Almost
1680 Words
Chapter Two:
Five Years Earlier
Upstate, New York Cabin Weekend
The fireplace had gone out two hours ago, and no one had noticed. Most of the group had already fallen asleep in awkward poses. One on the floor with a half-empty cider can be tipped precariously, another curled under a throw blanket in a mismatched armchair. The only lights left were from the open kitchen and the distant glow of the moon spilling through the windows.
Ava sat on the porch swing, knees tucked to her chest, her hoodie zipped up to her chin. The stars above were loud, the kind of bright that made you want to say something honest, if only to fill the space between constellations.
Celeste stepped outside, barefoot and wrapped in a wool blanket that trailed behind her like a cape. She held two mugs, one steaming, one with the sad remains of what might’ve been tea. She handed the warmer one to Ava without a word.
Ava accepted it with a soft, “Thanks,” fingers brushing Celeste’s.
They sat in silence, the swing creaking beneath them.
“I thought you were asleep,” Ava said eventually.
“I was,” Celeste replied. “But I missed the stars.”
Ava turned to glance at her, only half-shadowed in moonlight. “Still feel small under them?”
Celeste smiled faintly. “Every time.”
Ava looked back up. “I like feeling like I belong to something bigger. Like it’s okay not to have the answers yet.”
“That sounds like you,” Celeste murmured. “Always reaching for meaning.”
Ava blinked. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No.” A pause. “It’s beautiful.” Just dangerous.”
That stilled the air between them.
Ava turned to her slowly. “Why dangerous?”
Celeste's voice was quieter now. “Because people like you make others want to believe in things. In feelings. In timing. In possibilities.”
Ava’s throat tightened. She placed her mug down beside her on the porch rail and shifted to face her more directly.
“Are you saying you don’t believe in possibilities?”
“I believe in bad timing,” Celeste said. “And in how fragile things are when they’re real.”
Ava let the words hang, like breath fogging up glass. “Is that what this is?”
Celeste didn’t answer. But she didn’t look away.
The swing creaked again.
For one fleeting second one inhale, one heartbeat Ava leaned forward, just barely. Her hand reached out and almost rested on Celeste’s knee, but stopped short.
And Celeste's eyes searching for Ava exhaled. Then she turned her face just slightly. Enough to break it.
Ava pulled back. “Right,” she whispered.
Celeste stood slowly, her blanket dragging behind her. “You should sleep.”
Ava nodded. “Yeah.”
But neither of them slept much that night. And neither ever spoke about it again.
Back to Present Day
In her apartment, Ava sat cross-legged on the floor with a gallery file open in front of her, but her thoughts kept drifting. To the porch swing. The stars. That almost.
She ran her fingers over the edge of the folder, then glanced at her phone. A message from Celeste was waiting:
Still on for Friday night?
Ava smiled to herself.
Still on.
Maybe some almost came back around.
Three Years Ago – New York City
The city had just started to bloom again, though you wouldn’t have known it from the chill still hanging in the subway air. Ava waited on the edge of the platform at Union Square, her coat collar turned up, coffee in one hand, phone in the other.
Celeste arrived two minutes late, wind-tousled and wearing a brown leather satchel that looked older than her graduate degree. Her hair was longer then, tied in a loose knot at the base of her neck. When she spotted Ava, her mouth curved into a smile that looked almost surprised.
“You still drink this junk?” she said, tapping Ava’s cup with two fingers.
“Better than whatever kombucha disaster you used to carry around,” Ava said.
They grinned.
They hadn’t seen each other in over a year since graduation day. But here they were, about to spend a full day together gallery-hopping like no time had passed. Celeste was in town for a curators’ conference; Ava had offered to “show her what New York really looked like.”
They never talked about why they lost touch. Some friendships dissolved in silence and reformed the same way.
By noon, they’d already walked the High Line, wandered a pop-up installation full of mirrors and odd smells, and shared a pastry that neither of them could pronounce. They sat on a bench in Chelsea, looking out over the Hudson River, backs pressed against a warm stone wall.
Celeste leaned her head back. “I thought I’d feel more accomplished by now.”
Ava glanced over. “You’re 25.”
“So are you.”
“And look how emotionally evolved I am,” Ava said, deadpan.
Celeste laughed softly, then looked at her sideways. “Do you ever regret it?”
“Regret what?”
“Not… saying more. Back then.”
Ava’s breath caught.
Celeste didn’t clarify. She didn’t have to.
Ava stared out at the river. “Sometimes,” she said. “But I think I was scared I’d lose what we had.”
Celeste’s voice was quiet. “We still lost it anyway.”
It landed like a pebble in water. Small. Rippling.
“I tried to forget how much I missed you,” Celeste added.
Ava turned to her fully now. “Did it work?”
“No.”
They sat in silence. The city hummed around them horns, pigeons, children screaming over ice cream, lovers walking by with shoulders brushing like rhythm.
Celeste tilted her head. “Do you ever feel like we were always waiting for something to line up?”
Ava looked at her and smiled bittersweet, but real. “Maybe we still are.”
Celeste reached over and took Ava’s empty coffee cup, brushing her hand with her gentle, familiar.
Then she said, “I’m going back to Portland tomorrow.”
Ava’s chest tightened. “Of course you are.”
Celeste stood. “Come walk me to the train?”
Ava followed.
They didn’t kiss. They didn’t hold hands. But the air between them vibrated like a string pulled taut.
A thread never broke. Just waiting.
Back to Present Day
The memory passed through Ava like a breeze at her kitchen window. She was laying out her outfit for Friday night jeans, a black top, nothing dramatic-and paused, holding the fabric against her chest.
What had Celeste said?
We still lost it anyway.
Maybe this time they won’t.
They reached the subway entrance just as the afternoon light started to mellow into gold. Ava stood with her hands in her coat pockets, watching the crowd move like water around them, tourists pausing for directions, office workers with earbuds in, someone holding a bunch of helium balloons that bobbed absurdly against the skyline.
Celeste stood closer than she needed to. Her voice was soft under the rumble of the approaching train.
“You always made the city feel quieter,” she said.
Ava smiled faintly, not sure how to respond. She didn’t feel quiet inside, not when Celeste was this near. Not when every part of her felt like they remembered something they’d never actually said.
Celeste turned to face her. “There were moments,” she said, “back then." Weren’t there?”
Ava met her gaze. “So many.”
The train thundered into the station. The wind blew hair into their faces. People surged forward.
Neither of them moved.
“I used to think we were waiting for the right time,” Ava said, her voice barely audible. “But maybe we were just afraid to ruin something we hadn’t even let begin.”
Celeste’s expression flickered. “Maybe we both thought the other would walk away first.”
The doors opened. She stepped toward them, then paused. “Do you want to keep in touch this time?”
Ava’s chest tightened. “Yes. But only if it means something.”
Celeste hesitated. Then: “Then it does.”
She stepped inside the train just as the doors closed, the glass between them blurring her face for a moment before the car pulled away.
Ava stood on the platform long after it was gone. Not heartbroken. Not even sad. Just… suspended.
Like the sky before a storm. Or the second before the music begins.
Back to Present Day
Friday Morning – The Gallery
Ava pressed her thumb against the edge of the exhibit label she was mounting, but her mind wasn’t on her work. She kept thinking about that day in New York. The sound of the train pulling away. Celeste’s voice said, Then it does.
And it did. Somehow.
She felt Celeste before she saw her—felt that shift in the air, the way the quiet changed shape around her presence. Ava turned as Celeste walked in, hair tied up, denim jacket layered over a black tee.
Celeste gave a half-smile. “Big night?”
Ava raised an eyebrow. “It’s a French film about longing and failed connection. So yes. Very romantic.”
Celeste laughed. “You’re mocking my taste.”
“I’m easing the pressure,” Ava said, stepping closer. “I don’t want this to feel like we’re trying to rewrite something.”
Celeste’s voice was soft. “We’re not. We’re just… finally reading the next page.”
The air between them tightened and warmed. Ava’s heart beat against her ribs like it was trying to get out.
“I’ll pick you up at seven?” Celeste asked.
Ava nodded. “Don’t be late.”
“I am never when it matters.”
And for the first time in a long time, Ava believed her.
- Writer
