MADDIE
I'm helping Enya dice tomatoes when her mom walks in from the backdoor.
"Oh!" She muses, taking in the scene. Me, at her kitchen counter, looking like death warmed over and her daughter a few feet away, trying not to scream I guess. "Maddie."
"Hi."
She opens her arms for me. "Come here, sweetheart."
I go, because what else am I supposed to do? And the second she wraps her arms around me, I realize this hug is completely different from Enya's. I don't know if it's because she's a Mom or because of what's going on but it feels like it's saying; I'm so sorry the world is cruel, instead of I've got you.
My throat constricts.
When she pulls back, she keeps her hands on my shoulders. "You're staying for dinner. No arguments."
I shake my head with a weak smile. "I wasn't planning to argue."
"Good." She squeezes once, then turns to Enya like nothing happened.
I glance at Enya, who's suddenly very focused on the cutting board. When did her mom get back? The last time I checked, she left a few years ago to get remarried and Enya does not really like to talk about her.
I raise my eyebrows at her. What the hell?
She catches the look and gives the tiniest shake of her head. Later.
Damn.
I feel like I missed out so much. What else is happening in her life? Did she get a girlfriend while we weren't talking too?
I add it to the list of things I need to ask her later.
Enya's dad shuffles into the kitchen another five minutes later, moving slower than I remember.
He was sick... I remember hearing this while still in camp.
Is he okay now? If I ask now, I will just look like a bitch.
The moment he spots me, his whole face lights up.
"Maddie! Good to see you, kiddo." He pats my shoulder as he passes. "Make yourself at home."
"Thanks, Mr. Jabari."
He grabs water then disappears again but I don't miss the eyes he throws at Enya's Mom. Seriously what is happening? Is that flirting? Are they a thing again?
I need answers!
But it seems I won't be getting them any time soon because Enya is digging through the fridge.
When she catches me staring, she offers a tiny, lopsided smile and I return it before going back to the tomatoes.
We end up making pasta with a little too much salt, but who is complaining? Me. Internally. But I’d eat cardboard if it meant not having to sit in the deafening silence of my own house.
Luckily, there's a side dish of cold pizza slices that none of us bothered to warm.
Dinner happens at their kitchen table. Her Mom serves while her dad complains about how his hospital reviews are clashing with his garage hours.
And Enya… Enya the thief, waits until I’m listening to her dad’s rant, then snags a piece of tomato from my plate. She thinks she’s slick.
“I saw that,” I mutter without looking at her.
“Prove it,” she whispers back, her mouth full of salty pasta.
Under the table, her foot brushes against mine. It’s just an accident, probably.
But she doesn’t move it away. The contact is so tiny yet so warm. My heart does a little flip but I keep my eyes locked on my plate and I her dad.
I also refuse to move my foot.
It’s just a foot. It doesn’t mean anything, right?
Right?
No one mentions the article. No one asks about my dad or the investigation or how I'm holding up.
They just... exist around me like I'm not a scandal walking.
After dinner, Enya puts on some terrible game show where contestants have to identify mystery liquids by smell alone. It's stupid. We watch anyway, not really watching, but the noise fills the space where words should be.
My phone is in my pocket but the urge to check it is overwhelming. Just a quick scroll, just to see what people are saying now. Read the new comments. Feed the spiral.
My hand moves toward my pocket.
But Enya's hand is faster. She plucks my phone right out of my hand and slides it across the table, out of reach.
"We're not doing that tonight," she says.
"Excuse me?"
"The phone. We're not doing it."
"You don't get to decide that for me."
"Tonight, I do." Her voice is firm but warm. "It's digital poison, and you're in detox."
I want to argue. I want to snatch my phone back and tell her she's being controlling and I can handle my own shit, thank you very much.
But the thing is, I can't. I can't handle my own shit.
And the fact that she's taking care of me when I can't take care of myself is so disarming that I just slump back in the chair, defeated.
"Fine," I mutter. "But I need to text Mom and let her know I'm sleeping over."
She nods with a sly smile. "Don't worry, I will text her for you." She gets the phone. "Is your password —"
She types in my password and the phone opens. She seems a bit surprised she still has this much access to me after everything.
"Bunny," I finish for her.
"Mmh." She opens mom's chat and texts. I don't even bother to see what she's sent, I don't mind.
I trust her and secretly, I'm grateful. But I'll die before I admit it.
We end up in her room around ten. It looks exactly the same as I remember— fairy lights above the bed, a bunch of posters and science project stuff stuck to the wall.
I swallow. I have changed my bed position approximately six times since she was last there, how can she just...never mind.
"You can take the bed," she says, already grabbing a pillow. "I'll sleep on the air mattress."
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm not being—"
"We've had like a hundred sleepovers. It doesn't have to be weird."
I say it more to convince myself than her.
She hesitates. I can tell she's weighing options and calculating emotional risk versus social awkwardness.
"Okay," she says finally. "Yeah. Okay. We can do that."
We lie side by side in her double bed, a beautiful inch between us.
It's weird.
Why did I push this agenda?
"Movie?" She asks.
"Mmh."
Enya props her phone between us and puts on some indie movie. The volume is low and so is the brightness.
I'm not really watching.
Twenty minutes in, because the universe is a bitch, there's a make-out scene. It's hot, messy and the kind of thing that would normally make me roll my eyes and say something sarcastic.
But tonight, it flips a switch in my brain that I've been desperately trying to keep in the off position.
Because here's the thing: my head is so fucking loud right now. With fear and shame and the crushing reality of my entire life collapsing in real time. It's always been like this for as long as I can remember. Every thought is a scream. Every fucking worry is an avalanche.
Except—
Except when I kissed Enya at camp, the noise stopped. For those few minutes, my brain finally shut up and let me feel something uncomplicated and good.
This is a terrible idea. I know it's a terrible idea. I'm using her as a human panic button, trying to self-medicate with physical contact, and that makes me a genuinely shitty person.
But I can't stop thinking about it.
I can't stop thinking about how good it felt to not think.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I shift. My leg drapes over her waist, and I start pressing soft kisses along her jawline.
"Maddie." Her voice is tight. "What are you doing?"
"Shh."
I kiss her properly. On the mouth. The way I've been thinking about for weeks.
For a few seconds, she kisses me back. Her hand finds my waist, and it's confused and heated and everything I need it to be.
Then she pushes me away.
Not hard, just firm enough to create space.
She sits up, and the loss of contact feels like punishment.
"I'm confused," she says quietly. "I think we both are right now. And this... this is not it."
"Enya—"
"I'm going to sleep on the couch." She's already standing, grabbing her pillow. "We can talk tomorrow. Get some rest, Maddie."
She leaves, taking all the warmth with her.
I lie alone in the dark, the feeling of her lips on me still burning warm in my chest.
The noise comes back louder than before.
You're a piece of shit. You came here for help and tried to corrupt it. You used the one person who showed up for you. The internet trolls are right. Your father is a fraud and so are you. You destroy good things. You deserve this.
I curl into a little ball and press my face into her pillow.
The tears come silently, and I pray for morning to never arrive because how the fuck am I going to face Enya and the world?