Page 12

Twelve

The smell of grilled meat and charcoal drifted through the warm afternoon air as I stepped into Lena’s backyard. She had been insistent over the phone that I come by that morning. I’d wanted to—but I let her beg me anyway. Laughter rippled from the deck where a group of people were already gathered, drinks in hand, easy conversation flowing. A summer cookout. Completely normal. Completely ordinary.

Exactly what I needed.

I shifted the six-pack of beer under my arm, making my way toward the cooler where Ethan stood, already popping open a can. He caught sight of me and grinned. "Look what the wind blew in."

I rolled my eyes. "You saw me literally yesterday."

"Yeah, but look at you! We wouldn’t have seen old you out two days in a row even if your life depended on it."

Lena appeared beside him, handing me a cold drink. "We should celebrate. It’s like a rebirth or something."

I snorted. "You two are dramatic."

The truth was, it did feel strange—being around people like this again. Standing in the sunlight, surrounded by warmth and laughter, no walls pressing in, no unseen weight dragging me under. It felt almost… too easy.

"Come on, let’s introduce you around," Lena said, looping her arm through mine before I could protest. "There are actual cool people here, not just Ethan. You know, the ones who actually function in society." Lena said, grabbing my wrist before I could protest.

Ethan flipped her off without looking up from his drink.

I let myself be pulled into the crowd, past groups chatting in clusters with drinks in hand. The music was low but lively, blending into the sounds of laughter and clinking bottles. More familiar faces greeted me than I expected, people I hadn’t spoken to in years but who welcomed me back like no time had passed. It was... easy. Easier than I had thought it would be. Familiar faces mixing with new ones. Names blurred together in a haze of casual greetings, but I didn’t mind. This wasn’t about making connections—it was about remembering what normal felt like.

And then my eyes landed on him.

Not in the oh my god, who is that kind of way. More like the oh, someone new in my social space kind of way. He had a boyish, easy-going face, brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He looked safe in that non-threatening, approachable way. Nice Guy? vibes.

"Dawn, this is Caleb," Lena said, nudging me. "Caleb, meet Dawn—childhood friend, recent escapee of self-imposed social isolation."

I shot her a glare. "Wow, thanks."

Caleb chuckled, offering a hand. "Good to meet you."

I shook it, polite but detached. "You too."

He didn’t immediately try to force conversation on me, which I appreciated. Instead, he fell into the natural rhythm of the group, laughing at the right moments, chiming in when needed. I found myself relaxing, sipping my drink, letting the conversation ebb and flow around me.

It was nice.

I could have this again. I could be this again.

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. The warmth of the day lingered in the air, mixed with the scent of grilled food and sunscreen. Lena had wandered off to argue with Ethan over who made the better s’mores, leaving me standing near the deck railing, watching the soft ripple of wind through the trees.

"So, what do you do?" Caleb’s voice broke through the quiet, and I turned to find him standing beside me, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Freelance graphic design,” I said, like it was the whole truth and not just the part that felt easier to swallow.

The real answer was messier.

I’d been approved for disability two years ago, after the second time I lost hours in a grocery store aisle and came back to myself in a panic attack so bad they had to sedate me. The diagnosis read like a shopping list: PTSD, major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety, dissociation. The kind of cocktail that made working full time feel like trying to sprint with broken legs.

I used to work. I used to be good at it.

But then the panic started. The memory gaps. The days where brushing my teeth felt like scaling a mountain. And when the doctor filled out the forms with words like "unable to maintain gainful employment," I felt like I was disappearing into paper.

So now I get a small deposit each month, fill out re-evaluations every six months, and pretend that "freelance" covers the gaps. Technically I still do some graphic design— pre-made templates, the occasional commission when I’m lucid enough to focus. But most of the time, I just... exist.

And sometimes surviving has to be enough.

"Software development. The kind that’s just fancy talk for sitting in front of a computer all day."

I smirked. "Sounds thrilling."

"It’s about as exciting as watching paint dry." He teased.

I chuckled, taking another sip of my drink. "At least you get paid for it."

The conversation continued, light and effortless. He asked the right questions but never pushed, kept the conversation flowing without the awkward pauses I had grown used to in my self-imposed isolation. At one point, Lena shouted something across the yard, and Caleb grinned. "I take it she’s always been the loud one?"

I laughed. "Oh, absolutely. She thinks she’s my life coach."

"And Ethan?"

I glanced toward where Ethan was engaged in a heated debate over grilling techniques. "Grumpy but dependable. Like a golden retriever with an attitude problem." Caleb didn’t pry or push, didn’t demand more than I was willing to give. He wasn’t overly charming or trying too hard. Just there. Present. Nice.

"Lena told me you’re staying with your parents for a bit," he said, tilting his head. "Just visiting, or?—?"

"Just needed a change of pace," I said smoothly, already well-practiced in the deflections.

"Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you need to step back and breathe a little."

I nodded, looking down at my phone as a new text came in—Lena, sending me a photo of Ethan struggling with a marshmallow disaster. I laughed under my breath, shaking my head. Caleb leaned in slightly, curious.

"That bad?"

I turned the screen toward him. "Ethan vs. the fire pit."

He grinned. "Tragic. But entertaining."

A comfortable pause settled between us. Then, before I could overthink it, I handed him my phone. "Here, put your number in. In case I ever need another thrilling conversation about software development."

His brows lifted, amused. "Wow. That’s a hard sell."

"Take it or leave it."

He chuckled, typing his number in before handing it back. "Guess I’ll take it."

It was nothing. Just a normal exchange between normal people in a normal situation.

I didn’t think twice about it.

But someone else would.

The night ended with drinks and laughter, lingering embers in the fire pit crackling against the cooling air. I felt good. The best I’d felt in a long time. I wasn’t fixed, wasn’t healed, but I was trying.

And that had to count for something.

I said my goodbyes, promising Lena and Ethan I’d see them soon, before heading home. The house was quiet when I arrived, my parents already asleep. I moved through the familiar motions—brushing my teeth, changing into pajamas, slipping under the covers.

My phone vibrated on the nightstand. A new message.

Caleb: Had fun tonight. Hope you survived Lena’s matchmaking attempts.

Me: Barely. You?

Caleb: Ethan's marshmallow tragedy made it all worth it.

I smiled, setting my phone down.

It was nice.

I closed my eyes, letting the night settle around me, the warmth of the day still clinging to my skin.