Then she turns slowly to face me.
Her expression is gentle, but there’s a new awareness in it now.
“What was that?” she asks softly.
I swallow.
“It was my sister,” I say, like that explains anything.
Melissa huffs a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly. “No,” she says. “Not her. The look you gave her.”
She saw it. Of course she did.
I step closer, careful. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“That’s not an answer,” she says, still soft but more direct now.
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair.
The truth is complicated.
The truth is, I don’t want Melissa in the crossfire of my family dynamics. I don’t want her to see what I become when I’m around my parents. How my control tightens,how my patience frays, how old memories crawl up the back of my throat like smoke.
I don’t want her to see me unravel.
But even as I’m thinking it, I realize the part that terrifies me.
I don’t want her to leave.
She steps closer, too, slow and cautious, like she’s approaching the part of me that might break.
“I’m not asking you to tell me everything,” she says quietly. “I’m just … noticing.”
I nod once.
“I know,” I say.
Her eyes soften. “I like Aubrey.”
Of course she does.
“She likes you,” I reply.
Melissa’s lips twitch. “She made it very obvious.”
I should be relieved.
Instead, my stomach twists.
Because Aubrey liking her makes this feel more real. Like this isn’t merely a private, contained thing between two people who agreed not to name it.
Melissa sets her mug down on the counter. “I should probably go,” she says.
The words hit like a punch.
“What?” I ask too sharply.
She flinches slightly, then steadies herself. “Not because of her,” she adds quickly. “Just … it’s Sunday. I need to reset.”
