desertion

101

LYDIA

The smell of batter frying on the skillet wafted through the air as I focused on flipping another pancake. The golden-brown edge lifted slightly as I slid the spatula underneath, turning it with precision. Pancakes were easy, routine even. They didn't require much thought, which was good, considering my brain was somewhere else entirely.

I had been up since five, unable to sleep. My mind had been racing, a storm of everything and nothing all at once. Dad had been up late watching TV with Chris, and I'd heard their quiet laughter as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. It wasn't their fault I couldn't sleep-my brain didn't need noise to spin itself into overdrive.

Things between Miles and me had been... complicated. Good, but complicated. He'd been more open lately, which I'd wanted-no, begged for, in every silent way possible. But now that he was, I couldn't bring myself to do the same. I'd pulled back, wrapped my problems in a neat little box, and shoved them deep down where they couldn't spill out.

Because I was too much. My problems were too much.

That morning a few weeks ago, when I told May and everyone else I wasn't girlfriend material, I'd been right. Miles had figured it out, too. Good for him, honestly. He'd saved himself a lot of trouble by sticking us in the "just friends" box.

The term stung every time I thought about it.

I hated the phrase "just friends." It made me feel like I'd failed-failed to be good enough, failed to be supportive enough, failed to make things work. I hadn't just let him down; I'd proven that deep, nagging fear in my chest right.

I wasn't cut out for this.

I shook my head, flipping another pancake onto the growing stack. I couldn't let myself spiral. Not now. Not ever. The pancakes needed to be perfect, and so did I.

When the last pancake was done, I slid it onto the plate and carried the stack to the table. "Dad! Chris!" I called, setting the plate down in the center. "Breakfast is ready!"

Their laughter floated in from the living room before their footsteps followed. Dad walked in first, his hair messy from sleep, followed by Chris, who looked more awake than either of us should be at this hour.

"Smells amazing," Dad said, smiling. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

"I know," I replied, forcing a light tone. "But someone has to feed you two, and we all know you're hopeless in the kitchen."

Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Hey, I can make eggs!"

"Barely," I teased, earning a laugh from Chris.

Dad smiled, but his eyes lingered on me for a moment too long, and I looked away, busying myself with the dishes. The sound of forks scraping against plates soon filled the air, and I focused on scrubbing the pan clean.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Dad asked, his voice gentle.

I shook my head. "I can't. I need to look into colleges and start working out a budget plan so I can pay for it myself."

Dad was quiet for a moment, and I felt his gaze on my back.

"Lydia," he said softly, "you don't have to do this alone."

"I know," I replied quickly, rinsing the soap from the pan. "But I want to. I need to."

Dad sighed. "You know your mom started a college fund for you and Chris when you were little, right?"

My hands froze, water dripping from the pan back into the sink.

"She and I used to take part of our income tax every year and put it in the funds," he continued. "I've kept it up since she passed. There's at least $65,000 in yours."

The words hit me like a brick to the chest. My breath caught in my throat, and I set the pan down, gripping the edge of the sink.

Sixty-five thousand dollars.

"That's... enough for a year," I said softly, more to myself than to him.

"It's more than that," Dad said, stepping closer. "It's a start. And you don't have to figure everything out right now, Lydia."

I turned around slowly, my vision blurry. My dad looked at me with a sad smile, and before I could stop myself, I wrapped my arms around him.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice cracking.

"Always," he replied, holding me tightly.

I pulled away quickly, my face hot. "I-I need to work on my budget," I said, rushing to grab my phone and laptop.

Dad just nodded, and I hurried to my room, closing the door behind me.

My desk was cluttered with notebooks and papers, but I cleared a space for my laptop. As it booted up, I glanced around the room, my eyes landing on the wall beside my bed.

Pictures hung everywhere, taped haphazardly to the wall in a collage of memories.

One photo caught my eye: Miles and me at the park, his hands gripping my legs as I sat on his shoulders. Julian and Isabelle were beside us, laughing mid-wrestle. Our faces were lit up with pure, unfiltered joy.

I smiled, tracing the edge of the photo with my finger.

Things weren't perfect now. They probably never would be. But as I looked back at my laptop screen, I reminded myself of one thing:

I've got this.