Axton

I wasn’t a morning person. Never had been.  

But I still got up early.  

Not because I wanted to. Because it was quiet.  

The house didn’t feel like mine anymore, not really, but the early hours were the closest I got to having it to myself.  

The kitchen was already warm from the sun streaming in through the wide glass windows. My mother stood by the espresso machine, tapping on her phone with one hand and stirring almond milk with the other.  

She looked up when I walked in. “Did you sleep?”  

“Define sleep.” I grabbed a mug.  

She frowned. “That means no.”  

I poured the coffee, black. No cream. No sugar.  

“She used the pool last night,” I said without looking at her.  

There was a pause. “Nora?”  

I nodded once. “Didn’t think she would.”  

My mother leaned against the counter. “Why not?”  

“She doesn’t seem like the type.”

“What type is that?” she asked, but her voice was neutral. Careful.  

I didn’t answer.  

I didn’t know how to explain that Nora made silence feel louder. That the way she didn’t try to impress anyone, or explain herself, made her harder to ignore.  

“She seemed calm this morning,” my mother said. “Polite.”  

I didn’t respond.  

Polite wasn’t the word I would’ve used. Precise, maybe. Controlled. Like she’d already decided how much of herself we were allowed to see.  

Footsteps echoed from the hallway before I could say anything else. Then came the voice.  

“Am I interrupting this wholesome mother-son moment?”  

Blain.  

It was a mistake to give him a spare key.

He strolled in like he owned the place, sunglasses pushed up into his messy hair, a hoodie hanging off one shoulder like he hadn’t slept in his own bed.  

My mother smiled. “Hello, Blain.”

“Morning, beautiful,” he grinned, then turned to me. “And you, cranky as ever. You look like you’re haunted.”

I stared at him over the rim of my mug. “I’m always haunted. You’re just late.”

“I’m fashionably consistent,” he said, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. “Also.. I texted. You didn’t answer.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t answer,” he repeated like he was trying to make a point. “Which, in our friendship, is code for I’m sulking.”

I sighed. “What do you want?”  

“I came to steal coffee.” He grabbed a mug from the rack behind me. “And maybe figure out what’s going on in this house. Things feel different.”  

I looked at him for a beat too long.  

“Different how?” I asked.  

He leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “Like something’s shifted. You’ve got that look in your eye like you’re trying not to think about something. Which makes me want to know exactly what it is.”  

I didn’t say anything.  

“You never come to the party thread anymore,” he added, less joking now. “Group chat’s been dead to you. What, domestic life slowing you down already?”  

I set my mug down. “It’s not like that.”  

Blain raised a brow. “No? Because rumor has it you’ve got company now.”  

I didn’t move. “You heard that from Eric?”  

“Maybe.” His grin returned, slower this time. “You gonna introduce me?”  

“Eventually.”  

“Is she..”  

“Don’t.”  

He laughed and held his hands up. “Fine. I’m just saying, if you’ve got a mystery girl in the house, don’t act like I’m not gonna be curious.”  

I didn’t respond.  

And he knew better than to push further.  But the thought still sat there, between us.  

Nora.  

I hadn’t mentioned her name. Not once. 

Not because I forgot it.  

Because it felt too strange in my mouth. Too specific.  

Too real.