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The curtains billow softly, an early August breeze sifting through the room. Joel’s freestanding fan whirs sideways on the floor, having been knocked over halfway through your last round that had migrated from his bed to the carpet.
It had been like this for nearly a year now—sweat and saliva shared like your bodies belonged to each other. You’d agreed not to fool around on weekends, only afternoons you could sneak off work early, or weeknights when Sarah was tucked up in bed, none the wiser.
Joel prefers it this way. Not that he doesn’t care about you—no, that wasn’t it. He’s never been so taken by a woman before; it quite frankly terrifies him. Still, even with his baby girl growing up, it’s hard for him to have a casual dating life; he worries about Sarah getting attached to someone who has no guarantee of always being around.
He’s also sure your old man won’t appreciate you bringing him home for Sunday dinner. Although he’s never been buddies with your Dad, Joel still feels like a dirty secret, never meant to see the light of day.
To make things more complicated, you had babysat Sarah throughout her teenage years, meaning she practically idolises you. Joel has come home to the two of you crying to Uptown Girls in the living room more times than he can count. Now Sarah’s coming on eighteen, and you’re fast approaching the end of your research degree, the only thing keeping you in Austin. You’ve been in their lives for the best part of Sarah’s adolescence, and with endings come change.
“So,” you grin, fumbling for a lighter in Joel’s top drawer. “Dad’s throwing a get-together this Saturday.”
“That so?” He swats your hand away, pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a light with familiar ease.
You position the cigarette between your lips and turn onto your stomach, leaning in for Joel to light yours.
“Says he wants to celebrate, or commiserate, the outcome of my viva. Reckon he just wants a reason to grill.”
“As good a reason as any.”
“Will you come?” Your request hangs in the air for a beat too long. Joel takes the cigarette from your mouth and places it in his own, taking a long drag before answering.
“Got something that needs seeing to first, but I’ll be there.”
“Breaking someone’s kneecaps with Tommy?”
“Something like that. But I’ll be there, honey.”
You don’t fight the blush that crawls across your cheeks as he places a soft kiss against your forehead. At the beginning, you would bat him away, muttering something about ruining your makeup – as if he hadn’t spent the previous couple of hours fucking it onto a smudge on his cream pillowcase.
With a soft breath, you push yourself up from the floor. Joel’s hand languidly finds your forearm, tugging you back into the tangled sheets and limbs with a groan that almost sounds like a plea.
“I gotta go, baby,” you shriek; a teeth-and-gum-baring laugh comes from a place deep inside you, the kind you can’t hide. “Plus, Sarah’s gonna be home any minute. I don’t know how many times we can get away with saying I’m borrowing sugar.”
“Guess I should get back to site anyway, make sure Tommy and the guys haven’t pulled any houses down.”
This part still fills you with dread. Wondering when you’ll see him next, if you’ll see him next. He’s skittish—a deer in headlights. One comment about the future, and he pulls back, retreats inward, remembering the exits he marked that very first night.
Now and then, he comments on his age. You’ve invited him to the bar with your friends before, birthdays, St. Patrick’s Day; any excuse to escape the confines of the four walls of your bedrooms. Still, his response stays the same. People’ll think I’m bothering you. Guy my age has no business hanging out in bars with twenty-somethings. And you don’t fight him on it. You know it’s a redundant argument that would lead him further towards the fire escape.
“Still want me to drive you tomorrow?”
You smile and push the neon-flashing sign, progress, to the back of your mind. The last time you’d snuck over, he’d offered to drive you to your thesis defence, but as he hadn’t mentioned it since, you assumed it had dissipated in the comedown of your absence. Sometimes you worried that you didn’t exist to Joel unless you stood right in front of him.
“I’d like to have you there.”
As you start getting dressed, Joel gives your arm one final tug. He kisses your palm, and you gently lift your hand to cradle his face.
“I’ll be there,” he says. “Promise.”
—
You pass your defence with flying colours. Your supervisor clasps your hand with both of hers, grinning wide enough to make her eyes crinkle.
“You held your own,” she beams. “Especially when Richard challenged your chapter on meta-theatre. That was brilliant.”
You thank her, still caught up in a daze, your stomach still clenched with residual nerves. Someone presses a lukewarm plastic cup of prosecco into your hand before you’ve even left the room.
Everything’s a blur of congratulations and relief until you step outside and see Joel leaning against his truck. He’s here, in the late afternoon sun, watching you like he’s been waiting to exhale since dropping you off two hours ago.
You jog over to him, laughing, breathless.
“I passed.”
His arms are around you in seconds, pulling you into that familiar cocoon of flannel and sweat and sawdust.
“Course you did,” he murmurs into your hair. “Knew you would.”
“I did it,” you mumble into his neck. “I actually did.” For a moment, everything stills. The future doesn’t exist. There’s just the thump of his heart and the smell of cut grass and petrol.
Then he pulls back and opens the passenger door. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”
The ride starts quiet, his hand brushing your thigh as he shifts into drive. Austin hums past the windows, all red lights and pickup trucks and the slow turn of people living their normal Wednesdays.
“I got offered something.” You say, eyes fixed on a billboard as it flickers from a dental ad to a car commercial.
Joel glances at you. “Yeah?”
“A post-doc placement. Out-of-state,” you pause. “It’s in North Carolina. Just a year.”
He doesn’t say anything. You keep your voice light.
“It’s a good position. Teaching undergrads, an office, and decent funding for my research. I could get real experience before applying for long-term posts.”
Still nothing. His knuckles flex around the steering wheel. You turn towards him slightly, watching his jaw pulse.
“Joel?” You press on. “It’s not like I’m disappearing. It’s just—”
He cuts you off, voice low, just above a whisper. “Well, maybe y’should.”
You stare at him, not quite believing you heard right. “What?”
His grip on the wheel tightens. “Maybe it’s time you stop hanging around here. Stop wasting your time sneaking around with me when you’ve got all this potential. Whole damn world out there for you, and you’re still letting me take up space in it.”
“Joel,” you breathe. “Where is this coming from?”
“Where do you think? I’ve been waiting for this—hell, dreading it. You finally realise you don’t need me. And I can’t—I won’t be why you stay.”
You cross your arms, heart pounding.
“This isn’t about you being some sacrifice, Joel. I wanted to tell you because I thought we could talk about it. Figure it out. Together.”
He shakes his head. “There’s no together, sweetheart. Not really. This only works in secret. You think your dad’s gonna welcome me with open arms? You think Sarah won’t ask questions the second she figures it out?”
You blink, stunned by the bluntness of it, the way he says figures it out like you're some dirty secret waiting to spill.
“She’s not a kid anymore, Joel. She’d understand. Or at least she’d try to.”
“She idolises you,” he snaps, fear bleeding through the anger in his voice. “You weren’t there when her mom left—you don’t know how much pain that’s caused her, how it’s followed her through her whole life. Someone she loved walked out on her, and now you think she’s just gonna be fine finding out we’ve been lying to her for a year?”
Your voice comes quieter, steadier.
“We weren’t lying, Joel. We were protecting something new and fragile. That’s not the same.”
He scoffs, tapping his fingers restlessly against the steering wheel.
“You always know how to make things sound prettier than they really are.”
You don’t answer. There’s nothing to say that won’t crack the surface more.
The truck slows as he pulls into your street. The same houses, the same lawns, the same corner store with the busted ice machine. It all looks exactly the same, but suddenly it feels smaller—like the walls are closing in.
Joel puts the truck in park but doesn’t kill the engine. His eyes stay forward.
“I’m not the guy you build a future with,” he says flatly. “I’m the one you remember when someone asks what your early twenties were like.”
You look at him then, really look. The way his shoulders hunch like he’s bracing for impact. Like he’s already lost something he never really believed he deserved.
“You don’t get to make that decision for me,” you say.
Silence. Just the engine ticking and the far-off bark of a dog somewhere down the block. The ache in your chest is sudden and sharp.
“I still want you at the party,” you say, barely above a whisper.
He exhales, eyes on the road. “I’ll be there.”
But he doesn’t look at you when he says it. And the silence that follows feels like it might last forever.
—
The front door sticks like always. You push it open with your hip, dropping your keys in the bowl by the hallway mirror. The radio’s already on in the kitchen—some crackly Stones song playing low, the scent of grilling meat drifting through the house.
“Dad?” you call, kicking off your shoes. You head toward the kitchen, footsteps echoing faintly against the floorboards.
He’s at the counter, chopping onions with a glass of whiskey at his elbow and a cigarette burning in the ashtray. He looks up when you walk in and grins widely.
“Well?” He bellows, voice hot with anticipation. “How’d it go?”
“I passed,” you say softly, then smile.
Your dad whoops loud enough to startle the cat. He rounds the counter and wraps you in a bear hug, rocking you side to side.
“Knew you would. Your old man always bets on a winner.”
You laugh into his shoulder, trying not to cry. He smells like charcoal, aftershave, and the faint echo of a simpler time.
“Go on,” he says, nudging you toward the stairs. “Go get ready—people’ll be here in an hour. I’ll keep the grill warm and the whisky flowing.”
You nod and head upstairs, feet heavy, heart heavier.
Your childhood bedroom hasn’t changed much. There are the same posters on the wall, the same scratched dresser, the same too-small mirror framed with festival wristbands and pinned-up Polaroids. You close the door behind you and sit on the edge of your bed. The silence up here is thick, too close, and before you know it, your chest is heaving.
You fall face-first into the pillow and sob.
Not dramatic or cinematic. Just aching. Quiet, breath-hitching tears. It hits you all at once; everything you’d hoped Joel might say in the truck, the way his silence felt like a door closing. The way he looked at you like you were someone else’s memory already.
You cry until your ribs ache.
You cry because you passed your viva, and the one person you wanted to share it with made you feel small for hoping.
You cry because something beautiful and complicated has ended without ceremony.
Eventually, you sit up, wipe your face, and start getting ready. You fix your mascara twice. Change outfits three times. None of them feel right. You settle on a dress that makes you feel like a version of yourself you almost believe in.
You head back downstairs to the smell of sizzling meat and the sound of your dad’s old stereo playing Tom Petty loud enough to bleed into the backyard. The first guests are arriving: neighbours, family friends, and old colleagues of your dad's who still call you "kid" no matter how old you get.
You step into the kitchen, putting on your party face. Your dad’s house is packed—his usual crowd of long-time friends, some of Sarah’s classmates, and a few of your dad’s colleagues you’ve never met. The smell of grilled food lingers in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of beer and the murmur of conversation.
You take a deep breath, trying to push the conversation with Joel from your mind, but the knot in your stomach only tightens the more you see people laughing, their carefree energy a stark contrast to the quiet storm swirling inside you.
You head for the kitchen, where your dad attempts to hold court. His laugh rings out, boisterous and easy, as he tells some ridiculous story to an audience of a few older men, each hanging on his every word.
“Hey, kid,” Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, greets you when he spots you. “I heard today went well. Maybe I should start callin’ you doctor”
“Yeah,” you mutter, trying to match his enthusiasm. “It went fine.”
You try to shake off the weight of the day, focusing on the familiar comfort of the kitchen. Your dad’s booming laugh fills the room, but you find yourself checking your phone every few minutes, your fingers twitching over the screen despite knowing it won’t change anything.
Joel’s promise to be here plays repeatedly in your mind. He’s always been this way—good at making promises when it’s convenient, then retreating when things get difficult.
You feel your heart sink a little more with every passing minute. Still, you find yourself forcing a smile, joining in the idle chatter, even as you feel the empty space in the room grow larger.
It’s just a party, you tell yourself. You’ve been to plenty of parties where he wasn’t there. But that’s a lie. You can’t remember ever going to a party without Joel by your side—whether it was quiet, just the two of you, or in a noisy crowd like this.
Your phone buzzes, and you quickly swipe it open. It’s a text from Joel—just three words: On my way. You exhale, the tightness in your chest loosening just a little, but it doesn’t stop the nerves. A half hour goes by, then an hour. Your stomach churns.
And then, finally, you see him.
He’s late—of course he is. That’s always been his way. But this time, it feels deliberate, like he waited for the room to fill, for the music to swell, for the moment where you should be completely occupied, but instead stood at the centre of the celebration that doesn’t feel like yours.
The door creaks open behind you, and the air shifts. You don’t even have to turn to know. But you do, anyway, slow and heavy, your stomach already folding in on itself.
Because he’s not alone.
She’s tall. That’s the first thing. Then, her the hair: dark, glossy, falling in effortless waves over a bare shoulder. She walks like she knows where she’s going. Like she belongs. And she’s the complete opposite of you; from her features to her presence, she’s everything you’re not.
Joel follows her in with a hand pressed low on her back, familiar and easy, like muscle memory. Like he didn’t just leave you in a truck hours ago with every unfinished thing between you.
It’s so quiet in your head, the house may as well be barren. Around you, the music plays—muted, distant. You register someone calling your name, maybe, but you don’t turn. You’re watching Joel laugh at something she says, that soft, crooked smile you used to feel in your chest like a hymn. You’re watching him pour her a drink. You’re watching him pretend you don’t exist.
Then his eyes flick to yours.
Just for a second.
And for that one, flickering heartbeat, the whole world trembles. There’s something in his face; some tiny, barely-there ghost of before. It makes your breath catch in your throat. Makes you stupid enough to hope.
Then it’s gone. He blinks, and it’s gone. He turns back to her like she’s the only thing in the room worth turning toward.
Sarah sidles up beside you, clutching a paper plate stacked with crisps. “Did you know Dad was bringing someone?” she asks, chewing absently.
You shake your head. “No. I didn’t” Your voice barely comes out.
The party moves on around you. People laugh, glasses clink, someone drops a bowl of peanuts, and everyone laughs too loudly. You stand still at the centre of it, heart splintering slowly and privately, like a firework underwater.
You’d worn the dress hoping he might notice. Hoping he’d look at you and remember. But he walks past without a glance, like you’re just someone who happened to be invited. Like you’re nothing at all.
This—this—is what will consume you for the rest of the night.
—
You drift through the party like a ghost.
People talk to you—smiling, laughing, toasting to your success—but the words barely land. You nod, lift your drink, murmur your thanks, but your eyes return to the same corner of the room.
Joel’s hand still rests on her back, like a placeholder. He says something and she laughs loudly, unrestrained. You recognise the laugh. You’ve made that laugh before. You’ve been that girl before.
Not tonight.
You excuse yourself, barely catching the name someone just introduced to you. The hallway is quieter. Cooler. Your footsteps echo on the stairs as you take them two at a time.
In your bedroom, you don’t bother with the light. You know the shape of this room too well—where the bed dips, where the curtain hem frays, where your old posters peel slightly from the wall.
You sit down at the edge of the mattress and gently fold into yourself until your body sinks into the pillow.
You cry without drama. There is no sobbing, no broken gasps, just a slow, quiet unravel, a thread being pulled loose from somewhere deep inside your chest. You hear a thud downstairs—probably someone dropping a plate or knocking into the sideboard—and you sit up slowly, wiping under your eyes.
A knock.
You freeze.
“It’s me.”
You hesitate, lips parting like you might call out go away—but the words don’t come. The door creaks open anyway.
Joel steps inside like he doesn’t quite have the right. Like he half expects you to throw something at him. He closes the door behind him, gently. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you says a word.
You don’t look at him. You can’t.
He runs a hand down his face, exhaling like he’s been holding something all night.
“I needed a minute,” he says finally.
“Really?” Your voice comes out thin and sharp. “Because I needed a minute, too. Funny how we both ended up hiding in my childhood bedroom.”
Joel flinches.
“She’s Tommy’s friend,” he says quickly, like getting that detail out might save him. “He set us up. I—I didn’t plan for her to come tonight. I thought I could get out of it, but he just… he kept pushing.”
You sit up slowly, eyes glassy but dry. “You texted me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “On my way. I waited for you.”
Joel’s face twists. “I meant it.”
“Did you?” you snap. “Because you showed up with her. You showed up late, with her.”
He runs a hand over his face. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“Then how was it supposed to happen, Joel?” You stand, the energy crackling under your skin. “You drop me off hours ago and then turn up with a date? You let Tommy set you up and just—what? Forgot about me?”
“I tried,” he says, quieter now. “I thought the longer I dragged the date out, you’d have left, you’d be with your friends or—I don’t know.” He shakes his head.
You look at him now. Really look. There’s guilt in the lines around his mouth, in the way he won’t quite meet your eyes.
“So, what?” you say, voice tight. “You just pretended? Just smiled and played along like nothing ever happened between us?”
His silence is answer enough.
Your throat thickens. “You could’ve said something. You could’ve—”
“What, out us in front of everyone?” He snaps, before immediately softening. “Sorry. I didn’t mean— I just… I didn’t know what to do. We’ve been keeping this secret for so long, and then suddenly I’m walking in with someone else and you're standing there, looking like—”
“Like what?” you demand.
“Like I made a huge mistake.”
There’s a long pause. The air between you feels too full, too heavy.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he says. “But I did. I know I did.”
You swallow hard. “Yeah. You did.”
Joel shifts closer, slowly. “Her and me. It’s not— It’s nothing.”
“But we were something?” you ask, and your voice almost breaks.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just closes his eyes like he’s trying to shut the night out.
“I thought maybe this would make it easier,” he says. “To move on. To... untangle things.”
Your laugh is bitter. “You’re fucked in the head, Joel.”
Joel meets your eyes, finally. “I was afraid, earlier.”
There’s another silence, but this one feels different. Calmer, maybe. Sad.
He takes a step back, like he’s giving you the choice now. Like he's finally realised he doesn’t get to write the ending by himself.
“I’ll go,” he says softly, hand already on the doorknob.
You don't answer at first. The silence stretches too long. He nods, already halfway turned, and it feels like the moment is slipping through your fingers.
“Wait.”
Your voice is small. Barely there. But it stops him cold.
He doesn’t look back yet. Just waits.
You swallow hard, arms wrapped around yourself like you’re holding your ribs together.
“I don’t want you to go,” you admit, and it feels like breaking something open. “But I don’t know if I want you to stay either.”
Joel turns slowly, his face raw. “I get it.”
“No, you don’t.” Your voice wobbles. “You don’t know what it felt like—seeing you with her. After everything. After I let myself believe we could… I don’t know. Be something.”
“I wanted that too,” he says. “More than I should’ve.”
You sit down on the edge of the bed, your fingertips pressed to your temples. “Then why did you let this happen?”
“I panicked,” he admits. “I thought if I could just... reset things. Pull away before it got worse. Before it hurt more.”
You let out a shaky breath. “It already hurts.”
Joel walks over slowly and kneels before you like he’s praying. He doesn’t touch you. Just looks up.
“I don’t want to be just a regret to you,” he says. “Or a mistake you hide in your bedroom. I didn’t come up here to beg. I just—” He breaks off. “I just wanted to see you. One last time, if that’s all I get.”
The truth hangs between you both, heavy and awful and real.
You reach for him—hesitant, trembling—and your hand finds his cheek. His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into your touch like it’s the only thing tethering him.
“You hurt me." You whisper.
“I know.”
“And I don’t forgive you.”
He nods. “Okay.”
You pause. “But I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Joel’s breath catches. “Then I’ll stay. As long as you’ll let me.”
You nod once, and he rises slowly, carefully, like the air between you might crack if he moves too fast. He sits beside you, not touching, just close. You both stare at the wall in silence, breathing the same air but not daring to hope for anything more.
And for now, it has to be enough.