Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Isay goodbye to Lilah and drive back to Inkwell it is wanting to stay here. Wanting the slow mornings like today, and the familiar faces. The quiet that feels earned instead of empty. Wanting her. Wanting means building something and building something means losing it one day.
I sink deeper into the chair and rub my thumb along the armrest’s worn groove, tracing the mark Carol left. Maybe I was only meant to be the caretaker. But lately, the place feels less like hers and more like a heartbeat I can’t call temporary anymore.
My thumb scrolls through contacts until it lands on Mum.
She answers on the second ring. ‘Lucas?’
‘Hey.’ I clear my throat. ‘Everything’s fine. I just… needed your advice.’
I hear her settle into a chair. ‘Alright. What’s on your mind?’
‘I told myself this was a layover. Fix a few things, keep the lights on, sell when the timing’s right.’ I rub the edge of the arm rest harder. ‘But some days it doesn’t feel like I’m just minding the place. It feels… closer. And then I panic and start looking at listings in Melbourne again.’
‘Mm,’ she hums. ‘So, you’re standing with one foot on the platform and one on the train.’
‘Story of my life.’ I try to laugh. ‘How do you know when to stay? Like, actually stay. Not promise-forever stay. Just… stop-running stay.’
She’s quiet for a beat. ‘Don’t make forever decisions on perfect days or lonely days. Give it a moment. Notice what you reach for when no one’s watching. If the shop is where your shoulders loosen and you relax, pay attention. And you can choose to stay without marrying the postcode.’
I breathe out. ‘So… permission to not decide yet.’
‘Permission to be where you are,’ she says. ‘Caretakers belong too, you know. And if it turns into more, you’ll know. Carol would have told you to listen.’
I nod, even though she can’t see me. ‘I keep hearing her anyway.’
‘You sound… softer,’ she notes, like she’s smiling. ‘Who’s the girl?’
I huff a laugh. ‘Just, someone who makes the quiet sound like something I could stay for.’
‘Well,’ she says, pleased. ‘When I visit, have proper tea ready. None of that instant nonsense.’
‘Deal.’
‘Give it the month,’ she adds. ‘If you still feel like you’re only borrowing, we’ll load a van. If you don’t… you’ll know.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
When I hang up, nothing’s settled. It’s still temporary, I tell myself. I’m just giving it the month. But my shoulders are lower, and the quiet feels less like a hallway and more like a room I could stand in for a while.