The bell above the door gave its usual weak jingle. No customers were supposed to be there, store was shut tight, handwritten sign dangling from the handle: Back in… whenever. Van had killed the lights and silenced the vintage tube TV that normally hummed in the background, cycling through movies she knew by heart. Upstairs, the morning light filtered soft and gray through thin curtains. The quiet was a rare kind of peace.
Van sat on the edge of the couch in pajama pants and a T-shirt that had seen too many washes. Her mug was mostly creamer with a splash of coffee, and her fingers tapped against it like they couldn’t help themselves. Every so often she glanced toward the hallway, listening for movement from behind the bedroom door. Nothing yet. Still asleep. That kid could sleep through a damn thunderstorm. She took it as a sign, one little break in a week full of warning signs.
Then the knock came.
Two short, one long. Confident. Too familiar.
Van stood still for a second, like her body hadn’t caught up with the rest of her. She crossed to the stairs and descended slow, barefoot and unsmiling, and pulled open the door just enough to see who she already knew it was.
Taissa.
Of course.
Van opened the door wider, eyes narrowing. “Seriously?” she muttered. “How’d you even find me?”
Taissa looked her over, flannel pants, old tee, dark circles under her eyes, and frowned. “Van.”
“You said you wouldn’t come looking.”
“I didn’t. Not exactly.”
“That sounds exactly like something someone who came looking would say.”
Van stepped back and waved her in. As soon as the door shut, she flipped the CLOSED sign over harder than necessary and locked it. Tai gave it a once-over, eyes snagging on the old posters, the shelves of alphabetized DVDs, the dusty gumball machine by the register.
“This is what you do now?” she asked, blinking. “This is your life?”
“Yeah. I run a movie store and drink too much coffee. Try not to punch customers. It’s a blast.”
Van was already walking toward the back stairs. “Come on. We’re not doing this down here.”
They climbed to the apartment above, and Van gestured for Tai to sit. She didn’t. She just stood there, arms crossed, scanning the space. Her eyes landed on a sock crumpled near the couch.
Taissa’s eyes went wide. “You… what?”
“I had a kid,” Van said simply.
“You had a kid.” Taissa blinked, like the words didn’t compute. “Since when do you, since when do you even…?”
“Since I got bored and reckless and slept with some idiot from Cincinnati after you and I blew up.”
Tai stared. “You said you couldn’t imagine loving anyone like you loved me.”
Van raised a brow. “I couldn’t. I didn’t. That wasn’t love. It was biology, bad luck, and one hell of a stubborn uterus.”
Taissa didn’t laugh. “So you kept them?”
“What was I supposed to do? They came out looking like a cartoon deer. All wide eyes and gummy smiles. I couldn’t… not keep them.”
“Jesus, Van.”
“Yeah.”
Tai moved around the space like she couldn’t get a handle on it. “You live here? Above the store?”
“It’s rent-controlled.”
“You changed your name?”
“Nope. Still Vanessa Marie Palmer. Just didn’t leave a forwarding address. Figured that was enough.”
Tai’s expression changed. “Are you… okay?”
“I’m peachy.”
“You look thin.”
“It’s called parenting. Or poverty. Pick one.”
There was a pause. Taissa took a slow breath.
“You didn’t tell me you were sick.”
Van’s face went neutral.
“Wait,” Tai said, voice dropping. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Van….”
“I said no.”
They stared at each other. Van’s grip on her mug was too tight. She forced herself to loosen it.
Tai sat down now, suddenly heavier.
“You don’t think I had a right to know?”
“I think we left that on the side of a mountain a long time ago.”
Then, a creak. Bedroom door.
Van turned, voice softening instantly. “Hey, you’re up. Was gonna let you sleep in.”
Pause.
“No, she doesn’t bite. Much.”
Van looked back at Tai, who stared in stunned silence as Van walked over and knelt, brushing hair from sleepy eyes.
“Go brush your teeth,” Van said gently. “I’ll start pancakes.”