Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Stella was already awake—had been since five, staring at the ceiling, rehearsing conversations that all ended badly. She heard the first buzz from the kitchen, then the second, then Tyler’s groan as he reached for it.
She padded out in her pajamas to find him squinting at the screen.
“Meg,” he said. “Quote: ‘Good luck today. We’re all thinking of you. Heart emoji, prayer hands emoji, four-leaf clover emoji.’ She’s very thorough.”
“That’s sweet.”
Another buzz. “Anna. Quote: ‘Did you call yet??? Call me after. Or during. I can be on standby.’”
“It’s not even seven.”
“Anna doesn’t believe in regular hours.” Another buzz. Tyler rubbed his eyes. “Margo. ‘Praying for you both. Remember that love is patient. Except when it isn’t. Call me.’”
Stella’s phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up.
Bea.
I’m awake. I have snacks. I’m emotionally prepared.
Stella typed back.
It’s 6:50 AM.
I’VE BEEN UP SINCE 5. The suspense is killing me.
“Your family is insane,” Stella said.
“Our family,” Tyler said.
Stella looked at him. “You’re right. Our family.”
Tyler’s phone buzzed again. He didn’t even look at it.
“You ready?” he asked.
“No.”
“Me neither.” He moved toward the stove. “Toast?”
“You’ll burn it.”
“I won’t burn it.”
He burned it.
The kitchen smelled like charcoal. Tyler scraped black crumbs into the sink while Stella watched, the tight knot in her stomach making food seem impossible anyway.
“I didn’t burn it,” Tyler said. “It’s just... extra toasted.”
Her phone sat on the counter between them, screen dark now. It was 7:12 AM. Which meant it was 12:12 AM tomorrow in Sydney.
“You don’t have to do this today,” Tyler said. “We could wait until—”
“If I wait, I’ll keep waiting.” Stella picked up the phone. “Better to just... do it.”
Tyler pulled out the stool next to hers and sat down. Close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
“Right here,” she said. “The whole time?”
“The whole time.”
Stella unlocked her phone. Found her mother’s contact. The photo was from two years ago—Fiona laughing at something off-camera, hair windblown. She looked happy. Stella couldn’t remember what had made her laugh.
“Okay.” She pressed call.
One ring. Two. Three. Four—
“Stella?”
Alert. Not sleepy. She’d been awake.
“Hi, Mum.”
“It’s late. Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine. I just...” The burned toast smell—or something—was making her nauseous. “I needed to talk to you about something.”
Silence. “Alright.”
“It’s about coming home. About my flight.”
“What about it?”
Stella gripped the edge of the counter. Tyler’s hand settled on her shoulder.
“I don’t want to take it.”
The silence stretched. Stella could hear something in the background—the TV maybe, or music.
“What do you mean, you don’t want to take it?”
“I mean I want to stay. Here. In Laguna.” The words came faster now. “I want to finish senior year here. There’s a photography teacher who saw my work at the festival, and I have family here, Mum—real family—”
“And Tyler.”
“And Dad. Yeah.”
“Dad.” Flat. Controlled. “So now he’s Dad.”
“He’s always been—”
“He’s been a visitor. Twice a year, if that. And now suddenly he’s Dad and you want to throw away everything—”
“I’m not throwing away—”
“Your home, your school, your family—”
“You’re still my family. That doesn’t change.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Fiona—” Tyler’s voice, tight.
“I’m talking to my daughter, Tyler.”
Stella felt Tyler tense beside her. He sat back. Said nothing.
“Mum, I’ve thought about this. A lot. It’s not—”
“Clearly. Since you’ve apparently been planning this behind my back.”
“I wasn’t planning behind—”
“You went to the school. You talked to teachers.” Fiona’s voice cracked. “And you didn’t think to ask me first?”
“I’m asking you now.”
“You’re not asking. You’re telling me.”
The counter was cold under Stella’s palm. The folder from Lindsey sat at the edge of her vision—still there, still waiting.
“Okay,” Stella said. “Fine. I’m announcing. I want to stay. I’m asking you to let me.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then we figure out what comes next.”
“What comes next is you get on a plane and come home.”
“Mum—”
“That’s not how this works, Stella. You don’t get to just decide—”
“Why not?” The words came out sharper than she intended. “Why don’t I get to decide? It’s my life.”
“You’re sixteen.”
“I’ll be seventeen in four months.”
“Which means for four more months, you’re still sixteen—”
“You’ve had all the say! For sixteen years, you decided everything. Where I lived, who I saw, whether I got to know my own great-grandmother—”
“Don’t you dare—”
“I’m not trying to hurt you.” Stella’s voice wobbled. She steadied it. “I’m not choosing against you. I’m choosing FOR something. For the first time, I get to choose. And I’m choosing this.”
Silence.
“No,” Fiona said.
“Mum—”
“Absolutely not. This conversation is over.”
“Yes.” Stella heard her own voice, surprisingly steady. “It is.”
She pulled the phone from her ear and pressed the red button.
The screen went dark.
The kitchen was very quiet. The smoke had cleared. Somewhere outside, a car door slammed.
Tyler didn’t move.
“I hung up on my mother,” Stella said.
“Yeah.”
“She’s going to be furious.”
“Probably.”
Stella set the phone on the counter. Her hands were shaking—not from fear exactly, but from something bigger she couldn’t name.
Tyler still didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t try to fix it. Just sat there, solid and present, while the silence stretched.
“I thought I’d feel different,” Stella said finally. “Relieved or something.”
“Do you?”
“I feel like I might throw up.”
“That’s the adrenaline.”
“Great.”
She slid off the stool and walked to the window. The street was quiet. Mrs. Patterson’s cat was sunning itself on the warm sidewalk. Normal morning. Normal day.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I know.”
Stella turned back. Tyler was still on the stool, shoulders hunched, staring at her phone on the counter like it might explode.
“She’s not going to let this go,” Stella said.
“No.”
“She’s going to—”
The phone buzzed.
They both froze.
Stella crossed back to the counter. Picked it up and read the text.
I’ve booked a flight. I’ll be there Saturday. This conversation isn’t over.
She read it twice. Three times.
“What?” Tyler asked.
She turned the phone so he could see.
His face went still. Then he let out a long breath and rubbed his hand over his jaw.
“Thursday,” he said.
“Three days.”
“Yeah.”
They stood there—morning light streaming through the window, Fiona’s words glowing on the screen.
“So,” Stella said. “Now what?”
Tyler looked at her. Looked at the phone. Looked at the folder that had been sitting on the counter for a week.
“I have no idea,” he said.
Stella almost laughed. Almost.
She set the phone face-down on the counter and picked up the burned toast from the sink.
“I’m making eggs,” she said. “Since apparently someone in this house needs to know how.”
“I can make eggs.”
“You really can’t.”
She pulled out a pan. Cracked two eggs. Didn’t burn them.
It wasn’t much. But it was something to do while the world rearranged itself around them.
Three days until Fiona landed.
Three days to figure out what came next.
Stella scrambled the eggs and tried not to think about Thursday.