"ALMOST FAMILY''
The knock comes sharp and sudden against my door, cutting cleanly through the quiet of the room.
For a split second my mind goes blank.
Then instinct takes over.
I snap the diary shut and shove it into the drawer so quickly the wood scrapes loud against the frame. The sound feels enormous, incriminating, like a gunshot. My fingers linger on the handle for a moment, pulse fluttering, as if the drawer might slide open again and betray me.
Living in this house has done this to me , turned me cautious, secretive, always hiding pieces of myself like contraband.
"Odessa?"
Ethan.
I scan the room automatically. Bed made. Curtains still. Desk clean. Nothing out of place. Nothing that says I've been digging into things that don't belong to me.
When I open the door, he's standing there exactly as he always is — straight-backed, composed, his expression caught somewhere between distant and polite. It's strange how a person can look so normal and still make your stomach tighten.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks.
There's no edge in his voice, but there never is. That's what unsettles me most. He never sounds angry or warm or anything at all. Just level. Controlled.
I step aside and let him in. His gaze drifts slowly around my room, not nosy enough to be obvious, not careless enough to miss anything. I wonder if he even realizes he does that ,the quiet inspection, like he's memorizing the space.
"It's your aunt's birthday tomorrow," he says. "I thought we could do something special for her. Do you want to come with me and pick out a gift?"
For a moment I just stare at him.
Of all the things I expected — questions, rules, lectures — this wasn't one of them.
And strangely, the idea warms something inside me.
"Yes," I say. "I'd like that."
He nods once, already glancing at his phone. "She's out with Elena. We have a few hours. Get ready. You have ten minutes."
It sounds less like a suggestion and more like a schedule.
Still, when he leaves, I catch myself smiling faintly.
It feels ridiculous to be this relieved over something so small.
The car ride is quiet in that heavy, almost suffocating way where even breathing feels too loud.
The leather seats smell new, mixed with Ethan's cologne ,something woody and expensive that lingers in the air like it belongs there more than I do. I sit stiffly in the passenger seat with my hands folded in my lap, watching the road stretch ahead of us in long gray ribbons.
I try to think of something normal to say.
"Do you have something in mind for her?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies. "Do you?"
"I'm still deciding."
My voice sounds smaller than I meant it to.
Outside, the city slides past the window — people crossing streets, shop shutters half open, buses coughing smoke into the air. Everyone looks busy, purposeful, like they know exactly where they're headed. I wonder if that's true, or if they're just pretending the same way I am.
Sometimes it feels like everyone is following some invisible script -school, work, marriage, children , moving from one step to the next without ever asking why. Like we're all just walking forward because stopping would mean thinking too much.
The sky hangs low and gray, swollen with rain. The whole world looks washed out, like an old photograph left too long in the sun.
The shopping plaza looks nothing like the places I'm used to.
Everything gleams , glass doors, marble floors, soft golden lighting that makes even the air feel expensive. The receptionist greets Ethan by name, smiling like he's a regular, and I'm suddenly aware of my shoes squeaking faintly against the floor.
I feel like I don't belong here.
Like if I touch something, an alarm will go off.
Inside the jewelry store, the lights catch on every surface, scattering reflections everywhere. Gold and silver glimmer from the displays, delicate chains coiled like sleeping snakes.
And then I see the bangles.
They're resting on a velvet cushion, almost shyly, but the details pull me in immediately — thin filigree vines twisting around the gold, enamel flowers blooming in soft pinks and deep reds, tiny stones nestled at their centers like drops of dew. They look old-fashioned in the prettiest way, like something from a forgotten love story.
I picture Aunt Serena wearing them, her hair pinned back, laughing the way she used to before everything became so careful and controlled.
My chest tightens unexpectedly.
I want to give her something that makes her happy.
Not polite-happy.
Real happy.
The kind where her eyes crinkle.
"What do you think about these?"
Ethan's voice pulls me back.
He's holding earrings — elegant teardrops, simple but expensive.
"They're pretty," I say. "She'll love them."
She'd love anything from you, I almost add.
He asks my size,looking at the bangles I chose.
Mine.
He's buying me a set too.
The box feels heavy in my hands.
When Ethan asks my size and tells the staff to pack another set for me too, I'm caught off guard.
"For me?" I ask.
He nods like it's obvious.
The velvet box feels heavier than it should in my hands, and suspicion creeps in before gratitude can settle. Gifts from him feel complicated, like there's always something hidden underneath.
Guilt, maybe.
Or obligation.
Or something worse.
I hate that I can't tell the difference anymore.
By the time we leave the next store ,silk clutches and soft satin bags arranged like art pieces , the backseat is filled with shopping bags that rustle every time the car moves. Tissue paper whispers together like secrets.
It looks like something from a dream.
"You have good taste," he says.
For a second, pride sparks.
"Of course I do. I design—''
I stop. Don't talk. Don't give him pieces of you.
Pieces can be used.
"I— it's nothing."
ethan turns to me.
"Look I know that I have been unnecessarily strict with you but there are things you don't know."
I want to-I need to know,everything inside me wants to know the truth,but I cannot be persistent then I might forever lose the chance.
The radio hums softly until a familiar song comes on.
Les by Childish Gambino. I love this song so fucking much.
Relief washes through me before I can stop it.
"I like this," Ethan says after a moment.
I glance at him, surprised, then laugh. "See? Better than opera."
"Oh you know nothing about my music taste.''he says,slightly amused.
But..in aunt Serena's diary,the bands she wrote about should mean that he has good music taste..well who cares.
I say before I can stop myself. "Did you ever go camping?''
"Yes, I did ,in fact I met your aunt at a camp.''he says, glancing at me briefly before looking back at the road,his eyes seeming to think about those moments. Then his expression turns serious.
For just a second, the car feels lighter.
Normal.
Like this is what it would've been like if things were different.
If my mother were still alive.
If I wasn't constantly wondering whether the man beside me had taken her away from me.
The thought settles back in like a shadow, darkening everything again.
How can someone buy you jewelry and maybe be a murderer in the same lifetime?
How can both versions exist in the same body?
I stare out the window, watching strangers pass by, each one carrying their own invisible life, their own secrets, they are like puppets to this system.
Maybe I look that way too.
Maybe no one would ever guess how loud my head feels all the time.
We stop at a red light, and that's when I notice the flower shop on the corner ,buckets overflowing with color against the gray afternoon. Soft yellows, pale pinks, deep reds. Living things. Fragile things.
Something about them feels gentle in a way nothing else today has.
"Should we get her flowers?" I ask quietly.