Page 11 of Peripheral Vision (Tethered in Darkness Duet #1)

I return to the house and continue to work on unpacking, this time immediately working on the dining table before Clara and Grant arrive.

I don’t want to be rude and have to have them sit uncomfortably amongst the half-emptied boxes and items strewn about in the living room.

The dining room table is much smaller than the one I had to sell in order to make one fit at all, going from an eight-seater to four.

I hope to host enough to fill out the other three chairs, maybe then the isolation won’t feel so foreboding.

I check the clock as I’m screwing on the last leg, noting it to be about seven-thirty p.m. The sun has gone down, but a warm breeze still flows through the sliding door I have cracked open.

I organize the chairs in their respective places before I begin rummaging for my table set and dinnerware that’s still MIA in one of the boxes.

Somehow, the box that they’re in didn’t get labeled properly.

As I’m on the hunt there is a knock at the door once more, and this time when I go to open it, it’s Clara and Grant bearing a bottle of red, a pan of stuffed manicotti, breaded chicken, and rolls.

“Oh, and this was out waiting on the driveway for you.” Grant extends the package I purposely left outside to me, and I grab it as I don’t want to tell them the reason why it was still out there.

“Thank you, please come in. I just finished putting the table together but I’m still looking for the dinnerware, so it might be a few minutes until we can eat. I’m so sorry.” I close the door as they enter and set the package on top of the couch as we approach the kitchen and dining room.

“Not to worry, we foreshadowed that potential problem and brought disposables,” Clara says as she unpacks the shoulder bag she was carrying with serving utensils, paper plates, forks, napkins, and classic red solo cups.

“However, we are happy the table is set up. These old bones aren’t what they used to be. ”

I try to hide my chuckle behind a polite cough as Clara carefully arranges the plastic plates and cups on the makeshift dining table.

"I get that. I mean, I can’t compare at the ripe old age of twenty-two, but the idea of sleeping on the couch over my own bed made me cringe, so I had to prioritize.

” Grant grins and pulls a bottle opener from his pocket.

"I can’t say I blame you. Though, depending on the couch, they can almost be as comfy as a bed.

" He looks around at the unpacked boxes still stacked in the corner. "You’ve made good progress. It’s starting to feel like a home.

" I nod and glance around, a little overwhelmed by the chaos that still lingers. The newness of the place feels both comforting and slightly suffocating. There’s more to be done, but at least there’s a semblance of order now.

“I swear, moving always feels like the bane of my existence, having done it so much over the years. I hope this is the last time in a long time that I have to,” I say, starting to peel open one of the remaining boxes near the kitchen island.

It’s mostly kitchen gadgets: pans, a blender, all the odds and ends you don’t realize are important until you need them.

“It’s like I’m crossing one thing off and three new things pop up.

The worst part is how the more I unpack, the more I realize I’m missing.

” I cringe, thinking of all the things I left behind at Dad and I’s old place, all of the things I chose to get rid of.

Clara glances over with a knowing smile. “You'll find your rhythm soon. You just need a little more time. And a little more wine.” She pops the cork on the bottle of red, pouring generous amounts into the three glasses already set out on the counter.

“Speaking of which,” Grant adds, handing me a glass, “I know the place isn’t large, but how long do you think it’ll take before you’re fully settled? A few weeks? A month?”

“Maybe two,” I answer, taking a sip of the wine.

It’s smooth, the kind of drink that makes the stress of moving and everything else feel just a little more manageable.

“Honestly, it depends on how soon I can compartmentalize and get things squared away with school as well. In retrospect, finding my dinnerware doesn’t seem as important now. ”

There’s a quick moment of silence and I fear that maybe I’ve said the wrong thing; after all, not everyone is attuned to the girl with a dead dad.

But then, Clara bursts out laughing. “Of course! But hey, no rush. And if you need a break, we’re happy to distract you with food.

” She gestures toward the manicotti, which is giving off a mouth-watering aroma.

I breathe in deeply. “You’re not wrong about that,” I admit, my stomach suddenly reminding me it hadn’t been fed properly all day. “This smells amazing. Thank you both for bringing it.”

“It was a group effort,” Grant replies with a wink.

“But don’t thank us yet, we still have to see if it actually tastes good.

” We gather around the table, seating ourselves, and begin to plate our meals.

As I take the first bite, the tension in my shoulders eases, the warmth of the food and company grounding me for the first time today.

“Okay,” I say between mouthfuls, “I’ll admit it. I really needed this. But it’s going to be a while before I can have this place feeling like home.”

Clara smiles, raising her glass. “And that’s completely okay. One step at a time.”

Grant gives a mock salute. “We’ll help, of course. You’re not alone in this.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Just don’t expect us to rearrange furniture. We’re at the age where lifting a couch requires a solid week of recovery.”

“Noted,” I reply, laughing. “I’ll keep you to light duties, like making sure the wine is never empty.

” With that, the conversation drifts to other topics: stories of how Clara and Grant had found each other, the challenges of navigating parental approval on both ends “back in their day” as they put it, and the bizarre things that happen when you least expect them.

For a moment, I forget about the cluttered boxes and the stress of settling in.

I even almost forgot about the pain of leaving home.

The house feels a little less empty now, even if it’s far from being fully unpacked.

After dinner, we linger over wine and conversation, the soft hum of the evening turning into something more comfortable.

I pull out my phone and start a playlist, filling the room with music as the last of the food disappears from the table.

But I can’t stop myself from glancing at the box still sitting on the couch, the one I’d left out there earlier.

I had wanted to open it, but something—some hesitation—kept me from doing it.

It wasn’t important, really. I imagine it’s just a housewarming gift from Thea, maybe a gag gift since she’s done just about anything these days to get me to crack a smile.

Still, the suspicion gnaws at me almost as much as my curiosity.

When I look up, Clara and Grant are deep into a story about a vacation mishap involving a cruise, some booze, and bingo, and I decide it can wait a little longer. For now, the house feels like it’s finally beginning to take shape, even if the rest of my life is a bit outside the lines.

But maybe, just maybe, I’ll figure it out.