Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 3

Also, I met a girl named Inez. She’s sharp. Kind of the protective, tell-you-the-truth type. She warned me about James. Said he’s trouble. But something in me didn’t want to believe her. I know I should listen. But there’s something soft in his eyes, something tired and lonely that felt like looking into my own reflection.

I wish Mom were here. She’d tell me what to do. Or at least laugh when I tell her I made a friend who actually likes the library as much as I do. Matt’s nice. I think we’ll get along.

I hope tomorrow doesn’t feel as heavy.

I closed the journal, pressing the cover down as if sealing a part of me inside.

Downstairs, I heard the door swing open and my dad’s familiar shuffle and sigh.

“Betty?” he called out.

“Coming,” I replied, my voice catching in my throat. I forced myself up, padding down the stairs into the kitchen.

He was reheating leftovers, adobo from Tita Delia, which she dropped off last night with that motherly look in her eyes that said more than words could. The rice cooker clicked off just as I entered.

We sat at the small kitchen table, mismatched placemats under our plates. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable, just... lived-in. Like grief that had settled in the walls.

“Long day?” he asked, offering me the spoon to scoop rice.

I nodded. “You could say that.”

He smiled faintly. “You made it through. That’s what counts.”

“I met a few people. One of them was… interesting.”

His eyebrow arched. “Interesting?”

“Not like that,” I said quickly, then laughed. “I mean, I don’t know. Just… interesting.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a bite of adobo. “You always had a way of reading people. Your mom said you’d stare at someone for two seconds and know their whole life story.”

I poked at my food. “I miss her, Dad.”

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes dimmed. “Me too.”

We didn’t say anything for a while. The only sound was the clink of silverware against plates and the soft hum of the neighbor’s TV seeping through the wall. I wondered if he thought about her every time he sat at this table. If he also wondered how we could be eating like nothing had happened.

Just as we were finishing up, a knock tapped softly against the wooden door.

“Matt,” I said as I opened it, surprised to see his tall frame bathed in the orange glow of dusk.

“Hey,” he said. “Hope it’s not too late.”

“Not at all. Come in.”

Dad gave him a polite smile, then took his plate to the sink. “I’ll be in the back, working on a few things.”

I nodded and led Matt out to the porch. The night was warm, the kind of warm that didn’t press down but wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Crickets began to sing in the garden. The sky was already spilling into navy.

We sat on the steps.

“I figured you might want some company,” Matt said.

“I do,” I whispered, not looking at him. “But I also feel like I shouldn’t.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

I let my hands settle on my lap. “Because it feels wrong to start over. Like we’re pretending everything’s okay. And it’s not. Mom’s gone, and yet I went to school today like a normal girl, met people, laughed, ate lunch. I even journaled. And I just keep thinking… would she be okay with this? With us moving on this fast?”