Page 37 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

When we pull into the driveway of my new place, Alayna stares up at the little brick house with wide, adoring eyes.

“It’s cuter than I expected,” she sighs. “It really feels like home. I guess that means… you’re not coming back, huh?”

“Wait ’til you see the inside.” I wink as I turn off the car. “I think you’re really going to love it.”

She tosses her backpack into the backseat before hopping out.

She’s been unusually quiet during the drive, and I’ve given her the space to settle after such a long, emotionally loaded day.

As I unlock the front door, I watch her closely, heart thudding.

I hold it open and let her walk through first.

I hesitate on the threshold—my stomach twisting with something warm and nervous. I want her to see this place as more than just mine.

I want her to feel like it’s hers, too.

To know I’m still her home.

Her eyes roam the small living room, lingering on the framed photos and the cluster of plants on nearly every surface.

She steps deeper inside, fingertips skimming the back of the couch as she drifts toward the kitchen.

I close the door behind us and drop my purse and canvas tote on the entry table.

“It’s like someone climbed into your head and barfed it all over this place,” she teases, but her voice is thin—and when she turns back to face me, her little face crumples.

“Oh, baby girl.” I cross the room in a second and pull her close, holding her tight and rubbing gentle circles on her back. The familiar smell of her shampoo surrounds me, and I blink fast, trying to keep my own tears in check.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“It’s nothing,” she mumbles into my neck. “It’s… it’s perfect.”

“Then why are you crying, Layna-bug?”

She pulls back and wipes her nose on the sleeve of her hoodie. “I wanted to hate this place so I could convince you to come home—but I don’t hate it, Keke. I think you’re really going to be happy here.”

I press my hands to her shoulders and meet her eyes. “You mean we? We are going to be really happy here. You can stay with me anytime you want, okay?”

Alayna nods, her smile watery but real. “Yes, we. ”

“Alright. Now that that’s settled, let’s go lie on your bed so you can tell me all about this kissing Derek business.” I gently steer her down the hall.

“I knew you were dying to bring that up.” She laughs.

“What? Me? Never. I’m the picture of restraint,” I say, nudging her playfully.

Inside her room, I flick on the light. Alayna gasps at the sight of the queen-sized bed, the bronze frame catching the light just so.

I’ve draped a textured sage green blanket at the foot of the fluffy white comforter, and added floating shelves filled with photos of her and her friends, with a few trailing plants softening the corners.

The room smells like clean linen and greenery .

“It’s perfect,” she breathes, then spins around and crashes into me, wrapping her arms around my middle. “I love it. And I love you.”

“Okay, now lie down next to me and spill your guts, kid—I want all the details about that kiss.”

We snuggle under the throw blanket, her head resting against mine, our hands laced together. She giggles like she can barely contain it.

“It happened last weekend,” she begins. “Derek asked me to meet him at the park to run lines, and when I got there, he suggested we sit on that big rock along the walking path so we wouldn’t disturb anyone.”

“Ah, so he wanted you all to himself?” I bump her shoulder lightly, and she giggles again.

“I guess so. We were sitting on that rock, and he started reciting his lines—then said, ‘Let’s try Act 1, Scene 5,’ and I must’ve looked like I was about to pass out, because he added, ‘or not?’”

“That’s the kissing scene you’ve been so nervous about, right?”

She nods. “But Keke, I wanted to—I really did. So I started saying my lines, and instead of making me feel awkward, he joined right in. And when he said, ‘Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take,’ I closed my eyes and leaned in…”

My breath catches. I squeeze her hand. “You brave little thing.”

“He was so gentle,” she whispers. “His fingers felt like flower petals on my cheeks, and his lips were like a whisper against mine. And when he pulled back, I just… I wanted him to do it again. I said, ‘Kiss me again, Derek,’ and he goes, ‘I think that’s my line.’ Then he did it—kissed me again. We just kept kissing, like, forever.”

“So it was everything you dreamed a first kiss would be?” I murmur, eyes slipping shut as my own first kiss flickers through my memory—sweet, shaky, and unforgettable .

“It was better. You were right—it was like magic.”

“I’m happy for you.” I kiss the top of her head. “And now you know—Summer was wrong. First kisses can be magical.”

“I was so worried it’d be gross. When I told Summer how great it was, she was pretty jealous. I guess she picked the wrong guy for hers.”

She keeps talking, her voice light and dreamy—about Derek, the school dance, the play.

She hasn’t told Clay much yet, but she promises to bring it up over dinner tonight.

I’m glad she still wants her dad in the loop.

Even though things between Clay and me are still awkward, we’ll figure it out.

Being a good dad has always come naturally to him.

Eventually, Alayna quiets, her eyes fluttering shut as she snuggles in closer. Even with her growing up, I’m thankful moments like this are still comforting for both of us.

We lay there for a while, hands clasped, soaking in the stillness. I treasure these moments—this fragile, beautiful in-between. My little girl is growing up, and she is somehow, impossibly, cooler than I ever was. Watching her bloom is going to be the greatest privilege of my life.

I let out a soft sigh—then her phone buzzes loudly in her pocket. She startles and pulls it free, glancing at me nervously.

“It’s Dad.”

“Answer it,” I say gently. “It’s okay, Layna-bug—we’re still a family. Things just look a little different now.”

She sits up and gives me a quick, questioning look before answering. “Hey, Dad.”

I hear Clay’s voice ask if she’s ready for dinner, and I nod at her again.

“Yeah, Keke will bring me home now. Her place is really nice—you’d hate it,” she teases.

Clay laughs in the background, and I ruffle her hair. “Come on, kid. I’ll take you home.”

She talks with Clay about tacos and rehearsals while we get in the car, settling back into our rhythm. “Okay, Dad, I’m hanging up. I’ll see you in a sec.” She tosses her phone into her lap and turns to me. “This was nice—I’m glad I came. Next time I’ll bring some of my stuff.”

“I’d like that,” I say, smiling. “Now pay attention so you know how to get here.”

Less than two minutes and three turns later, we pull into her driveway.

“Okay, you’re right—we’re practically neighbors. It’s not far at all.” She opens the door and grabs her backpack from the backseat, then circles around to my window.

“I told you, you’re welcome anytime. I’ll get you your own key this weekend.”

She hesitates, pulling that face—the same sheepish grimace she made the day she accidentally lost my favorite scarf. The hair on the back of my neck prickles as she shuffles her feet, kicking at some leaves.

“Uh, by the way, Grandma and Grandpa know you moved out, and they’re pretty peeved you didn’t tell them yourself. So you should probably call them. Just thought you should know. I love you—bye!”

She sprints toward the front door, blasting past Clay—who waves from the porch—and disappears inside without a backward glance.

All that bonding, all that crying—and she waited until the very end to drop that little bomb like a mic.

That little twerp.

She really is a Hale.

They say chamomile and lavender tea help with anxiety. So to be safe, I drink a cup of each before dialing my mother’s number.

It barely rings once before she answers.

“Oh my word, you’re alive.” She huffs into the phone like I’ve been lost at sea. “Frank! Our daughter is on the phone!”

She yells so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

“It’s a miracle,” Dad chimes in from somewhere in the background, as dry as ever.

“Where have you been? I don’t like having to hear about your life from my granddaughter.

Especially not when she shows up at our house Friday afternoon in tears, talking about how you moved out and didn’t tell anyone.

Clay brought her straight from school, the poor thing was just a mess. And he didn’t look much better.”

So that’s where she went after school the day Betty said Clay picked her up early. She hadn’t just skipped out—she’d gone to them. Told them everything.

“She kept saying she didn’t understand, that you were just gone. That you packed up your room and left them behind. We kept her here all weekend, trying to reassure her, but honestly, we were hoping you’d call. Every time the phone rang, I thought maybe it would be you.”

Guilt tightens around my chest, sharp and familiar.

“I’ve been around. I was going to talk to you about everything eventually, Mom.”

And then Mom launches into her tirade, right on schedule.

“Eventually? You moved out. You moved out and didn’t tell anyone.

What kind of person does something like that?

How could you just leave Clay and Alayna without discussing it with Clay first?

And not even a call to your own parents?

Did I raise you this way? Was it something I did wrong? ”

Classic Mom—somehow making it about her.

“Mom, put me on speaker so I can talk to you both,” I say, massaging the bridge of my nose. I set the phone on the counter and tap it to speakerphone .

“Hello, my sweet daughter,” Dad says warmly. “Glad to finally hear from you.”

“Hi, Dad.” I press my forehead against the cool countertop, taking a breath. “How’s the shop? I talked to Mike on Friday when I stopped in for building supplies. He said things were running smoothly. Was he lying to save face?”

Dad chuckles, low and easy, and some of the knots in my chest begin to loosen. “I could run that store in my sleep, kid. We’re fine. How’s set design coming? Anyone lose a finger yet?”

Mom shrieks in horror, and I can practically see her smacking his arm. She’s seen enough real accidents over the years—she doesn’t do injury jokes.

“We’re actually ahead of schedule. And, knock on wood, no injuries to report.”

“That’s my girl. I knew you’d run a tight ship.”

“Alright, you two have talked shop enough. Now answer my questions,” Mom scolds. I hear Dad mutter something about being nice, but we both know it won’t help.

“You’re asking why I didn’t say anything about moving?” I start pacing, dragging a hand through my hair. “Because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“Well, of course we would have!” Mom snaps. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it was time I got my own place. And you know what? It’s pretty great. And to be fair, I didn’t just leave. I tried to talk to them about my choice over dinner, and they didn’t take it well. But I didn’t just pack up and slink off into the night, okay?”

“Proud of you,” Dad says, and another shriek escapes from Mom.

“You’re renting Mel’s place?” she asks after a beat, the edge in her voice softening. “That little brick house on Elm?”

“Yes.” I exhale slowly. “It’s charming, it’s clean, and it’s only two blocks from Alayna. ”

Mom sighs—long and dramatic, the kind she’s perfected over a lifetime of mothering. “Fine. But stop leaving me out of the loop, Frankie. I’m your mother. I don’t want to hear about your life secondhand. I want to hear it from you.”

“I love you, kid,” Dad says. “I’m heading to bed.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The line clicks off speakerphone, and Mom’s voice shifts into something softer.

“I don’t want you to be alone your whole life,” she admits quietly.

I hear the crinkle of a tissue box, know she’s pulling out two tissues just in case.

“I want you to have someone to boss around the way I do your father. You’d be great at that. ”

I laugh, despite myself. “I mean, yeah, I probably would.”

She chuckles through her sniffles. “Listen, honey. If you’re hurting, or confused, or if something’s wrong—just tell me. I don’t need the whole soap opera, but I do want to be part of your life.”

“I have some plans in the works,” I say, choosing each word with care. “Things I want to share with you and Dad. About the hardware store and…”

I hesitate. Does saying it out loud tempt fate? Roman and I are still... undefined. But I’ve kept Mom in the dark for so long, and maybe this moment is a thread I should tug.

“And what, sweetie?” she prods gently.

“And there’s someone who means something to me,” I say, quiet but sure. “If things go the way I hope, I’ll tell you all about him.”

It’s not the juicy gossip she’s dying for, but it’s what I can give her right now.

“I’d like that,” she says, her voice watery.

Guilt pinches at my chest. I’ve ghosted her the same way Alayna ghosted me earlier. And I know how that feels. It sucks.

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant. I’ll do better. I promise.”

We talk a little longer—about her garden, Dad’s stubborn knees, and the new brunch place she’s obsessed with.

By the time I agree to plan a family dinner—including Clay and Alayna—and stop by this weekend to talk about the shop, she’s scribbled dates into her calendar like they’re binding legal contracts.

One more family drama, sorted.

Even if Alayna totally meddled and forced my hand, I guess… all’s well that ends well. Or however that saying goes.