Cracks in the Dam
Saturday came soft and slow.
Amanda found herself back at Angela’s without even thinking about it, showing up with a bag of groceries under the excuse of "forcing you to eat real food." Angela just laughed and let her in like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They cooked badly—burned the chicken, overcooked the pasta—but neither of them cared.
Spork danced around their feet, begging for scraps, and Angela kept bumping Amanda with her hip, laughing every time she almost dropped something.
After dinner, they collapsed on the couch, full and happy, a bad movie playing in the background.
Angela was stretched out beside her, bare feet tucked under a throw blanket, a half-empty wine glass balanced on her stomach.
Amanda knew she should leave.
Should make it easy.
Should not blur the lines any more than they already had.
But she didn’t move.
Angela turned her head, studying her.
"You’re thinking so loud I can hear it," Angela said, her voice low and amused.
Amanda smiled weakly, fiddling with the hem of the blanket. "Sorry."
Angela nudged her knee gently. "Don't be."
Silence stretched between them, soft but heavy.
Amanda took a breath.
"I’m scared," she said, barely louder than a whisper.
Angela didn’t flinch.
"Of what?"
Amanda picked at a loose thread. "Of… messing this up. Of ruining the only good thing I have left."
Angela was quiet for a long moment.
Then she set her wine glass aside and sat up, cross-legged, facing Amanda fully.
"You’re not going to ruin it," Angela said, steady and sure. "Not unless you want to."
Amanda blinked at her, throat tightening.
Angela smiled, soft and a little sad. "I’m here. Okay? You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to let yourself be here, too."
Amanda felt something inside her crack—not a break, but a release.
She nodded, blinking fast against the sting behind her eyes.
Angela leaned forward, brushing Amanda’s knuckles lightly with her own.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered.
Amanda squeezed her hand back.
Not a kiss.
Not a confession.
Not yet.
But something.
Something real.
Something strong enough to carry them forward.