Learning To Stay

The first thing Becca noticed was silence. Not empty. Not heavy. Not the kind that lingered around the house after Lee was done yelling and crashed into bed. This silence was different. Like, there wasn’t someone waiting to apologize in every room. She leaned against the kitchen sink, coffee warming her hands. Pale morning light stretched across the backyard. The frame of the chicken coop sat halfway done near the fence line. Its little red door was already installed, staring defiantly at her, though there weren’t any walls to attach it to just yet. Craig had been adamant about installing the door first. “If we’re doing this,” he’d told her as he nailed it into place, “then we’re doing the red door.” She grinned down at her coffee. There. Her phone buzzed on the counter. Craig: Morning. Don’t laugh, but I think I dreamed about chickens last night. She almost laughed out loud, right there in her kitchen. Real laugh. Easy laugh. Unforced. Becca tapped back quickly. Becca: I am laughing. Three red dots popped onto the screen almost immediately. Craig: RUDE. I was emotionally invested in those chickens. She grinned again. There was no edge to his message. It didn’t sting when she read it. There wasn’t a test hiding behind the joke. It was simple. Two adults text like normal people. And God helps her; she missed that. Footsteps padded along the hallway. Her youngest wandered into the kitchen, rubbing sleepy eyes. “What are you smiling at?” he asked, noticing her phone. Becca jerked upright too fast. “What?” she asked, feigning ignorance. His eyes narrowed. “You were smiling at your phone.” She tried very hard not to look guilty. “Uh.” He nodded slowly. “Is Craig texting you?” Maybe. “Yeah.” His grin spread across his face as he’d just solved a puzzle. “I like him.” She swallowed around the sudden warmth blooming in her chest. “You like Craig?” she asked deliberately. “He listens.” He pointed out astutely. Parents spend so much time telling kids things they already know. Kids had ways of cutting straight to the point. “He doesn’t act stupid when I have questions either,” he added. Becca chuckled. “That’s… something some people are good at.” “He can come over today, right?” He asked. His mommy held him just a little too tightly when Lee was angry. She bit back a sigh. “If Craig wants to.” He nodded, clearly satisfied, and pulled a banana from the bowl onto the counter. Outside, the coop waited for them as an old promise kept. Silence drifted through the air, comfortable and easy. Real. Becca realized Linda saw it too because when she walked into the bakery that morning, Linda pointed. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, setting down a tray of muffins. Becca blinked. “What?” She didn’t even bother hiding her annoyance. Linda rolled her eyes. “Come on, Becca. Your lips are moving, and there’s clearly sound coming out, but I’m just supposed to think you’re not telling me something?” “I’m working.” “You’re humming.” She paused. Damn it, Linda was right. She was humming. Had been humming for the last twenty minutes while she rushed around the bakery to get things ready for the day. “I didn’t realize bakery managers were allowed to hum,” Linda replied. Becca shrugged, shoulders drooping just slightly because why fight with someone who could see right through her. “It’s a good day.” “Finally?” She huffed out a laugh. “Shut up, Linda.” “You’ve got that faraway look again.” Becca sighed dramatically. “It’s not dramatic, Linda.” Linda smirked, placing the muffins in their display. “The good things in life usually aren’t.” Becca stared at her blankly for a minute. Those words echoed in her head all morning. The good things in life usually aren’t dramatic. She’d confused chaos with passion for the longest time. The yelling. The accusations. The tears. Sitting on the floor and promising some variation of “never again” until someone forgot what they’d done in the first place. It was dramatic as all hell, but it didn’t mean anything because it didn’t last. Craig was quiet. Silent, even. And for the first time in a long time, quiet started to feel good. The truck was already tucked in the driveway when she got home later that afternoon. Her heart flipped in her chest. Hopeful instead of anxious. Excited instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just… glad. “Hey.” “Hey, yourself.” Craig stood next to the chicken coop, level in one hand. He tipped his head up when she pushed open the gate, forehead wrinkling into a smile. “Started building?” “Hmm?” He set the level on the workbench. “Oh, no. Not me.” She grinned, stopping to appreciate how the sun was turning his hair to liquid gold. How the smell of sawdust floated around him as he belonged there. “I got a lot done today.” His eyebrows lifted. “Really?” She shrugged. “Why yes. I am a miraculous creature sometimes.” Craig chuckled. “Look at you.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, kicking off her shoes. “It’s really happening.” Leaning over the frame of the coop, she watched him nod. “Yeah.” He ducked his head to stare at the little red door. “It really is.” Something quite nestled in the space between them. comfortable and familiar. Craig reached out, running a finger along the slick paint. “It’s going to be good.” He glanced over at her, smiling, quirking like he was deciding how much he really wanted to say something. “You know, you don’t have to worry about me leaving.” She stared at him. Across the soon-to-be chicken coop. Past the piles of wood in the backyard. This moment wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t hurt her throat to breathe. “It’s just…” He held up a hand. “Never mind. You know that.” “I know,” she assured him. Craig’s lips quirked like he wanted to ask if she really did know. Like he wanted to say more. She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “I know.” She watched him for a minute, taking in the way his shirt was stained with sawdust. The way he held himself when he thought no one was paying attention. Normal. No bartender auditioning for a rock star cosplay contest. Just… Dad. “Hey.” She placed a quick kiss on his cheek, thumbs smoothing down his shirt. “Hey.” He leaned down, pressing another quick kiss on her forehead. She wrapped her arms around her chest, turning back to the coop. Their coop. There had been no dramatic declarations of love. No perfect moment when everything made sense. Just two kids playing in the dirt and building something bigger than either of them that afternoon. Book One ended with the realization that love doesn’t have to hurt to be real. Maybe Book Two was about learning it could stick around, too.