Page 72 of The Love Bus

ON MY OWN

T he knife made a soft rhythm as it sliced through the poached chicken breast. Clean cuts, one after another, perfect little squares to ensure every bite would be flavorful.

Two days had passed since I came "home.”

Since I’d walked through Mom’s front door with my suitcase, my only logical choice until I figured out my life.

I scraped the chopped chicken into the mixing bowl and reached for the celery, dicing it next—tiny green half-moons lined up like fallen soldiers on the cutting board.

Ashley had texted a few times, but she hadn’t asked for an explanation.

Mom hadn’t either.

Why would they? The whole world already knew my business.

This quiet avoidance was something my mother and I had always been good at.

Not talking. Pretending.

One stiff hug followed by two days of tight smiles and awkward silences.

Two days of knowing that the trip I’d been encouraged to take hadn’t been for me at all, but for them.

From somewhere in the back of the house, I heard the sounds of puzzle pieces being dumped out of their box onto the dining room table—my mother’s latest way of passing the time.

She’d much rather be outside in her garden or attending one of her charity meetings, but she wasn’t quite there yet. Not while she was still recovering.

Mom could mostly get around fine with her cane now, but she still had to avoid the stairs, so I’d quietly claimed the guest room upstairs—my old room—which ultimately worked out for both of us.

I smirked to myself. Being upstairs also meant fewer run-ins, fewer conversations. I’d overheard her on the phone telling Ashley that I was hiding again.

But I wasn’t.

Not this time.

I reached for the fresh tarragon, running the leaves through my fingers before chopping, and inhaled the fragrance. It reminded me of Gran’s kitchen.

I didn’t care if the entire world thought I was hiding!

Somewhere, while staring into the void from 35,000 feet in the air—over Indiana or Ohio, not sure exactly where—I had made a decision.

When everything blew up at the station, I didn’t just walk away. I had fallen into a massive black hole. No, I hadn’t fallen, I’d jumped.

And it had been easy to blame Leo. Easy to put it all on him.

But the truth—the part I hadn’t wanted to face—was that part of me had known. I’d seen the signs, and then…ignored them.

That was what really paralyzed me.

Not just the betrayal—the shame that I let it happen.

But ever since that plane landed, a slow resolve had been building inside me.

The mayo mixed with a satisfying softness as I stirred it all together. Familiar motions. Predictable.

Babs, for all the ways she’d blindsided me, had been right about my breakup all along. There had been multiple cracks long before The Incident .

Not just cracks, canyons… grand ones.

And Noah had been right too, when he’d said The Incident was probably the best thing that could have happened.

Because otherwise…

How long would I have kept pretending?

How long would I have gone on building my life on the sand?

I wasn’t going to do that anymore.

Time for a taste. The chicken was tender, the tarragon bright, and the mayo smooth. But something was still missing. The flavors didn’t sing yet.

I reached for the salt cellar, pinching just a bit between my fingers and sprinkling it in. Stirred. Tasted again.

Better.

At eighteen, I had moved away from my family to the big city. I’d chased what I’d wanted unapologetically.

Yes, I’d been na?ve. But I’d also been fearless.

And now I needed to be stronger. I needed to take the best of who I was and anchor it to who I was now.

Even if it wasn’t always comfortable— especially if it wasn’t—even if it occasionally landed me in icy water, I would own my life again.

But I was done living like I was powerless.

Was the road ahead overwhelming? Abso-forking-lutely.

But the thing about surviving the worst—once you’ve done that, you realize you can survive just about anything.

Pepper. It needs more spice.

I grabbed the grinder, gave it a few good twists, and felt the sting hit my nose almost instantly.

“Aah, ahh…choo!” I barely turned in time before the sneeze hit.

Blinking, I dabbed at my eyes—at the tears that had nothing to do with the pepper.

Then I rinsed my hands, letting the cool water run over my fingers as my thoughts drifted again.

I hadn’t meant to fall for a guy like Noah.

Definitely hadn’t planned on falling in love.

But I had.

Which meant that in the middle of reclaiming myself, in the middle of trying to dig myself out of this massive hole, I was…

Heartbroken!

But I refused to regret it. Because loving him had been real.

I had lived again.

And it had been worth it. He had been worth it .

So, I allowed myself to live both truths.

I was hurting.

But I was also healing.

I slid the bowl into the fridge to chill and moved on to the bread, slicing it with long, even strokes.

Pep talks and resolutions were fine, but if I was also going to keep living, I had to start fixing my problems on my own—taking action, making decisions, standing on my own feet again.

So, I did what most normal people do when faced with insurmountable problems.

I went on Google.

And armed with the knowledge of the almighty internet, I made an appointment with a lawyer.

Not the hotshot my supersmart brother-in-law had lined up.

Just…a lawyer.

And yeah, maybe I was sacrificing a little clout and expertise by doing it this way. Maybe it seemed like I was cutting off my nose to spite my face.

But I wasn’t.

If I was going to reclaim my independence, it had to start here. With me. Handling my own affairs.

And honestly?

After one phone conversation with Mallory Anderson—a woman who sounded more like a no-nonsense friend than a stiff-suited attorney—I wasn’t convinced I was sacrificing anything at all.

She’d asked a ton of questions, then assigned me homework—a list of things to collect before our appointment. And somehow, hearing her calm, capable voice made me feel a little more capable, too. A little less overwhelmed.

So, I stayed busy.

Laundry. Errands. Cooking.

All the things Ashley had been doing since Mom’s accident.

Busy enough to avoid having a meaningful conversation with my mom.

Busy enough to avoid sitting still long enough to think too hard about everything else.

Because whenever I did stop, even for five seconds, my mind would drift.

To the trip. To those bright, beautiful moments that had turned bittersweet.

To Noah.

To everything that might have been but never would be.

So yeah, when I woke up from yet another Noah dream that morning, just hours before I met with Mallory, I was kind of a mess.

I was anxious. Terrified about what I might learn. But also, excited to finally take control.

And still...so damn sad. Still frustrated. Still aching over Noah.

So, I did what I always did when I needed to feel like myself again.

I cooked. And this chicken salad? It was perfectly seasoned. The bread I served beside it? Freshly baked—Gran’s recipe.

A delightful lunch for two. Not that Mom and I were talking.

Swallowing the unexpected lump in my throat, I carried the plates from the kitchen into the dining room. And without meeting Mom’s eyes, I set them down by the puzzle she’d been working on, which was still mostly just pieces.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

She studied the carefully plated food for a moment before glancing up. “You don’t have to make it so fancy, you know.”

I managed a small smile, keeping my eyes on my plate. “It’s what I do, Mom.”

That was as much as I was willing to give as I sat down across from her and picked up my fork. We ate in silence, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space between us.

This, right here, was why I didn’t come home often.

For a few minutes, we stayed there, quietly chewing, quietly avoiding.

Then her voice broke through again, softer this time. “This is delicious, Luna. Like my mom’s, but...different. Better.”

My head snapped up, surprised. Compliments like that didn’t come easily from my mother.

“It’s Gran’s recipe, but I added a pinch of tarragon,” I said, my voice steady but careful. “It complements the chicken.”

She chewed thoughtfully, then nodded. “I like it.”

Okaaay…

But just when I thought we might actually finish the meal in peace, Mom spoke again. “It was my idea for Babs not to mention we were friends. I wish you wouldn’t blame her.”

My hand froze midair, my fork hovering above the plate.

“I knew you were terribly unhappy, and I worry,” she continued in a way that somehow made it worse.

“I knew if you found out one of my friends was on the tour, you wouldn’t go.

But please, Babs was innocent for the most part.

She wanted to introduce herself properly before the bus even left Denver. ”

My throat burned. I set the fork down.

“But if she had, then you wouldn’t have had a spy, would you? You wouldn’t have had someone to report back on me.”

“Not report back,” she said, shifting. “I just wanted you to have someone… looking out for you. ”

“I didn’t need anyone looking out for me, Mom. Believe it or not, I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

She pinned her stare on me, her jaw tightening in that stubborn, familiar way—Ashley’s way, just older and harder.

Her hair was still sleek, the blond streaked with silver now. Mom carried herself tall, a few inches taller than either of her daughters.

But the eyes?

Hazel. Same as mine and Ashley’s.

And right now, they held a look I knew far too well.

“You were unraveling,” she said, as though it excused what she’d done. “Like you did after Ted broke up with you.”

“That was high school!” I snapped.

“And you missed a full week of classes.” Her voice sharpened. “You let your emotions lead you, Luna. You always have. Everything that happened with Leo on the show… You have to admit, it was…unhinged.”

The word hit like a slap.

“That trip was supposed to give you space. Time to reflect.” She shifted again, “The last thing I wanted was for you to dive into another relationship.”

I was absolutely not going to discuss Noah with her.

I’d only taken a couple bites of my chicken salad, but I didn’t care. “I have to go,” I said, grabbing my keys. “I have a meeting with my lawyer.”

When I pushed back from the table, she opened her mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to justify herself—but I didn’t wait to find out.

My exit would’ve made more of an impact if I weren’t stuck driving off in her car, but Leo and I had shared a vehicle. Yet another mistake I’d have to fix.

One more thing to untangle.

One more thing I’d do on my own.