Aubrey’s hands wouldn’t stay still.
She wasn’t shaking, but she kept touching her sleeves, her hair, the couch, anything within reach—as if anchoring herself to the room would stop everything inside her from tightening.
Her mom was in town.
Her mom wanted to talk.
She didn’t know what that meant. And that—not knowing—felt like someone pressing a thumb on the back of her neck.
Caleb stayed where he was, sitting at the edge of her couch, leaning forward slightly. Not crowding. Not asking. Just present in a way that gave her something to hold on to.
“You don’t have to answer right away,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
She kept staring at the text, as if looking long enough would make it rewrite itself.
Mom: Sweetheart, I’m in town tonight. Can we talk?
Aubrey lowered her phone, took a breath, and sat beside Caleb—not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel like she wouldn’t fall apart alone.
“What does she usually want when she shows up like this?” he asked.
Aubrey rubbed her palms over her jeans. “She doesn’t… show up. That’s the point. She’s always too busy, or too far, or dealing with something else.”
“So this is unusual.”
“Very unusual.”
Caleb nodded once. “Do you want to see her?”
Aubrey opened her mouth, closed it, and let the air get stuck in her throat before she managed, “I don’t know.”
“What’s making it hard?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
She didn’t have one answer—it was a bunch of small ones tangled together.
“I don’t know what she expects from me,” Aubrey said finally. “And I don’t know what I’m supposed to give her back.”
Caleb listened, eyes steady.
“And I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with… old stuff.”
“Old stuff?” he asked gently.
“I left home because everything felt heavy,” she said. “And nothing ever actually got fixed. I just stopped being there.”
Caleb didn’t shift. Didn’t flinch. “You don’t owe her a perfect version of yourself.”
Aubrey looked at him.
“You don’t owe anybody that,” he added.
Her throat tightened. “It’s not that simple.”
“I know,” he said. “But I also know you don’t have to do it alone.”
She stared at him until her eyes began to sting—not crying, but like her body was warning her she was getting too close to a feeling she didn’t have the instructions for.
She looked away. “I should text her back.”
“You can. Or you can take your time.”
Aubrey stared at the unsent draft on her phone.
Finally, she typed:
Can we meet tomorrow instead?
She hit send before she could backspace it into nothing.
A second later, the three dots appeared.
Then:
Of course. Just tell me when.
Aubrey lowered the phone and pressed her forehead against her hands.
Caleb waited.
After a long breath, she whispered, “Thank you.”
He shook his head lightly. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do,” she said. “Because you’re here. And I don’t know how to… deal with any of this if you weren’t.”
Caleb looked at her with that same steady softness that always felt too much and not enough at the same time.
“I’m here because I want to be,” he said.
She swallowed hard.
Her chest ached—not painfully, but sharply enough to know something was shifting inside her, whether she liked it or not.
Then, before either of them could say anything else—
a loud buzz echoed through her apartment.
She jumped. “What—”
A second buzz.
Caleb stood up. “Probably the maintenance guy.”
Aubrey blinked. “Right. The heater.”
She’d genuinely forgotten.
She moved toward the door, but Caleb touched her arm gently—barely there, but enough to stop her.
“You want me to stay while he works?”
She didn’t have to think.
“Yes,” she said immediately.
Caleb nodded, like the answer didn’t surprise him at all.
He stayed.
The maintenance visit lasted twenty minutes. The heater groaned, clicked, and finally came back to life with a noise that sounded like a dying robot waking up from a coma.
When the door closed behind the repairman, Aubrey leaned back against it and let her shoulders drop.
Caleb watched her. “Better?”
“Physically, yes,” she said. “Emotionally, no.”
He smiled once. “Fair.”
She walked back toward the living room, rubbing the back of her neck.
“So,” Caleb said gently, “what do you need tonight?”
The question caught her off guard. Not because it was dramatic—because it wasn’t. It was practical. Real.
And nobody had ever asked her that before.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I need.”
“That’s okay.”
She sat down slowly. “I just… don’t want to think too much.”
Caleb nodded like he understood the whole sentence behind her words.
“You want company?” he asked.
Aubrey hesitated—but only for a second.
“Yes,” she said. “Just… stay.”
“I can do that.”
He sat near her again—not touching, but close enough she felt less like she might unravel. Aubrey rested her elbows on her knees and stared at the bookshelf, the floor, the window—anywhere except directly at him, because that felt too intimate.
Her phone buzzed.
She closed her eyes. “If that’s my mom again I’m moving to another country.”
“It might be,” Caleb said.
“It better not be.”
She flipped her phone over.
It wasn’t her mom.
It was Chase.
Chase: I’m outside
Chase: Don’t panic
Chase: I brought something
Aubrey stared at the screen.
“No,” she whispered.
Caleb blinked. “Chase is here?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to—”
“I don’t know,” she said, pressing her palms against her forehead. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
Caleb nodded slowly. “Do you want me to answer the door?”
She didn’t respond right away.
She didn’t know what she wanted.
A knock sounded.
Three taps, loud, familiar, impossibly timed.
Aubrey stood up like someone pulled a string attached to her spine.
Caleb stood with her.
She walked to the door, paused, breathed once, then opened it—
And Chase stood there holding a grocery bag and wearing an expression she rarely saw on him:
Uncertain.
“Hey,” he said. “I brought soup.”
Aubrey blinked. “Soup?”
“You had a day,” he said. “Soup fixes days.”
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t snap back. She just stared at him.
Chase looked past her shoulder, saw Caleb inside, and froze just a little—not in jealousy, not angry, just… unsure where to stand.
“Oh,” he said softly. “He’s here.”
Aubrey exhaled, tired. “Yeah.”
Chase nodded once.
Then he held up the bag. “I can leave this and go if you want.”
Aubrey opened her mouth.
But no words came out.
Nothing felt simple.
Nothing felt like the right answer.
She looked back at Caleb.
He didn’t look upset.
He didn’t look threatened.
He just watched her, waiting for *her* decision, not picking for her.
Then she looked at Chase again.
His eyes were steady.
Not loud, not chaotic—steady.
And that surprised her more than anything.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked quietly.
Chase didn’t move. “Do you want me to?”
Aubrey swallowed, her pulse loud in her ears.
“I… don’t want to be alone,” she said.
Chase nodded.
Caleb didn’t move.
Neither pushed.
Neither claimed space.
Neither asked for more than she could give.
So she stepped back.
“Come in,” she said.
Chase entered slowly, setting the soup on the counter.
Aubrey sat between the two of them—not touching either, but close enough to feel both presences pulling at her in different ways.
For a long moment, the room was silent.
Then Caleb asked gently, “Tomorrow… do you want me to come with you? When you see your mom?”
Aubrey lifted her head.
Before she could answer—
Chase said quietly, “If you want me there too, I will be.”
Aubrey’s breath caught.
Two offers.
Two hands reaching.
Two people willing to stand with her in a moment she had spent her whole life avoiding.
She hadn’t expected support.
She hadn’t expected choice.
And she definitely hadn’t expected to feel safer with both of them in the room than she’d ever felt alone.
Her throat tightened.
“I’ll… think about it,” she whispered.
Both nodded.
Neither pushed.
Aubrey stared at her hands.
For the first time that night, she didn’t feel like she was bracing for impact.
She just felt… held.
Two people.
Two very different kinds of steady.
And all she had to do—
was breathe.
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