Chapter Fifteen ~ Fiona #2
After hours of cleaning and food prep, Mum proclaims we’re finished for the day, and suggests I go take a shower.
“Is that your subtle way of telling me I stink?” I ask.
“No, it’s my way of telling you that I’ve invited a few people over for dinner, and you look like you’ve been cleaning and cooking all day,” Mum says.
A frizzy lock of hair falls into my face as I glance down at my clothes.
Not only are they dust-streaked, I also somehow managed to get bits of carrot peel stuck to me from when I was preparing the veggie tray.
I pluck them off and throw them in the compost bin.
“You sure you’re up for that, especially with the party tomorrow? ”
There were moments over the last few hours that almost felt normal.
With my parents being pillars of the community, I grew up helping them prepare for various events and gatherings, both at the house and at the café.
Mum has always thrived around other people, especially when she’s the hostess and gets to feed people, but she’s also in her element during the prep stages.
Give her a to-do list and a playlist, and she’ll show you the most efficient way to get things done, all with a smile on her face, and the occasional impromptu dance move for good measure.
There were glimmers of that version of her today. While I caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes more than once, she also smiled, kept up a steady stream of conversation, and even sang along to a few of her favourite songs.
“Positive,” she says. “It helps to stay busy, and I promise I’m not just saying that.
Maybe one of these days, I’ll tire myself out enough to finally sleep well.
” Despite doing my best to keep my expression neutral, she must sense I’m fighting both sympathy and a desire to make sure she’s not overdoing it, because she adds, “I know my limits, Fiona. You don’t have to worry about me. ”
She kisses my cheek and shoos me from the room.
It’s probably for the best, before I accidentally veer too far and risk sounding patronizing.
The truth is, I do worry about her. It’s a completely new sensation.
Mae Murphy is the strongest, most self-sufficient person I know, but she’s also just lost the love of her life.
And before that, she went through months of my dad being sick, and the anticipatory grief of knowing he was going to die.
Even the strongest people in the world have a breaking point, and I can’t help worrying she’ll reach hers.
I take my time in the shower, letting the warm water pound against my tired muscles.
That’s a new experience too; I’ve mastered the art of the quick shower after years of staying in countless hostels and campgrounds where other people were waiting for the facilities.
I smile to myself at the flood of memories—some good, some worthy of a horror movie—and imagine the tension and worry washing down the drain.
Twenty minutes later, I return to my room to get dressed. I nearly drop my towel when I step through the door and find someone sitting in the middle of my bed.
“You weren’t kidding about this room being a living time capsule,” Mila says. “I feel like I’ve stepped into a late ’90s/early 2000s teen drama.”
I barely hear the last of her words as I let out a cry and launch myself onto the bed. Mila laughs and wraps her arms around me as my tackle-hug knocks her onto her back. Within seconds of inhaling her familiar jasmine scent, my own laughter morphs into uncontrollable sobs.
“Hey, hey,” Mila says soothingly, easing me away from her and fixing the precarious placement of my towel so I don’t flash her. The towel around my head has unravelled, and wet strands of hair stick to my tear-dampened face. “Not quite the reaction I was expecting.”
“They’re happy tears, I promise.” Mostly, anyway.
Mila’s unexpected appearance in the last place I ever expected has jolted something loose inside me.
There’s a layer of grief and overwhelm mixed in with the joy of having her here.
With a series of pathetic sniffles, I let my best friend guide me into a seated position.
“I feel like I’m dreaming. What are you doing here? How did you get here?”
Mila’s gaze slides past me, a small smile ticking at the corners of her mouth. Without looking, I know Nathan is standing in the doorway, so I adjust my towel before shifting to face him.
“Did you have a hand in this?” I ask.
“Mae arranged it,” he says. “I was just the chauffeur.”
There’s no ‘just’ about it. It’s a five-hour round-trip to the airport and back. While Nathan would do anything my mum asked him to, this feels like an offshoot of the proverbial olive branch between us. He brought me my best friend when I needed her most.
I climb off the bed, suddenly acutely aware of the fact I’m only wearing a towel. Nathan seems equally aware, if the way he avoids looking directly at me is any indication. I stop a few feet in front of him, and his gaze settles on my toes.
“Thank you, Nathan.”
His eyebrows are scrunched tightly together. I haven’t seen that expression in a while, but I grew familiar with it over the last decade or so. Its reappearance now creates a heavy weight in the centre of my chest.
“I did it for—” Nathan cuts himself off abruptly. He huffs, his brow smoothing as his eyes lift to meet mine. “You’re welcome, Fiona.”
Several seemingly endless seconds pass as we stare at each other.
“I know I already thanked you, like, a thousand times, but thanks again,” Mila chimes in. Her words seem to break the spell between Nathan and me, and we both blink and take a step back.
Nathan offers Mila a small but genuine smile.
“You’re welcome. Thanks for the talk on the way home.
” His gaze returns to me. One hand lifts as if he’s going to touch me, but then drops limply to his side.
“I’ll let you two catch up. Mae said to tell you dinner will be early tonight so Mila can eat before the jet lag kicks in. ”
I watch him walk down the hall before turning to find Mila fanning herself vigorously with one hand. “Oof. What’s happening there?”
“That, my friend, is a good question. It’s…complicated?” Despite my non-answer, Mila nods as if she understands. “What are you doing here? How long are you staying? How did you get time off work, especially now?”
She releases a noisy sigh. “All of that is complicated too. I’ll explain everything once my brain is less fried. For now, I want to be here for you and Mae, for whatever you need.”
Tears flood my eyes once more. I press my lips together and bob my head, hoping to silently convey my gratitude.
Mila blinks rapidly. “Is it weird that being here makes me feel closer to Seamus?” she whispers.
“No,” I whisper back. “He may have been a fellow citizen of the world, but this was where his heart was. I feel him in every inch of this house and in all the corners of this town.”
Mila takes my hand. “That sounds comforting. And also incredibly painful.”
For some reason, this draws a mirthless laugh from me. “Yep, it’s simultaneously the best and worst feeling.” We fall silent, both of us looking at our entwined hands as we play with each other’s fingers. “What did you and Nathan talk about on the ride?”
“We chatted a bit about how you and Mae are doing, and he asked about my job. We mostly talked about Seamus, though.” She squeezes my hand, and I lift my head to meet her eyes.
“He told me that Mae asked him not to shy away from talking about him, but it’s hard because he knows it hurts her as much as it comforts her.
I think it’s different with me since there’s an extra degree of separation. ”
“Makes sense,” I say.
“Yeah. I was worried it’d be a long, uncomfortable car ride since you’ve always said he’s a man of few words. I thought I’d have to claim jet lag and pretend to fall asleep.”
We both laugh. Mila has trouble sleeping in public spaces, but she’s an expert at faking it when it means getting out of awkward conversations with seatmates on planes and trains.
“It was great, though,” she says. “He’s great. He’s everything and nothing like I expected him to be.”
“That sounds about right, honestly.” I release her hand so I can cup her face in both my palms. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“Same, Fi.” She leans forward and kisses my cheek. “Love you. Now get dressed. I’m going to head downstairs and hang out with my second favourite Murphy girl.”
I sit on my bed for several moments after Mila leaves the room.
The swell of emotion that surged upon seeing her still lingers close to the surface, threatening to make me cry again.
I can’t believe she’s here. There’s something off about it, especially given that I know she had tours booked.
Regardless, the dominant sensation I feel right now is relief.
Whatever the reason, my best friend is here, a living, breathing connection to the life I’ve built.
Being in Honeywell Hollow feels like being in an alternate universe, one that’s both familiar and strange.
I know the people and this house and the town itself, but without my dad, it feels like a liminal space.
A cosmic waiting room of sorts while my old life crumbles—possibly irrevocably—and I wait to see what the next few weeks and months hold.
Mila being here feels like my worlds are colliding.
Maybe that collision is what will finally set things right and make me feel more tethered to reality.