Not Enough Tomorrows

The place we call home

Their mothers had noticed the shift before Lena or Noah said a word about it.

"They barely talk at dinner anymore," Noah's mother said, stirring her coffee at the kitchen table. "Did something happen between them?"

"I don't know," Lena's mother said. "But I think a weekend at the cabin might fix it. It always does."

So that Friday, both families packed up and drove out to the lake house, the same one they'd been going to since Lena and Noah were small enough to need floaties in the water. The cabin still smelled like cedar and old firewood, the dock still creaked in the same two spots, and something about being there made the tension a little easier to shake off.

By Saturday afternoon, they were all in the kitchen together, flour dusted across the counter as Lena's mother tried to teach everyone her grandmother's biscuit recipe.

"You're supposed to fold it, not knead it into oblivion," Lena said, swatting Noah's hand away from the dough.

"I'm building character," Noah said, holding up flour-covered fingers. "This dough respects me now."

"This dough is terrified of you."

He flicked flour at her, and she gasped, retaliating with a handful of her own, and for a few minutes, it felt like nothing had ever been wrong between them at all.

Later, they swam out to the old dock float, the water cool against the afternoon heat, and Lena floated on her back, staring up at the sky.

"I forgot how much I needed this," she said.

"Me too," Noah admitted, treading water beside her.

They didn't talk about Tyler. They didn't talk about the hallway rumors or the gym class comment or the dinner Noah had missed. For now, it was just water and sunlight and the sound of their families laughing somewhere back on the shore.

***

That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Lena and Noah sat on the dock with a blanket wrapped around their shoulders, the lake dark and quiet in front of them.

"Can I tell you something?" Lena asked, voice smaller than usual.

"Always," Noah said.

"I'm scared of graduating." She pulled her knees up to her chest. "Everyone keeps talking about it like it's this exciting thing, but all I can think about is how everything's going to change. People leaving. Things ending."

Noah watched her for a moment, the moonlight catching the worry on her face. "Not everything has to end."

"You don't know that."

"I know some things won't," he said, quieter now. "No matter where life takes us... you'll never lose me."

Lena turned to look at him, something in her chest loosening at the certainty in his voice. "You promise?"

"I promise."

She smiled, the kind of smile that came from somewhere deep and relieved, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Good. Because I don't know what I'd do without you."

Noah stared out at the water, holding perfectly still, like moving might break whatever fragile thing was happening between them.

***

The next morning, they walked out to the old maple tree at the edge of the property, the one with the small carved initials near the base—L.B. + N.C., etched crookedly when they were far too young to carve anything properly.

"Still here," Lena said, crouching down and brushing dirt away from the roots. "You think it survived?"

"Only one way to find out."

They dug carefully until they found the small metal box, rusted slightly at the edges, buried exactly where they'd left it years ago.

"We said we wouldn't open it till we were thirty," Lena reminded him, holding the box like it was something sacred.

"Thirteen more years," Noah said.

"Feels so far away."

"It'll come faster than you think." He took the box gently and placed it back into the hole, covering it with dirt again. "Some things are worth waiting for."

Lena smiled, brushing her hands off on her jeans. "Deal. Thirty it is."

***

As they packed up the car to head home, Lena leaned against the passenger door, watching Noah load the last of the bags into the trunk.

"Hey," she said. "Random question."

"Those are the best kind."

"What kind of woman do you think you'll marry someday?" she asked, grinning. "Like, seriously. What's she like?"

Noah didn't hesitate. "Someone who already feels like home."

Lena laughed, nudging his arm. "Wow. Poetic. Did you rehearse that?"

"Something like that," Noah said, the corner of his mouth lifting, though his eyes didn't quite match the joke.

Lena didn't notice. She climbed into the car, still smiling, already scrolling through her phone as Noah shut the trunk and got in the driver's seat.

***

They were twenty minutes into the drive home when Noah's phone buzzed in the cupholder. He glanced down at the screen at a red light, expecting a text from his mother.

Instead, an email notification lit up the screen.

CONGRATULATIONS...

His smile disappeared.