Chapter 2

“You’re watching something?” Ebenezer asked, sliding into her chair.

“Nestor texted,” Mia said, not looking up. “He got us tickets for the match tonight. Wants me to meet him at the stadium.”

Ebenezer’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Both of you? The whole evening?”

Mia finally glanced up, her expression soft but unapologetic. “He only got two. Said it was a last-minute thing. You know how he is.”

Ebenezer nodded slowly and took a bite. She did know. Nestor was always like that—sweeping in with plans that felt like invitations but landed like afterthoughts. He loved Mia with a fierce, protective energy, and Mia loved him back the same way. They had their own language, their own rhythm. Ebenezer had always been the third beat, a little off tempo.

“You don’t mind?” Mia asked, and there was a genuine note of concern beneath her casual tone.

“No,” Ebenezer said, and meant it. “Go. Have fun. I’ll find something to do here.”

Mia studied her for a moment, then smiled. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Mia scooped up her phone and typed a reply, her thumbs moving fast. “Okay. I’ll head out around five. You want me to pick up anything before I go?”

“No. I’m good.”

The afternoon passed in a quiet, companionable haze. Ebenezer read on the couch while Mia cycled through a series of outfits in her room, emerging every twenty minutes for a verdict. Ebenezer gave honest answers—yes to the blue jacket, no to the scarf that clashed—and Mia took them without argument.

At quarter to five, Mia came down in her final choice: jeans, a fitted sweater, the blue jacket. She looked like someone ready for an evening out, someone whose brother had thought of her first.

“I’ll be back late,” Mia said, grabbing her keys from the hook by the door. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t.”

Mia paused, hand on the doorknob. “Ebby?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For being cool about it.”

Ebenezer smiled, and it reached her eyes. “Go. Before you miss kickoff.”

The door clicked shut. The lock turned. The engine of Mia’s car started, then faded down the street.

Ebenezer sat in the sudden silence. The house felt larger than it had five minutes ago. She picked up her book, read the same paragraph three times, and set it down.

She walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, stared out the window at the empty driveway. The streetlights were just beginning to flicker on, casting pale orange pools onto the pavement.

She thought about calling someone. She didn’t.

Instead, she grabbed her own jacket from the hook—a worn denim thing, thinner than Mia’s—and stepped out onto the front porch. The evening air was cool and clean. She sat on the top step, hugged her knees, and watched the sky deepen from blue to violet to a bruised, star-scattered black.

Somewhere across town, Mia and Nestor were cheering. Here, the only sound was the crickets and the distant hum of traffic.

Ebenezer let out a long, slow breath. It wasn’t loneliness, exactly. It was something quieter. Something she had learned to sit with a long time ago.