Finding light in the darkest places—through love-Chapter 96 – What We Talk About When We Don’t Talk
Chapter 96 - 96 – What We Talk About When We Don’t Talk
The dining table was mostly quiet, save for the clink of forks against ceramic and the low hum of a radio in the background. Evelyn sat between her father and her cousin Mira, who had come over with her parents for a casual Sunday lunch. It wasn't a big family gathering—just enough people to stir a light tension in the air, the kind that lingered more in what wasn't said than what was.
Her mother had floated around the kitchen all morning, orchestrating the meal with subtle pride. Evelyn helped where she could, but she had sensed the shift in her place within the house. Not quite a guest. Not quite a resident.
Her father, quiet as always, hadn't said much during lunch. But he hadn't looked away either. Occasionally, she caught him watching her—not in judgment, but in study. He chewed slowly, and nodded along to others' stories, but there was something unreadable in his gaze.
It wasn't until they started clearing the table that he finally said, "Do you want to sit with me outside for a bit?"
Evelyn blinked. "Sure."
The Porch Conversation
The front porch smelled faintly of pine and last night's rain. Her dad leaned back in one of the wooden chairs, a thermos of tea in his hands. Evelyn sat beside him, wrapping her sweater tighter around her frame.
They were quiet for a while. She wasn't sure if he was gathering words or just sitting in the silence.
He took a sip and finally spoke. "You're a little different this time."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "Good different?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Not louder. Not colder. Just... like you've been living in a place where your voice had more room."
"That's probably true," she said softly.
"You've always been thoughtful," he added. "But thoughtful kids sometimes grow up to be people who overthink themselves right out of their own lives."
She let that sit.
"I used to think if I stayed quiet enough, I could make things easier for everyone," she admitted. "But all it did was make me invisible."
He turned to look at her fully. "Your mom... she wants the best for you. She just doesn't always understand how to listen to what you think 'best' means."
"I know."
"She pushes hard," he said. "But I see what you're doing now. You're not pushing back to argue. You're just trying to hold your ground."
Evelyn exhaled slowly, surprised at how seen she suddenly felt.
"I just want to have room to figure things out. Without already being told what the answers are."
Her dad gave a slow nod. "I didn't always agree with the paths my parents laid out either. And sometimes I followed them anyway. I don't know if that was strength or fear."
"Do you regret it?"
He took a moment before answering. "No. But I do wonder what would've happened if I'd listened more to my own discomfort. It's a strange thing—learning to trust that the uneasy feeling might be trying to teach you something, not scare you away."
That landed deeper than she expected.
"I'm still learning that," Evelyn said. "Adrian has been helping, in his way."
Her father raised a brow, curious but not pressing.
She chuckled. "He listens more than he talks. And when he does talk... it's never about who I should be. Just... who I already am."
"That sounds rare," he murmured. "And important."
She looked over at him, realizing this might be the first time they'd talked so openly in months—maybe years. Maybe ever.
"Thanks," she said softly.
He glanced at her again. "For what?"
"For not turning this into a lecture."
"I never saw the point of raising my voice when I knew yours was growing."
Later, in the Quiet Room
Mira found her in the upstairs guest room, where Evelyn had taken a moment to herself. Her cousin knocked softly on the doorframe.
"Hey. Mind if I come in?"
Evelyn nodded. "Sure."
Mira stepped inside, settling beside her on the small loveseat near the window. She was older by just a couple of years—had already graduated, worked part-time at a design firm, and lived in a cozy apartment a few towns away. She had always been that mix of cool and composed that Evelyn admired from afar.
"You looked like you were in a headspace," Mira said gently.
"Just processing," Evelyn replied. "I had a pretty rare heart-to-heart with my dad."
"That is rare," Mira said, amused. "Good rare or heavy rare?"
"A little of both."
Mira nodded. She was quiet for a moment, then tilted her head. "Do you ever feel like coming home makes you forget who you are outside of it?"
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Evelyn blinked. "Yes. All the time."
"I used to come back and immediately shrink," Mira said. "Like I was that fifteen-year-old again who needed approval just to wear eyeliner. Even now, I come in and start second-guessing how I speak, what I say, like I'm being reabsorbed into this family mold."
Evelyn let out a breath. "It's so validating to hear you say that."
"It took me a while to figure out that it wasn't about escaping home. It was about not letting it rewrite me every time I came back."
Evelyn nodded slowly. "I've been trying to... draw my shape. Without erasing theirs."
Mira smiled at that. "You're doing okay."
"I feel like I keep making people uncomfortable, though."
"Maybe they need that discomfort. Maybe you're helping them grow too."
Evelyn leaned her head back against the wall. "You always make things sound so balanced."
"Please," Mira scoffed. "You should've seen me cry in my car outside Aunt June's house last Easter."
They both laughed—genuine, belly-deep laughter that lingered.
As the Day Fades
That night, Evelyn journaled a little. Sketched the porch, the curve of her father's shoulder as he leaned into the light. She added a second drawing—of Mira, legs crossed at the windowsill, half turned in that exact way she listened when she meant it.
The page was captioned with a simple sentence: I think I'm learning how to stay soft in hard places.
She paused, then pulled out her phone.
Evelyn: I had a really weirdly healing day.
Adrian: Tell me everything.
And she did.
