Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The day of Fiona’s departure was impossibly beautiful.
California had a way of doing that, Stella had noticed. Giving you golden light and perfect skies on the days you most needed clouds. Like the weather was showing off, reminding you what you’d chosen.
They drove to the airport together—Tyler, Stella, and Fiona—in Tyler’s truck. It was cramped, but nobody complained. There was something right about the three of them squeezed into the cab together, even if it was only for an hour.
“Traffic’s not bad,” Tyler said, navigating onto the 405.
“That sounds ridiculous,” Fiona said. “It’s awful.”
“You’d be surprised. I once sat in traffic for three hours at four AM.”
“Why were you driving at four AM?”
“Sunrise shoot in Malibu. Golden hour waits for no one.”
Stella sat between them, their shoulders brushing hers with every turn. She’d spent months dreading this proximity—her parents in the same space, the tension, the history. But now it felt almost normal. Almost comfortable.
Almost like a family.
They parked in the short-term lot and walked to the terminal together. Fiona’s bigger suitcase rolled behind her, heavier than when she’d arrived. She’d bought things—gifts for the twins, a cookbook from a Laguna gallery, a small painting from one of Margo’s artist friends.
“You have everything?” Stella asked.
“I think so. Passport, phone, the biscuit recipe Margo wrote out for me.” Fiona patted her bag. “And about a thousand photos on my camera that I need to edit on the plane.”
“The surf shots?”
“The surf shots. The Shack shots. The family dinner shots.” Fiona smiled. “Enough material for a whole exhibition, probably. ‘Scenes from My Daughter’s New Life.’”
They reached the security checkpoint. The line was short. People moved through efficiently, laptops out, shoes off, the choreography of modern travel.
“This is where I leave you,” Fiona said.
Stella’s throat tightened. She’d been preparing for this moment all week, telling herself it would be fine, that goodbyes were just temporary inconveniences, that planes flew both directions.
It still felt enormous.
“Mum—”
“Don’t.” Fiona held up a hand. “If you start, I’ll start, and then I’ll miss my flight because I’ll be a mess in the bathroom trying to fix my mascara.”
“You’re not wearing mascara.”
“That’s how bad it would be. I’d have to buy some just to cry it off.”
Stella laughed, wet and surprised.
“Come here.” Fiona opened her arms.
The hug was different from the ones they’d shared before—before the fight, before the photography lab, before the Anzac biscuits at dawn. Those hugs had been careful, restrained, two people going through the motions of affection without really feeling it.
Stella pressed her face into her mother’s shoulder and let herself hold on. Fiona’s arms tightened around her, solid and sure.
“I’m proud of you,” Fiona said into her hair. “I should have said that more. I should have said it every day. But I’m saying it now, and I’ll keep saying it until you’re sick of hearing it.”
“I won’t get sick of it.”
“You might. I can be very persistent.”
“I know. That’s where I get it from.”
Fiona laughed, the sound catching on something rough in her throat. She pulled back, hands on Stella’s shoulders, studying her face.
“You’re going to be extraordinary,” she said. “You already are, but you’re going to be more. And I’m going to be watching from the other side of the world, bragging to everyone about my photographer daughter in California.”
“Mum.”
“I’m serious. I’ve already shown your portfolio to three people at work. They’re very impressed.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“That’s motherhood. Get used to it.”
Tyler had been standing back, giving them space. Now he stepped forward, hands in his pockets, looking as uncertain as Stella had ever seen him.
“Fiona—”
“Don’t you start either.” Fiona turned to him. “I’ve already done one emotional goodbye. I can’t handle two.”
“I just wanted to say thank you. For the paperwork. For... all of it.”
“You’re thanking me for letting you raise our daughter?”
“I’m thanking you for trusting me with her.”
Something passed between them—old hurt, old history, and something new underneath. Understanding, maybe. Or at least the beginning of it.
“Take care of her,” Fiona said.
“I will.”
“I know.” She smiled, small and tired and genuine. “That’s why I’m leaving.”
She hugged Tyler too—quick and awkward, the way people hugged when they weren’t sure of the protocol. But they did it. It counted.
“Okay.” Fiona picked up her carry-on, straightened her shoulders. “I need to go before I actually do start crying.”
“Call when you land?” Stella asked.
“I’ll call when I land. And when I get home. And probably tomorrow, because I’ll think of something I forgot to say.” Fiona touched Stella’s face, her thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I know.” Fiona’s eyes were bright. “That’s the best part.”
She turned and walked toward the security line, suitcase rolling behind her. Stella watched her join the queue, watched her load her bag onto the belt, watched her step through the scanner.
At the other side, Fiona paused. Turned back. Raised her hand in a small wave.
Stella waved back.
And then her mother was gone, disappearing into the terminal, heading toward a gate, a plane, a life on the other side of the world.
Tyler’s hand landed on Stella’s shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She was surprised to find it was true. “Yeah, I think I am.”
They stood in the terminal for another minute, watching the security line shuffle forward, watching other families say their own goodbyes.
“Hungry?” Tyler asked.
“Starving.”
“There’s a diner on the way back. Best pancakes in Orange County, allegedly.”
“Allegedly?”
“I’ve only been twice. Need more data points.”
“That sounds like science.”
“Breakfast science for dinner. The best kind.”
They walked back to the truck together, the sun warming Stella’s face. The parking lot was busy, cars circling for spots, travelers rushing with their luggage.
“Hey,” she said as they reached the truck. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
Tyler unlocked the doors, paused with his hand on the handle.
“Because that’s what family does,” he said. “Even when it’s awkward. Especially when it’s awkward.”
Stella climbed into the truck, pulling her seatbelt across. Tyler started the engine, backed out of the spot, navigated toward the exit.
They merged onto the freeway, heading south, heading home. The ocean appeared on their right, blue and endless, catching the light.
Stella pulled out her phone. Typed a message.
Landed safe?
Three dots. Then:
Very funny. Just took off. But I’ll tell you when I land. It’s a seventeen hour flight. Promise.
Okay. Love you.
Love you too, little darling.
Stella put her phone away. Looked out the window at the water, the sky, the road stretching ahead.
Her mother was flying home. Her father was driving her to breakfast for dinner. Her family—both families, all of it, the complicated messy whole of it—was together.
Different than before. But together.
“Music?” Tyler asked, reaching for the radio.
“Your truck, your rules.”
“That’s suspiciously agreeable.”
“I’m practicing being a good daughter. It won’t last.”
“Noted.”
He turned on the radio. Something from the ‘90s, guitars and drums and a voice Stella vaguely recognized.
“This is old,” she said.
“This is classic.”
“Same thing.”
“It is absolutely not the same thing.”
They argued about music for the next twenty minutes, all the way to the diner, all the way through ordering pancakes and bacon and coffee that was exactly as overcooked as promised.
Normal. Easy. Theirs.
Stella decided this was the best breakfast she’d ever had. For dinner or otherwise.
Not because of the food.
Because of everything else.