Chapter 31 The pull of the tide
The smell of smoke lingered in the house, a ghostly reminder of the small blue box we had just surrendered to the flames. We sat at the dining table, the same table where Victor and Liam had traded silent daggers only hours before, but now the dynamic had shifted. The air was no longer thick with my mother’s frantic grief, yet it wasn't exactly light either. It was the heavy, exhausted silence of a family that had survived an earthquake and was now staring at the cracks in the walls.
My father ate with a slow, methodical rhythm, his eyes fixed on his plate as if studying the grain of the ceramic. My mother sat beside him, her face washed clean of makeup and tears, her expression distant but no longer haunted. She was present, yet quiet—a woman relearning how to exist without the weight of a thirty-one-year-old secret.
The only sound was the clink of silverware until Maya’s phone buzzed on the table. A bright, unmistakable light illuminated her face, which was already glowing with a secretive, soft smile. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, her focus entirely elsewhere.
"Maya, no cellphones at the table," my father said. His voice wasn't harsh, but it carried the authority of a man trying to reclaim the boundaries of his home.
"Sorry, Pops," Maya replied instantly, though her smile didn't fade as she tucked the device into her lap. She looked across at me, her eyes dancing with a new kind of mischief. I knew that look. It wasn't the look of a girl chasing a bank notification; it was the look of a woman who had found a reason to believe in the "hot therapist" who had invaded our living room.
After supper, the house moved into its usual evening choreography. My parents retreated to their room, their footsteps heavy and synchronized. Maya gathered a drowsy Leo, whose head bobbed against her shoulder as she carried him toward their bedroom.
"Don't stay up too late thinking about Paris," she whispered as she passed me, her voice low enough that our parents couldn't hear.
"Goodnight, Maya," I murmured, my heart giving a traitorous little skip at the mention of the city.
I was left alone in the kitchen. I moved through the motions of tidying up wiping the counters, drying the last of the wine glasses from the super, and putting away the leftovers. The silence of the house felt different now. It felt like a blank page.
As I reached for the light switch, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, the glow of the screen the only light in the darkened kitchen.
Victor: The basement feels exceptionally quiet tonight. I suspect I’ve become accustomed to the sound of your colorful scarves and your stubborn opinions.
A smile, wide and uncontrollable, filled my face. I leaned against the cool surface of the refrigerator, my thumbs flying across the keyboard.
Elena: Is that your way of saying you miss your nurse, Mr. Grinch? Or just that you’re bored without someone to argue with?
Victor: Perhaps a bit of both. But mostly, I’m still thinking about the garden. And the fact that you look remarkably beautiful when you’re angry. It’s a dangerous combination.
Elena: You’re a dangerous man, Victor Blackwood. Sleep well. You have a long day of recovery ahead of you tomorrow.
Victor: Only if you’re there to narrate it. Goodnight, Elena. Dream of the Seine.
I stood there in the darkness for a long minute, the phone pressed to my chest. The memory of the kiss in the basement flashed behind my eyes the heat, the desperation, the way he had looked at me as if I were the only thing in the world that mattered. It was a feeling I couldn't reconcile with the life I had built here.
I walked softly toward my bedroom, careful not to wake Leo or Maya. I had just pulled back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed when the phone rang. The screen displayed a photo of Liam a picture of us at the lake last summer, smiling and sun-drenched.
I hesitated, the joy from Victor’s text curdling into a knot of guilt. I answered on the third ring.
"Hey, Liam," I whispered.
"Hey," he said, and I could immediately hear the strain in his voice. "I’ve been waiting for a text. Or a call. I thought we settled things in the kitchen, El. You usually check in when you get home."
"I know, I’m sorry," I said, rubbing my temples. "It’s been a really intense evening. My parents... we had a big talk. We actually burned Jacob’s old things tonight. My mom is trying to move on."
"That’s great, Elena. Really, it is," Liam said, but his tone was dismissive, almost impatient. "But I’ve been sitting here for three hours thinking about us. I feel like I’m the only one trying to hold onto the rope lately. You’re always at that mansion, or you’re too tired to talk, or you’re 'confused.' It’s starting to feel like I’m dating a ghost."
I didn't have the energy to argue. I didn't want to explain the kiss or the pull of Paris. I didn't want to defend a man he already hated. "I’m just tired, Liam. It’s been my birthday, then a family crisis, then work... I just need to sleep."
He let out a long, frustrated sigh, but then his voice softened, shifting into that "reliable Liam" tone that used to make me feel safe, but now only made me feel trapped.
"I know. I’m sorry. I didn't call to pick a fight," he said. "I actually called because I have something to tell you. Something huge."
"What is it?"
"Not over the phone," he said, and I could hear a smirk in his voice—the sound of a man who thought he was about to win. "I need to see you tomorrow after work. I have some good news for you, El. Life-changing news. I’ve been working on something for a long time, and it finally came through today."
"Liam, I have a late shift"
"I’ll wait," he interrupted firmly. "Trust me, you’re going to want to hear this. It’s the 'new start' I promised you. Get some sleep, okay? I love you."
"Goodnight, Liam," I said, hanging up before I had to say the words back.
I set the phone on the nightstand and lay back, staring at the ceiling. In the darkness, the world felt like it was pulling me in two opposite directions. On one side was Liam, offering a "new start" in the only world I had ever known. On the other was Victor, offering a world I had only ever dreamed of—a world of red silk, Parisian streets, and a love that felt like a wildfire.
I closed my eyes, but I didn't dream of the bakery or the garage. I dreamed of a glass wall in a basement, a teddy bear with a lopsided ear, and the terrifying, beautiful possibility of leaving everything behind.