19. Talia #2
The words hang in the air between us, and the silence that follows feels different from the one we woke up in. A few minutes ago, this room still belonged to us. Now the headlines have found their way inside, bringing everything we'd managed to set aside for one precious night with them.
My phone remains in my hand, the screen turned facedown against the blankets. Declan's rests untouched on the nightstand beside him. Neither of us reaches for them. We simply sit there, neither quite sure where the conversation goes from here.
"Mom?"
Flynn's sleepy voice carries down the hallway, followed by the soft shuffle of little feet against the hardwood floor.
I turn toward the bedroom door automatically. "I'm in here, buddy."
A yawn answers me before he speaks again.
"I'm hungry."
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth lifts.
"I had a feeling you were going to say that."
"I was dreaming about pancakes."
His words are so matter-of-fact that a quiet laugh slips free before I can stop it. For one small moment, the heaviness in my chest eases, replaced by something wonderfully ordinary.
"I'll see what I can do."
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, but before I can stand, Declan reaches for my hand. His fingers wrap around mine gently, holding me there for just a second longer.
"We'll figure this out."
His voice is quiet enough that Flynn won't hear it from the hallway. I look down at our hands before meeting his eyes again.
"I know you believe that."
His expression falters almost imperceptibly.
"Talia..."
"I do." I give his hand a small squeeze before slipping my fingers free. "I know you mean every word you say."
It's the closest I can come to the truth without telling him what those messages did to me. From the hallway, Flynn calls again.
"Mom? Are you coming?"
I force a smile back into my voice. "I'm coming."
I stand, smoothing the wrinkles from my T-shirt before reaching for the bedroom door. As my hand closes around the knob, Declan's phone begins vibrating again.
Neither of us looks at it. This time, neither of us has to. The outside world isn't going to stop calling just because we aren't ready to answer.
I pull the door open and find Flynn standing in the hallway, with his hair sticking up in every direction. He smiles the second he sees me, completely unaware that anything has changed since he went to sleep.
"Can we really have pancakes?"
I glance back once. Declan is still sitting on the edge of the bed exactly where I left him, his phone continuing to vibrate on the nightstand beside him.
"Maybe," I tell Flynn, taking his hand. "Let's go see what this kitchen has."
He nods enthusiastically and starts leading me toward the kitchen as though he's suddenly the one in charge. And for a few precious seconds, I let him.
The kitchen is smaller than I remembered from yesterday, though maybe it only feels that way because my mind is still somewhere back in the bedroom.
Flynn climbs onto one of the barstools while I open cabinets I haven't stocked myself, smiling quietly when I find pancake mix exactly where I hoped it would be.
"They really have everything here," Flynn says.
"It looks that way."
He watches me pour the mix into a bowl before resting his chin in his hands.
"Can I help?"
"You can stir."
His face brightens immediately as I slide the bowl toward him, then hand him a whisk. He attacks the batter with far more enthusiasm than coordination. A small puff of flour escapes over the edge of the bowl, dusting the countertop.
"Easy there, chef."
"I'm being careful."
"You look very careful."
"I am."
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as another streak of batter splashes against the side of the bowl.
Declan walks into the kitchen a moment later, already dressed, his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. For a second, neither of us says anything.
He simply watches Flynn concentrating with fierce determination on a bowl of pancake batter, and the tension in his expression gives way, just enough that I almost miss it.
"Morning," Flynn says without looking up.
"Morning."
"I'm making breakfast."
"So I see."
Flynn nods proudly.
"Mom says I'm the chef."
"I don't remember saying that."
"You were thinking it."
Declan lets out a quiet laugh.
"I think he has you there."
For one impossible moment, I let myself believe this is what ordinary could have looked like. Flynn chatters happily while he stirs pancake batter, Declan quietly pours himself a cup of coffee, and the kitchen fills with the familiar smell of breakfast instead of crisis.
It lasts exactly until Declan's phone begins vibrating again. He watches the screen for a long second before turning it facedown on the counter, but by then the spell has already been broken.
"Aren't you going to answer it?"
Declan's attention shifts immediately.
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because I'm having breakfast with you."
Flynn seems satisfied with that answer and goes back to stirring, humming quietly to himself while the phone falls silent. The quiet only lasts a few seconds before it begins ringing again.
Declan closes his eyes briefly, the sound clearly wearing on him as much as it is on me. When he finally looks up, regret is already written across his face.
"I need to take this."
I nod before he has the chance to explain. We both knew this moment was coming. Maybe it started the second the first headline went live.
"It's okay," I say softly, even though I'm no longer sure whether I'm trying to convince him or myself.
He hesitates. "I'll only be a minute."
I nod without looking up from the pan as I pour the first circle of batter onto the warm surface. It sizzles softly, filling the kitchen with the familiar smell of breakfast.
Declan steps out into the hallway before answering. His voice is low enough that I can't make out every word, only scattered pieces drifting back toward the kitchen.
"...understand......no, not until......Flynn......I'll be there..."
I focus on flipping the pancake before it burns, letting the familiar motion keep my hands busy while Declan's voice carries faintly from the hallway. It's easier than wondering what each phone call is asking him to leave behind.
Flynn watches as I slide the pancake onto a plate.
"You didn't even drop it."
I smile. "Years of practice."
He nods approvingly before looking toward the hallway.
"I think Declan should learn."
The spatula pauses in my hand.
"Oh?"
"So next time we can both make them."
I don't answer right away. Flynn is already reaching for the syrup, happily planning a future that feels perfectly ordinary to him.
I wish it felt that simple to me.