The buzz from Liam's message still clung to me like humidity — heavy, invisible, hard to shake.
I didn't text back.
I didn't delete it either.
It just… sat there, like a stone in my shoe.
I threw on a clean hoodie and slid my feet into the sandals by the door. They were still sandy from the beach, still soft from all the summer wear. I wasn't even hungry, but I was craving something — anything to anchor me.
The stairs creaked under me, familiar and old like they knew every version of me that ever ran down them. The little kid with paint on her hands. The middle schooler with oversized backpacks and stage fright. The girl who still didn't know what this summer was turning her into.
When I reached the kitchen, it was quiet. Too quiet.
The TV wasn't on. The kettle wasn't hissing. The fridge didn't hum with the usual comforting presence of someone else moving around.
Then I saw it — a sticky note stuck slightly crooked to the fridge, written in my mom's handwriting.
"Zoey — Had to leave early. Double shift at the clinic. Left you waffles in the microwave. We need to talk about college stuff later. Love you. — Mom"
I stared at the words "We need to talk about college stuff later."
It sat there like a warning label on the day.
College stuff.
Like I hadn't been thinking about it since the minute school ended.
Like my brain didn't already feel like a tug-of-war between staying and leaving.
Like I wasn't already suffocating under deadlines, decisions, and dreams.
And of course, she signed it Love you, like that made it easier.
I peeled the note off gently and stuck it on the counter beside my notebook.
The microwave beeped when I opened it, revealing two slightly dry waffles on a paper plate. They weren't warm anymore, and one had a little dent in the corner. My mom always made them in a rush, never sitting down to eat them herself.
I poured orange juice into a chipped mug, the one with tiny blue daisies, and sat at the kitchen table.
The house felt big in that moment — not in size, just in quiet. Like I was the only one left in a play where everyone else had exited the stage.
I opened my notebook, flipping past poems about sunsets and friendships and boys with temporary eyes. I found a blank page and started writing like it was the only way to keep myself from unraveling.
Dear Waffles,
You are soggy, slightly cold,
and somehow the most stable thing in my life today.
Thanks for showing up
even if the person who made you
didn't stick around to see me eat them.
I smiled a little.
It was silly, sure — but that's what made it feel better.
As I ate slowly, I wondered what Mom would say tonight when we had "the talk." Would she bring out brochures again? Would she pretend to ask what I wanted before telling me what she thought I should want?
Would she understand if I said,
I don't know yet?
Would she hear me if I said,
Maybe I just want to stay still for a little longer?
The front door creaked as the wind pushed it slightly open and closed.
I looked out the window, watching the street shimmer in the morning heat. Somewhere out there, Maya and Rey were probably still asleep, or texting about what snacks to bring to the boardwalk.
And Liam… well, he was awake too.
I checked my phone again.
Still no new messages.
Still that one from before.
Still waiting.
I didn't answer.
But I didn't delete it either.