More silence. Then, quietly: “They were just blobs last time.”
“They were the best blobs I ever ate.”
A pause that stretched for an eternity. Lila’s gaze was on the book as if someone had glued it there. Melissa dared a glance at June, and for the first time when it came to Lila, she saw flickers of insecurity on June’s face. What to do now, when the child who had adored her all summer ignored her with such intensity.
June stayed, just waiting to see if something would shift. When it didn’t, and when the silence had stretched into a minute, then two, June said, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you want to. And if you don’t, that’s fine too.”
She passed Melissa on the way, and there was sadness in her eyes as their gazes met. While Melissa wished she could fix it, it wasn’t like she had been able to fix her own relationship with Lila before June.
She would have to trust June to fix things.
Then Lila appeared in the doorway, her expression guarded but curious. “Can I use the big mixer?”
“If you’re careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
They moved into the kitchen together, June and Lila measuring flour while Melissa watched from the doorway, her chest tight in the best way.
Sunday brought a breakthrough for the vote.
Senator Hendricks agreed to meet Melissa for coffee at a small café in Salem, away from the capitol building and its constant surveillance. They talked for two hours, about the bill, about Hendricks’s concerns, about the unexpected wave of support that had followed Melissa’s speech at the hearing.
“I’ve heard more about your stunt this week than I’ve heard about anything else in several months,” Hendricks said.
“It wasn’t a stunt,” Melissa said.
“Whatever it was, people are saying they’re glad someone in politics is finally being honest about who they are.”
“I didn’t plan it that way.”
“That’s probably why it worked.” Hendricks stirred her coffee, considering. “I’m going to vote yes. Not because of the speech, but because the bill is good policy. But I won’t pretend the speech didn’t matter.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Thornfield is still making calls. They’re getting desperate, which makes them dangerous.”
“I know.” Melissa finished her coffee and set down the cup. She thought about the woman from Klamath Falls. About the dropped telehealth calls and the two months of trying to reach someone who would listen. “But I’m done being afraid of what they might do to me. That’s not the same fear I had before.”
Hendricks looked at her for a moment. “No,” she said. “I don’t suppose it is.”
June came to dinner again on Sunday. And Monday.
Each night, she arrived with groceries and a patient smile. Each night, Lila thawed a little more—a shared otter fact on Sunday, a request for a waterfall braid on Monday, a hesitant“Can June read to me?” on Tuesday that made Melissa’s eyes sting.
They weren’t rushing. June went back to her parents’ house each night, and Melissa didn’t ask her to stay. They were rebuilding trust, brick by brick, and some things couldn’t be hurried.
But they talked.
“What do you want?” Melissa asked on Monday night, after Lila was asleep. They were sitting on the back porch, watching fireflies drift across the dark lawn. “Not just with us. With your life. What do you want for yourself?”
June was quiet for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually. Since I went back to my parents’ house.”
“And?”
“I want to cook. I’ve always wanted to cook—that hasn’t changed. But I don’t want to go back to a restaurant kitchen. I don’t want someone else’s structure, someone else’s rules.” June pulled her knees up to her chest. “I’ve been thinking about starting something of my own. A catering business. Something small, local. Weddings, maybe, or private dinners—the kind of food that makes people feel like they’re being taken care of.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
