Page 53 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
I blinked in surprise. "You already—when did you do that?"
"When I got to the office. I looked through our plan and found a list of people covered, focused on those with experience who were local and with those who mention flexibility in their availability too."
Something warm unfurled in my chest. "Okay. That's good."
Taking a breath, I continued. "The third condition: we establish new boundaries around work. No phones during meals, no emails after nine p.m., and you don't cancel on family time unless someone is literally dying."
"Done." He didn't even hesitate. "Anything else?"
I considered, then smiled slightly. "Pizza's probably getting cold."
He laughed—the first real, unguarded laugh I'd heard from him in months. "Pizza. Right. I'll warm it in the toaster oven. Should I grab the caramel corn from the car?"
"In a minute." I watched him put the pizza in to warm and then led him to the couch where we settled into our spots, next to each other. "What show did you want to marathon?"
"Whatever you want. I know you probably want to catch the new season of Gilded Age. I'd be happy to watch it. I know I complained it was too slow, but I will watch whatever you want."
I raised an eyebrow. "You hate that show."
"I hate a lot of things when I'm not really paying attention to them. But if you're watching, I'm watching."
He got up to get the pizza and plates from the kitchen, and I used the moment alone to touch the locket again. The metal had warmed against my skin, and it felt so right. When he came back, carrying plates and napkins, I noticed he'd changed into a t-shirt and shorts.
"You changed," I observed.
"I wanted to be comfortable. Plus, these clothes don't carry the smell of stress and fluorescent lighting."
I laughed despite myself. "You smell like stress?"
"According to Macy, yes. She said I've been carrying myself like someone preparing for battle instead of someone coming home to his family."
He handed me a plate and settled beside me again, closer this time but still leaving space. The pizza was still warm, the cheese perfectly melted, the basil fragrant. I realized I was hungrier than I'd thought.
"This is good," I said after a few bites.
"It's the same pizza we've been getting for fifteen years."
"I know. But it tastes different today."
He looked at me, a question in his eyes.
"Better," I clarified. "It tastes better."
We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the rain against the windows and the quiet hum of the house around us. It felt strange—foreign, almost—to be sitting here together in the middle of a weekday, no rushing, no agenda, no one needing to be anywhere else.
"Can I ask you something?" I said eventually.
"Anything."
"When you were planning all of this—the donation, the necklace—were you scared I'd say no to today? To giving us another chance?"
He set down food, considering. "Terrified," he admitted. "Because I knew that if you said no, it would mean I'd broken something I couldn't fix. And the thought of losing you, of losing us—" He shook his head. "I've never been more scared of anything in my life. I did this to us, and I couldn't turn the hands of time back."
The weight of his words settled between us. I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers. I knew this conversation wasn't just difficult for me. It was a lot for both of us.
"You didn't do this alone, Caden. I stopped fighting for us too. I started accepting the crumbs instead of asking for the whole meal."
"Why?"
