Page 28 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

It’s already dark by the time I pull up to the rental house.

I think about calling Sarah—ask her to come over, sit with me—but even the thought of talking everything through tonight is impossible.

Instead, I grab the bare essentials: comforter, pillow, phone charger, one suitcase.

I shut the door behind me and let the silence swallow me whole.

The master bedroom has a mattress with a single fitted sheet stretched tight across it. No blanket, no personality, but it’ll do. I toss my pillow and comforter down and collapse on the bed fully dressed. The moment Alayna ran from that room, whatever energy I had left drained right out of me.

Why did I think it would end gently?

Maybe because they’re my family. And we always talked things through—hard conversations around kitchen tables, tears in living rooms. But this wasn’t that. Not this time.

The weird thing? I don’t feel awful. Not like I thought I would.

Sure, the disappointment stings, and I hate how hurt they looked.

But underneath that, there’s something steadier.

Like I finally stepped onto the right path.

I’ve always been scared of change, but this kind feels different—like hope.

And even if my family isn’t cheering me on right now, I can still keep walking. Maybe they’ll catch up.

Sarah was right. It’s time to put myself first. To dream a little. Maybe even to believe I deserve more.

I pull the comforter up to my chin and sink into the unfamiliar bed. Tomorrow starts something new—and this time, I’m the one in charge of where I go. One step at a time.

My phone vibrates loud and sudden on the nightstand, dragging me out of a deep, dream-heavy sleep. I grope for it, blindly, eyes still closed.

“Hello?” My voice is rough with sleep.

“So, how did it go? Do I need to come help you pack and escape? Or did you head to work like a lunatic? You didn’t update me last night.

I’ve spent the last three hours listening to my dad explain the joys of term life insurance, and if you don’t rescue me soon, I’m running back to my apartment and into the arms of daytime television. ”

Sarah’s voice pours through the phone in a breathless rush, her words hitting me like cool water. I blink slowly, my brain still catching up.

“I just woke up,” I mumble, yawning into the phone.

Her groan is pure drama. “Should I come over? Do you need coffee? Is everyone gone for the day? Are you okay?”

I sit up, brushing sleep from my face as her questions fire off like popcorn. “No. Yes. Probably. And... maybe?”

There’s nothing from Clay or Alayna on my phone—no texts, no missed calls. Monday morning has come and gone without me. Clay’s taken Alayna to school plenty of times. But this is different. Like I’ve handed off something important. Like they’ve let me.

“Wait—did you say no ? I shouldn’t come over?” Her voice pitches up in alarm.

“Yes,” I say gently. “Don’t come to Clay’s house. ”

“What? Did that jerk talk you out of it already?”

Even without seeing her, I know she’s pacing, eyebrows knitted, mouth twisting with frustration. She’s trying to connect dots with half the picture. I smile, heart warming.

“I’m at the new place. Bring coffee and I’ll explain.”

Silence. Then a dramatic sigh of relief. “Fine. I’m grabbing coffee and coming your way. You better be ready to spill everything.”

I grin. “Bring food, too. I’m starving. Love you.”

“Love you too, brat,” she huffs, and hangs up.

I fall back onto the bed laughing. Having Sarah here, even if only for a few days, was the best decision I’ve made in a long time. She makes everything a bit lighter, even the hard stuff. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I would’ve taken this step without her.

While I wait, I wander through the little house.

The furniture is solid, clean, nothing fancy—but it all matches.

It’s a blank slate, waiting for my touch.

I run my fingers along the empty bookshelves, already picturing them filled.

I’ve never had a space that was truly mine before.

Not even my room at Clay’s—it always felt temporary, like I was passing through.

But this? This is mine.

Maybe I’ll add some plants. A splash of color here, a rug there. Maybe even a cat—if Mel doesn’t mind. The idea makes me smile. I’ve always loved cats. And it’d be nice, not being completely alone here.

My thoughts tumble faster than I can keep up. Curtains, throw pillows, maybe some framed prints. It’s not just decorating—it’s claiming the space. Breathing life into it. Turning a rental into a home.

I still need to talk to my parents eventually. There's a good chance Clay or Alayna will beat me to it. But that can wait. Today isn’t about damage control or guilt or any of the heavy stuff. Today is about beginnings .

I head toward the bathroom, ready to shower, get dressed, pull myself together. My best friend is bringing coffee and carbs, and we’ve got a full day ahead of us. Shopping, planning, dreaming a little.

And I’m going to enjoy every single minute of it.

No guilt. No second-guessing.

Just the first real step forward.

By Wednesday afternoon, the house already seems warmer.

Not in the temperature sense, but in the way light feels when it filters through a canopy of trees—gentle, familiar, golden.

Sarah and I dip into my savings and go a little wild, and I don’t regret a single cent.

With her creative eye and my cautious heart, we find a balance that feels like me—maybe the truest version of me I’ve let exist in a while.

It’s not the lease that makes this place mine. It’s laughing with Sarah in the middle of a rug aisle, arguing over lamp shades, carrying oversized plants like trophies back to the car. It’s choosing things just because I like them, because they make me feel something, because they’re mine.

Now, rainbow-colored pots dot the white bookshelves, plants spilling over like they belong there.

Clear bookends frame leather-bound copies of the stories that have carried me through different versions of myself.

I’ve added a few framed photos from my old room—Alayna at various ages, my parents smiling in grainy prints, my grandparents, and the chaotic, hilarious photo of Sarah and me mid-laugh on a mechanical bull during my twenty-first birthday.

The cream-colored couch we started with doesn’t stand a chance against Sarah’s decorating spree.

Now it’s draped with pillows in goldenrod, sage, and burnt orange.

A macrame wall hanging with little wooden beads stretches beside the door, reminding me of mountain peaks.

The rug beneath the coffee table blazes with reds and oranges—like a sunset we’ve dragged inside and dared to walk on.

This house has more than furniture now. It has personality. It has joy.

It has Sarah’s fingerprints all over it, which makes it even more like home.

I drop onto the couch with a sigh, letting my body sink into the soft cushions. “This place looks like it belongs in a magazine.”

Sarah flops beside me and leans her head against mine. “There’s something magical about starting over. It’s like your soul exhales and remembers what it’s like to be free. I’m glad I got to be here for this part.”

I slide my arm behind her, pulling her into a half hug. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

She grins. “I think I said the same thing when I finally left Trevor. And I meant it. We were always supposed to find each other.”

“I wish we’d met before high school. We would've been absolute terrors as kids.”

“Nah,” she says, eyes twinkling. “It was perfect timing. You were the first genuinely kind person I ever met. That’s why I fell for you so fast.”

“And you were the first person brave enough to stand up to Gracelyn. You had me at ‘evil spirits.’”

She laughs. “We really do have the best origin story.”

I let myself slip into the memory …

Freshman year. Third week of school. Mr. Hewitt’s Algebra class.

Sarah had recently transferred from the Catholic school across town, and Gracelyn, resident queen bee with a venomous tongue, took one look at her and decided she was a target.

The thing was, no one ever stood up to Gracelyn, because doing that typically meant immediate social suicide.

“Ew, something smells really gross,” she’d said, sniffing dramatically. “The new girl smells like she’s been rolling around in wet dirt.”

Mr. Hewitt tried to shut it down, telling her to focus on her math sheet, but Gracelyn wasn't done. “I heard you were poor. What are you, homeless or something?”

Sarah didn’t look dirty at all. Gracelyn was clearly threatened by Sarah’s effortless beauty.

She was tall and naturally lean, her hair looked like spun gold, thick and shining in the sunlight.

She had her own funky style that few could pull off, and I personally thought she looked like the coolest girl in the room.

“Seriously, Mr. Hewiit, I can’t be expected to do math when she smells so disgusting. Can’t you send her to the nurse for a shower and some decent clothes? I think that would be the charitable thing to do.” Mr. Hewitt’s mouth had dropped open, but Sarah didn’t even flinch.

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and said calmly, “It’s patchouli. Used for centuries to ward off evil spirits. Maybe that’s why it bothers you.”

I laughed—out loud, in class, in front of everyone. Sarah turned to look at me, and in that instant, I knew she was going to be important.

After class, she walked right up to my desk, grinning widely and wiggling her fingers. She asked, “Think she’s going to cast spells on me now?”

“Honestly,” I replied, “she does kind of seem like she needs an exorcism. ”

Gracelyn shoved past us, glaring daggers with her eyes. I’d never seen her back down from a fight so fast, and I figured I’d pay for it later, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I wanted to know Sarah.

“That was pretty impressive,” I beamed at her, offering her my hand. “I’m Frankie.”

“Sarah, Wearer of Patchouli.” She laughed, returning my handshake.

“I like it, my mom wears something similar. She’s a big fan of oils and herbs.”

Sarah followed me into the hallway. “You’re the first person who has been kind to me. Thanks for embracing my weirdness.”

People rushed around us to get to their next classes, and I searched my brain for something clever to say that would impress her, but all that had come out was, “Hey, weird is cool.” I cringed, but Sarah’s smile remained.

“I’ll find you at lunch. We should probably stick together, who knows how many demon friends Miss Fancy-pants has at her disposal.” Sarah squeezed my arm before heading the other way. We met for lunch that day, and every day after that, too.

Our journey to “best friends” had been instant and effortless, and she was right: it was like the universe had sent us to each other when we needed it the most.

Back in the present, Sarah pulls away and stands up. “Alright, I’m heading home. You need a little space to settle into this new life, and I’d like to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

I pout dramatically. “Fine. Go back to your fancy city life. Leave me to my peasant existence.”

She snorts. “Peasant? Please. Your life is about to get a whole lot more interesting now that Clay won’t be holding you back.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to blame Clay for that,” I say gently.

“Okay, then should I blame you?” She dodges my immediate attempt to swat at her. “Joking aside… maybe part of you was holding back. But, now you’re not.”

She pauses. “Now, what’s the plan with Roman? I always liked him, even if he was an idiot for breaking your heart. ”

Sarah means well, but I frown.

My first instinct is to defend Roman, and it surprises me a little.

I always defend the people I care about—well, besides Tasha.

That part isn’t new. What throws me is that I don’t blame Roman anymore.

Not really. For a long time, I held on to resentment, clung to the sharp edge of how he left me behind.

But standing here now, in this new chapter of my life, I can finally see it for what it was.

A gift.

It broke my heart. That summer, I felt like the biggest idiot—na?ve, discarded.

But I also learned more about myself in the years that followed than I ever could have as part of a pair.

I had to grow up, and somehow, I did—not all at once, but in small, quiet ways that added up over time: every school event I showed up to for Alayna, every time I stayed when it would’ve been easier to run, I was slowly learning how love comes through in the everyday moments.

I started to understand what love actually costs, what it means to stay, what it takes to hold your own heart together when someone else walks away.

Things you don’t fully grasp when you're young and desperate to believe in forever.

If Roman hadn’t ended it, I would’ve followed him.

I know that now. I would’ve left this town, left behind the version of me who showed up for my family, who helped raise my niece, who built a life that mattered.

I would’ve missed every moment of watching Alayna grow into the fierce, hilarious, beautiful girl she’s becoming.

I would’ve missed the chaotic, joyful partnership Clay and I forged in the wreckage of our respective heartbreaks.

We wouldn’t have raised her the way we did—not if I’d been living across the country or tangled up in someone else's future.

Somehow, in the last few weeks, the way I see all of it has shifted. The past is softer now. Wiser.

And hope—thin and bright like morning light—flickers under my skin .

Maybe Roman was never the villain in my story. Maybe he was just... early.

Maybe it wasn’t our time back then. But maybe, just maybe, it could be now.

I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I can’t deny how fast my heart beats just thinking about his name. There’s something electric in the possibility, something I haven’t felt in a long time. Not like this.

“Hey. Earth to Bestie.” Sarah shakes my shoulders, pulling me back. “Where’d you go just now?”

I blink, smiling. “Sorry. I think you’re right, Sarah.”

She raises a brow, grinning. “I’m always right. But what am I right about this time?”

I breathe in deeply, the air suddenly full of potential. “For better or worse... I think my life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.”