Chapter 12 Printer Names and Other Lies

Chapter 12 Printer Names and Other Lies
Hazel frowns. “Like… Rafaela? Like a princess name?”
“No,” I say quickly. “More like… the name of a printer.”
Hazel looks delighted. “Printer!”
Jade looks at me like I’ve just robbed a bank. “A printer name?”
“I’m improvising,” I murmur. “Like any respectable mother.”
Gemma rubs at her temple. “You know you can’t hold this off forever.”
I turn toward the window, to the thin line of ocean reflected in the glass. Morning light makes everything look clean, but I know there’s always sand in the cracks of the floorboards, and the past stuck in the cracks between words.
“I’m not holding it off forever,” I say, softer. “I’m just… picking a time that won’t blow my kitchen up.”
Jade leans in, her voice lower now but still sharp. “And Luca left early this morning. What did you tell him?”
My eyes flick to the black mug by the coffee machine, to the sticky note still clinging to the side.
“I told him he had work,” I say, flat. “He left because of the office. That’s it.”
Gemma studies my face. “He didn’t sleep at all?”
I lift a shoulder. “He slept. On the couch.”
Jade’s brows knit. “Why on the couch?”
I pick the safest answer. The truest one that doesn’t ignite a conversation I’m not ready to have. “Because Hazel sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night and comes looking for me. And Luca doesn’t want her walking into the bedroom and seeing… anything she doesn’t need to.”
Jade opens her mouth, then shuts it again, like she’s just remembered one important fact about our relationship that she loves to tease but never really presses on.
Gemma nods slowly, understanding more than Jade does. “You two are still… keeping lines.”
I don’t respond. I just stand, pick up Hazel’s plate, and slide it a little closer to her.
“Eat,” I tell Hazel, firmer than necessary. “One bite. Then you can play.”
Hazel looks at me, then at the toast, then at the cats now sitting there like three tiny judges. She sighs dramatically and takes the smallest possible bite, like it’s a punishment.
“I already ate,” she declares immediately, mouth still chewing.
“Nope,” I say. “That was just a formality.”
Hazel groans, then stands up again. “I want to play. I already ate.”
“Hazel,” I warn.
She fires off a lethal innocent smile. “Mommy’s pretty.”
Jade snorts, laughing under her breath. “She’s so manipulative. I’m proud.”
“Do not be proud,” I say, but my voice softens a little. I smooth Hazel’s hair, her bangs falling over her forehead again. “Sit.”
Hazel sits, but only halfway, then starts feeding crumbs of toast to the cats. The cats accept them with the grace of minor royalty.
Jade lifts her coffee and fixes her gaze on me again. “Okay. Back to Rafael. You see him. He buys your painting. You come home, you sleep. And now you’re making breakfast like a housewife who just won the lottery.”
“Don’t insult my cooking,” I shoot back. “This is a healthy coping mechanism. Better than screaming at the ocean.”
Gemma closes her laptop with a soft click. “Maya, I’m going to ask you one more time, and this time I want an honest answer.”
I look at her, already bracing to be defensive.
“What did you feel last night when he won the bidding?”
I open my mouth, ready with something sarcastic. Something like, “I felt rich,” or “I felt like chopping my hair off and moving to Alaska.”
But the words jam.
Because what I felt last night wasn’t one clean emotion. It was a messy mix: disgust, nostalgia I wanted to slap, anger that had run out of voice, and something else underneath it all that was quieter and more annoying.
I swallow.
“Like…” I twist my water glass in my hand instead of my coffee cup, like I need something colder. “Like someone bought something that was never supposed to be for sale.”
Jade goes quiet. Gemma goes quiet.
Hazel suddenly cuts in, lifting one of the smaller cats and hugging him. “I want to buy a cat too.”
I blink, then let out a small, accidental laugh. “Baby, you can’t buy a cat. Cats choose you.”
Hazel nods with full authority. “I choose three.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter.
Jade looks back at me, her voice softening half a degree but still carrying anger. “And Luca… he has no idea.”
“He knows I have a past,” I say. “He doesn’t know… the name and face of it.”
Gemma reaches for my hand on the table, quick and warm. A small touch that doesn’t judge. “You have to tell him before he hears it from someone else.”
I look at Gemma’s hand over mine. I want to say, there is no someone else. But last night already proved my life has a habit of putting people in the same room who should never share air.
“I know,” I say.
Jade shakes her head hard. “I hate him.”
“So do I,” I murmur automatically.
Jade stares at me, eyebrows climbing. “You just said that like someone who’s lying.”
I look down at the toast on my plate. Brush at crumbs that aren’t there. Avoid the eyes of two women who know me too well.
“Hate is exhausting,” I say finally. “Sometimes I just… don’t want to give him that kind of energy.”
Gemma nods slowly, like that makes sense and hurts at the same time.
Jade lifts her hand, points at the kitchen, then at me. “Okay. Plan. We’re going to keep you busy today. You’re going to be a mom, you’re going to be an artist, you’re going to be a woman who does not have time to think about Rafael Bernardi.”
“Great,” I say.
“And,” Jade adds, eyes narrowing, “if he shows up again, I’m breaking his legs with a heel.”
Gemma clicks her tongue. “Jade.”
“What? Heels are valid weapons. Fashion is war.”
Hazel hears the word “war” and pops up from her chair. “I want war!”
“NO,” Gemma and I say at the same time.
Hazel giggles, then bolts down the hallway, followed by her cats, who now look like a tiny loyal army.
Jade watches Hazel’s back with a slightly unhinged smile. “That kid is… so you.”
“Unfortunately,” I say.
Gemma turns back to me. “Luca’s coming back before Hazel’s nap, you said?”
I nod. “That’s what he wrote.”
Jade taps the table once, like a judge with a gavel. “Then you’re going to tell him today.”
I look at Jade. Then at Gemma. Then toward the hallway where Hazel is laughing and something clatters, maybe a toy, maybe my dignity.
I want to say no. I want to say later. I want to say I just want one day where I’m not explaining my tragedies to the people I love.
But the sound of the waves outside feels like a reminder: water doesn’t stop coming. If I stand still, I still end up wet.
I let out a slow breath, then nod once. Small, but real.
“Yeah,” I say. “Today.”
Jade looks like she wants to cheer. Gemma looks like she wants to hug me. They both hold back, because they know I’ll bite if anyone hugs me without consent.
I stand, gather the dirty plates, and stare at the kitchen still smelling like butter.
Outside, the ocean keeps talking. Inside, this house stays half-lit, half-shadowed.
And for the first time since last night, it hits me: I’ve built a quiet life, but I never actually locked the door against the past.