Aubrey spent the rest of the afternoon moving slower than normal, like her body was trying to buy time she didn’t have. She wrapped up her work, ignored half her inbox, and left the building before anyone could ask where she was going.
Her nerves hadn’t calmed. Not even close.
By the time she reached the station area, the sky was dimming. People rushed past her in every direction. None of them had any idea she was about to walk into a conversation she’d avoided for years.
She spotted the café before she spotted her mom.
Then she saw her—already inside, sitting near the window, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. Same posture. Same expression she carried whenever she was nervous but pretending she wasn’t.
Aubrey stopped outside the door and exhaled. Her hands were cold even inside her pockets.
She pushed the door open.
Her mom looked up immediately. Her eyes softened at the sight of Aubrey in a way that made Aubrey’s throat tighten without warning.
“Sweetheart,” her mom said, standing halfway as if unsure whether she should hug her or stay put.
Aubrey managed, “Hi.”
They sat.
The silence didn’t hit right away—it built slowly, the kind that filled the space between them like heavy air.
Her mom cleared her throat. “You look good.”
Aubrey shrugged. “I look tired.”
“Well… that too,” her mom said with a small smile.
Aubrey didn’t return it. Not because she didn’t want to. Because she didn’t know how.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” her mom said.
“You texted,” Aubrey replied. “I figured I should.”
Her mom nodded, wrapping her hands around her mug again. “I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to ask.”
Aubrey stared at the table. “Why did you?”
Her mom froze—not dramatically, but in that way someone freezes when the truth isn’t simple.
“I wanted to see you,” she said. “And I think I’m late doing that.”
Aubrey didn’t look up. Her jaw felt tight.
Her mom took a breath. “I know I haven’t been… present. Or consistent. Or anything you needed.”
Aubrey felt that one in her chest.
“I want to fix things,” her mom said quietly.
Aubrey stared at her hands. “You can’t fix things in one night.”
“I know.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
Her mom let out a small, unsteady breath. “A chance to start again. Even if it’s slow.”
Aubrey finally looked up.
Her mom looked nervous—genuinely, not performative.
She looked like someone who finally realized the distance she created and didn’t know how to step across it.
Aubrey’s voice came out softer. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t have to know,” her mom said. “Just talk to me. Wherever you are, I’ll meet you there.”
Aubrey swallowed hard.
This wasn’t anger.
It wasn’t yelling.
It wasn’t a dramatic reunion.
It was… two people trying.
Awkwardly. Slowly. Carefully.
And somehow, that felt harder.
Aubrey and her mom talked longer than she expected. Not deeply—not the heavy things, not the wounds—but about work, about the city, about little pieces of life her mom had only heard through secondhand updates.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t enough.
But it was something.
When they finally stepped outside, the cold night air filled the silence again.
“Text me sometime,” her mom said.
Aubrey nodded, unsure if she would. Unsure if she could.
Her mom hesitated, then reached out and squeezed Aubrey’s arm—gentle, almost careful. “Thank you for coming.”
Aubrey didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded again.
They went separate ways at the corner.
Aubrey stood still for a moment, letting the air settle around her. Her chest felt tight in a way she couldn’t name—not pain, not relief, something in between.
She pulled out her phone.
Caleb: Here if you need me. Anytime.
Chase: You alive?
Chase: Blink twice if she kidnapped you
Aubrey didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
She typed:
Aubrey: I’m done
Aubrey: Going home now
Caleb responded in seconds.
Caleb: Do you want me to come over?
Chase, also in seconds:
Chase: Want company? I can show up in 3 minutes if I run
Aubrey stared at both messages.
Her feet moved before her brain did.
She headed toward home, walking faster than usual, gripping her phone like a lifeline.
Halfway down her block, she spotted someone sitting on her building’s front steps.
Her heart jumped before she could identify who it was.
Chase.
He stood the second he saw her.
“You okay?” he asked quietly—no jokes, no noise.
She nodded. “I think so.”
“You don’t look okay.”
“That obvious?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t touch her, but he stayed close, like he was bracing the air around her.
A second figure approached from the opposite side of the street.
Tall. Calm. Hands in pockets.
Caleb.
He slowed when he reached them.
“You made it,” he said softly.
Aubrey exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since the café.
Neither of them pushed her.
Neither demanded answers.
Both waited.
She sat down on the steps.
They sat with her—one on her left, one on her right.
Aubrey leaned forward, hands clasped tightly, staring at the sidewalk.
“It was… a lot,” she said.
Caleb nodded. “Figured.”
Chase said, “You want to tell us? Or just sit?”
“Just sit,” she said.
They fell quiet.
But it wasn’t lonely.
Aubrey felt the weight of the day press against her ribs.
She also felt two different kinds of steady balancing her out on either side.
Tonight wasn’t the ending of anything.
It wasn’t the fix.
It wasn’t a breakthrough.
But something shifted—quietly, almost gently.
For the first time in years, she didn’t walk home to an empty apartment.
She walked home to people willing to wait on her steps, in the cold, just because she might need them.
She breathed out, slow.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she said.
Caleb smiled softly. “Always.”
Chase bumped her shoulder lightly. “Same.”
Aubrey didn’t look at either of them.
She didn’t have to.
For once, sitting between them didn’t feel like choosing.
It felt like not falling.
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