She steers me toward a booth without asking, sliding in beside me like she’s physically blocking the world.
Mom sits across from us. Martha Lou hovers for one second, then slaps a menu down in front of me like it’s a protective talisman.
“You’re eating,” she declares. “And if anyone looks at you sideways, I’ll throw hot coffee on ’em.”
I blink. “Martha Lou?—”
“I mean it,” she says, dead serious. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to use violence for justice. Don’t deprive me.”
Jet leans in. “Also, for the record, half this town hates your father on principle.”
My heart jolts. “What?”
Jet snorts. “He’s a suit. He talks down to people. He treated your mom like an inconvenience. And he looks at Buckhorn like it’s a stain on the map.”
She taps the table, eyes fierce. “This is not the city, Faith.”
And that lands like a full-body shiver, because she’s right.
In the city, I was always alone.
There were crowds everywhere, but nobody belonged to anyone. Everyone kept to themselves. Everyone was busy. Everyone was polished. If you were messy, you hid it. If you were scared, you swallowed it. If you were hurting, you smiled and showed up anyway because no one cared unless it inconvenienced them.
My father thrived there, while I disappeared.
But here…
Here, the diner smells like safety and grease and people who will yell at you and feed you and protect you in the same breath.
Here, my mother sits across from me like a shield.
Here, Jet’s knee bumps mine under the table like she’s reminding me I exist.
Here, Martha Lou is prepared to commit mild assault in my honor.
It’s absurd.
It’s overwhelming.
It’s… everything I forgot was possible.
I stare down at the menu, but I can’t read the words because my vision is blurry.
“What if he comes here?” I whisper, because my fear doesn’t disappear just because someone offers pie. “What if he shows up and?—”
Martha Lou’s hand plants on the table with a decisive thump.
“Then he’s gonna learn Buckhorn has rules,” she says.
Jet nods, eyes bright with the kind of anger that has always made her dangerous in the best way. “And rule number one is: we don’t let rich men bully our girls.”
Mom reaches across the table and covers my hand.
“You’re not alone,” she says softly.
My throat closes.
Because in the city, I always was.
