Khloe
I woke up later than usual, the kind of late where you know you should feel rested, but instead your brain is already running laps before your feet even hit the floor.
Of course, who's the first person to pop into my head?
Not my mom.
Not Ayra.
No.
Xavier Rush.
And right after him — Travis.
Seriously, what is wrong with me?
I groaned, burying my face back into the pillow like I could smother the thoughts away. It didn't work. All it did was make me think of how Xavier had looked in his office the other day — sleeves rolled up, eyes guarded, his voice steady when he said no. Except that sunflower keychain on my desk had whispered a different story.
Then, like my brain enjoyed torturing me, it switched to Travis. His easy grin. The way he'd leaned forward at dinner last night, looking at me like I wasn't complicated, like I wasn't confusing, like I was exactly enough.
Ugh.
I threw the blanket off dramatically and padded to the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would help clear my head. Spoiler: it didn't. The water was hot enough to sting, but it didn't wash away the memory of Travis's surprised smile yesterday or Xavier's unreadable face in that glass-walled office.
And don't even get me started on the way Jayden kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror last week, like he knew something I didn't. Chauffeurs aren't supposed to be that perceptive, but Jayden? Jayden looked like he was mentally taking notes for a tell-all novel.
When I finally dragged myself downstairs, Mom — Jasmine to everyone else — was already in weekend mode. Hair tied up in a scarf, apron on, breakfast sizzling away on the stove. The smell of fried plantains and eggs wrapped around me like a hug.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she greeted without turning. "Or should I say afternoon head?"
I rolled my eyes, sliding into a chair at the table. "It's not that late."
She slid a plate toward me anyway, lips twitching in amusement. "You were out cold. I checked twice to make sure you were breathing."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." I forked into the eggs, suddenly hungrier than I'd realized.
"Long week?" she asked casually, like she wasn't already setting me up.
"Yeah," I mumbled between bites. "Long week."
She turned, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, giving me the look that could make even Ayra confess state secrets. "Mhm. Long week, or long thoughts?"
I nearly choked on the plantain. "What does that even mean?"
Her smirk was annoyingly satisfied. "It means you've been zoning out since you walked in here. Don't think I didn't notice."
I shoved another bite into my mouth to avoid answering. Because what would I even say? Oh, nothing, Mom. Just stuck between a boss who confuses me and a friend I haven't seen in ages who's now said boss's client. Totally normal. Not messy at all.
Yeah, no. That conversation was not happening over scrambled eggs.
After breakfast, Mom announced errands. Grocery shopping. Picking up dry cleaning. Random stops that filled the day. Normally, I didn't mind tagging along — she had a way of making even waiting in line at the store entertaining. But today? My brain refused to cooperate.
It kept doing this obnoxious ping-pong thing. Xavier. Travis. Travis. Xavier. Every time Mom talked, I heard her, but it was like my mind was one second behind, processing half her words and all of my tangled feelings.
"Khloe, grab the tomatoes," she said at one point.
I reached for cucumbers.
She sighed, correcting me with a look. "Girl, where is your head?"
"Sorry," I muttered, swapping them out.
Later, in the car, she hummed along to an old song on the radio while I stared out the window, replaying dinner with Travis like it was on a loop. The way he'd said, I just want to be someone who shows up. No confusion. No mixed signals. Just steady.
Why did clarity feel scarier than Xavier's mystery?
By the time we pulled back into the driveway, Mom had clearly had enough.
She dropped her bag on the couch, turned, and pointed at me like a detective closing in on her suspect. "Alright. Spill. Something's eating you alive and I don't like it."
I bent to untie my shoes, stalling. "It's nothing."
"Khloe…" She said my name in that mom-tone that could peel wallpaper.
I straightened, hands on my hips. "I'm fine, Mom. Just… adjusting to work. That's all."
Her expression softened, though her eyes still searched my face. After a pause, she reached out and tapped my forehead gently. "Alright. Just remember — you can't control everything people do. But you can control how much space you give them in here."
Her words landed deeper than I wanted them to.
We unloaded groceries, put things away, moved into the rhythm of a Saturday. Later, we cooked dinner together, chopping vegetables side by side. She told me a funny story about a neighbor's dog that kept escaping, and I laughed harder than the story probably deserved.
Afterward, we curled up on the couch, plates balanced on our laps as some random drama played on TV. The kind where everyone had secrets and nobody communicated like a sane adult. We made running commentary:
"See? If she just told him the truth, this whole plotline wouldn't exist," Mom said, waving her fork at the screen.
"And then what? The writers would be out of a job," I replied.
For a moment, I actually felt okay. Grounded. Safe.
But later, when I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, it all came rushing back like a wave I couldn't hold back.
Xavier's voice. Travis's laugh.
The sunflower keychain still tucked in my purse. The memory of Travis's hand brushing mine across the table.
And my heart doing things I hadn't asked it to do.
I sighed, rolling over, burying my face in the pillow.
If this is what only week two at this job feels like, I might need a helmet for the rest of it.
---
But my mind wasn't done torturing me.
It replayed Xavier's careful distance. The way he said "professional" with his mouth but something entirely different with his eyes. The way he lingered by my desk just a fraction too long when he didn't need to.
And then Travis. How natural it had felt, slipping back into rhythm with him. How easy it was to breathe in his presence, like the air wasn't something I had to ration.
Was I really in danger of falling for both? Or was I just clinging to anything that made me feel seen after years of convincing myself I didn't need it?
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Ayra lit the screen.
Still alive after dinner with Travis? Did he confess his undying love yet? Should I start shopping for bridesmaid dresses?
I snorted softly, typing back.
No confessions. Just… real talk. And chocolate mousse.
Her reply came quick. Mousse is basically a proposal. Don't fight me on this.
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugged upward. Leave it to Ayra to turn everything into a rom-com.
Still, when I set the phone down, the heaviness crept back in.
Because the truth was, I didn't know what I wanted. Not really.
Xavier made me feel like a secret I wanted to uncover.
Travis made me feel like a home I hadn't realized I missed.
And somewhere in between, I felt like I was losing my grip on myself.
I pressed a hand to my chest, closing my eyes.
Mom's words echoed: You can't control what people do. You can control how much space you give them in here.
But how do you shrink space when your heart refuses to listen?
Sleep came slowly, tugging at me like a stubborn tide.
And just before I drifted off, I whispered the question I hadn't dared say out loud all day.
"What if I don't want to choose?"
The ceiling, as always, had no answer.