shakes his head in disgust. “Exactly what I thought.”
Then, he walks out.
“Trent—” I call, but it’s weak. Useless.
He doesn’t slow down. The door slams hard enough to rattle the frame. The car roars to life before I reach the window. The taillights disappear down the block.
And that’s it.