ARIA
By the time I finally got home, my body felt like overcooked pasta limp, drained, and barely holding together.
The house was quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fan. A beam of late-afternoon sunlight cut through the thin curtains, painting dust motes in gold. It looked peaceful, but the kind of peace that's too still. The kind that hides worry beneath it.
Mrs. Evans was sitting on the couch with her knitting basket when I walked in. "There she is," she said, smiling up at me. "How was the big first day?"
I smiled weakly, setting my bag down. "It was… eventful."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's never a good word."
"Let's just say the customers were interesting," I said, hanging my apron on the hook by the door. "Some of them more than others."
"Well, if 'interesting' pays the bills, we'll take it," she said, gathering her things. "Your dad's been resting most of the day. I gave him his noon meds and made sure he ate half his soup. He's been quieter today, though."
That familiar ache bloomed in my chest. "Thank you, Mrs. Evans. I don't know what I'd do without you."
She gave me that motherly look tnhe one that said she worried about me more than she admitted. "You'd do what you always do, sweetheart. Survive."
I smiled faintly. "Maybe. But it's nice not to do it alone."
She patted my arm, then gathered her scarf. "I'll check in tomorrow morning. You make sure you eat something before your night shift, alright?"
"Yes, ma'am."
When the door clicked shut behind her, I exhaled and leaned against the counter. Silence filled the space, heavy but comforting. I could finally breathe without pretending.
I peeked into Dad's room. He was awake, propped up on his pillows, flipping through an old magazine that was more tape than paper now.
"Hey, handsome," I teased softly, walking in.
He looked up, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You call me that because I'm your father, not because it's true."
"Untrue," I said, sitting at the edge of the bed. "You're a total heart-stopper. Just… one with a cane."
He chuckled, the sound fragile but warm. "How was work, baby girl?"
I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Busy. Loud. I spilled milk on a guy who looked like he owned the world, and somehow he still wants me to make his coffee every day."
Dad laughed, then coughed lightly. "You and your chaos. Always finding new ways to stand out."
"Yeah, well, standing out nearly got me fired."
"Then I'd say you're right on track," he said, voice teasing. "Your mother used to do the same. She called it 'leaving an impression.'"
The mention of Mom twisted something inside me, soft and painful. I forced a smile. "Guess it runs in the family."
His eyes softened. "She'd be proud of you, you know."
I looked away, blinking fast. "I don't know about that. I think she'd be yelling at me for working two jobs and not sleeping."
"She'd still be proud," he said quietly.
We sat there for a moment the air between us thick with all the words we didn't have to say.q
"Dad," I said finally, "you've been quieter lately. How are you feeling? Really?"
He sighed, leaning back against the pillow. "I've had better days, sweetheart. But don't you go worrying about me."
"I worry because I love you," I said, gently taking his hand. "That's how this works."
He squeezed my fingers lightly. "And I love you, which is why I don't want you carrying the whole world on those little shoulders. You're twenty-four, Aria. You should be out there, laughing, living, dating some guy who's terrified to meet your dad."
"Dad…" I laughed softly, shaking my head. "I don't need all that."
"You do," he said simply. "You just don't know it yet."
"I'm fine as long as I've got you."
That made him go quiet. His thumb brushed over the back of my hand, slow and thoughtful. "We've lost a lot, haven't we?"
I swallowed. "We still have each other. That's what matters."
He nodded slowly. "When your mother and sister died… I didn't think I'd make it through. I remember waking up every morning hoping it was all a nightmare. But then I'd see you. You gave me something to live for again."
Tears prickled at my eyes. "You don't have to say that, Dad."
"I do." He paused, his gaze drifting to the window. "Back then, I went back to work too soon. I thought if I kept busy, I wouldn't feel the hole inside me. Your mother used to tell me I was too proud to fall apart."
He smiled faintly. "She was right."
I rested my chin on my hand, listening. I'd heard bits and pieces of this story before, but never like this.
" I don't think you remember but I used to drive for a family," he continued, voice softer now. "Good people, mostly. The Grays..Martin Gray was an okay man. Hard, but fair. His wife…" He trailed off and chuckled humorlessly. "Well. She was something else. Cold as winter, that woman. But their kids.."
I always like moments like this when he is talking so much, so I listen keenly.
He hesitated, his eyes distant. "There was one boy, about your age now. Dalton. Smart kid. Quiet. Always seemed older than he was. I used to drive him to school, to lessons, everywhere. He never said much, but he'd always thank me. Always."
Something about the name tugged at me, faint and forgotten. "You liked him?"
"I did," Dad said. "He didn't have much of a father around. Martin was always traveling and working. So, I tried to be there for him, his brother was a 'brat' so he didn't associate with staff. But not Dalton, We talked sometimes, when he let me. He was lonely, though he'd never admit it. Kids like that they grow up before they should."
I nodded, absorbing every word.
"What happened?" I asked quietly.
"Martin died," Dad said after a pause. "Heart attack. It was sudden. The whole family fell apart after that. Mrs. Gray blamed everyone and everything, including me. Fired me out of nowhere. Said I was neglecting my duties, that I'd missed too many days."
My chest tightened. "That's awful."
He nodded slowly. "I'd taken a few days off to grieve your mum and Olivia. I told Martin, and he understood. But after he passed shortly after , she didn't care. Said if I ever stepped foot on their property again, she'd have me arrested. I never even got to say goodbye to Dalton."
The sadness in his voice hollowed something inside me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He gave me a small, weary smile. "Life moves on, baby girl. You learn to bend, or you break."
We sat in silence for a while after that. The sound of the ceiling fan filled the space, steady and soft.
Then he looked at me again. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"When I'm gone..."
"Dad."
He held up a hand, gentle but firm. "Just listen. When I'm gone, I don't want you giving up your life for mine. Don't let the pain turn you into me a man who stopped living and just… existed. You've got so much ahead of you, Aria. Promise me you'll live it."
I bit my lip hard, nodding even though it hurt. "I promise. But you're not going anywhere."
He smiled faintly. "If only promises could change fate."
My throat tightened, and I forced a bright tone. "Alright, that's enough depressing talk. Let's get you dinner. We have talked enough for today."
He laughed softly. "Now that's the spirit."
I made him soup the instant kind because that's all we could afford and toasted bread on the pan until it was just burnt enough to be "crispy." He ate half of it, and I pretended it was plenty.
We talked about little things the neighbor's noisy dog, Mrs. Evans's obsession with reality TV, the way our old car made that squeaky sound whenever I hit a bump.
By the time I helped him back into bed, he was fading fast, exhaustion weighing down every breath.
"Sleep, Dad," I whispered, tucking the blanket under his chin.
He smiled weakly. "Wake me up before you leave for work tonight."
"I will."
He was asleep before I finished speaking.
I stood there for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall. The soft wheeze with every breath scared me more than I wanted to admit.
When I finally left the room, I sat at the kitchen table, head in my hands. The bills on the counter stared back at me like silent judges. Rent due. Medical expenses pending. And the little sticky note with my insulin refill date circled in red.
It all blurred together, a storm I couldn't stop.
I wanted to cry. God, I needed to. But crying didn't fix anything. So, I didn't.
I just breathed. In and out. Slow and steady.
At 8:30, I pulled on my night-shift uniform the one that still smelled faintly of bleach and cheap perfume
and grabbed my keys. The motel wasn't far, thank God. Jake, the guy who took over after me, always walked me to my car before I left. Said he didn't trust the dark streets.
Neither did I.
Before stepping out, I looked back at Dad's door one more time.
He looked so small in that bed. So fragile.
"I'll figure it out," I whispered. "I promise."
The night air hit me like a slap cold, sharp, full of noise and city lights.
Another shift. Another fight to keep everything from falling apart.
And yet at the back of my mind i cant help but think of a certain arrogant coffee addict I met today.