jo

every milestone had your fingerprints on it, just like she had hers on yours, something steady and unspoken threading through everything you’d built so of course the night was planned, of course it was thoughtful, because that’s how paige loved you—quietly, consistently, in ways that didn’t need to be loud to mean everything.

she’d made the reservation days ago—one of those quiet dallas spots tucked between glass buildings and warm streetlights, the kind where the air smells faintly like expensive perfume and wine you pretend to understand, where conversations blur into a low hum and everything feels just a little more intimate than it should, like the world has been dimmed down to just the two of you. 

she shows up with flowers, of course she does, because five years in and she still treats you like the first time you said yes, like there’s still something to win, something to prove, even though she’s had you for so long now. 

they’re not dramatic flowers either, nothing loud or overwhelming, just something small and thoughtful, your favorite without you ever having to remind her, the kind of detail that lives in the quiet corners of love where most people forget to look and for a second, when she hands them to you—fingers brushing yours, that familiar warmth settling into your chest like something you’ve memorized so deeply it feels instinctive—you think this is it, this is the life you built, easy and steady and yours in a way that doesn’t ask questions, in a way that feels complete without needing to prove itself to anyone else.

“you look pretty.” she says, casual, like it doesn’t mean anything, like she hasn’t just tilted your entire night with something so simple.

you roll your eyes, but you’re already smiling, already giving in the way you always do, because loving her has never been something you’ve known how to resist. “you say that every time.”

“because it’s always true.”

and god, you hate how she still makes your heart trip over itself like that, like five years hasn’t taught it how to be normal around her, like it still stumbles and rushes and forgets how to breathe properly. five years of this, of her hand finding yours under tables without thinking, of late-night practices turning into conversations that stretch until the sky starts to lighten and neither of you remembers how they started, of learning each other in pieces and then all at once, of dallas becoming home in a way you didn’t expect when she first signed with the wings, when everything felt temporary and uncertain and a little too fast. 

you were there for all of it, every shift, every doubt, every quiet victory that didn’t make headlines but meant everything anyway as five years of building something quiet and solid, something people look at and assume must already have the next step planned out, because that’s what they always ask, isn’t it, at every reunion, every holiday, every passing comment that lingers just a second too long.

so, when are you two having kids? it settles into you even now, tucked somewhere in the back of your mind like a splinter you stopped trying to pull out, something small but constant, something that only really hurts when you press on it too hard.

you don’t get to sit with it long, though, because your phone buzzes against the table, sharp and sudden and out of place in a night that was supposed to be smooth, once, then twice, then again, insistent in a way that pulls your attention whether you want it or not you frown, glancing down at the screen, and paige notices immediately—she always does, her expression shifting just slightly, her focus narrowing in on you like the rest of the room has fallen away, like nothing else matters once something feels off with you.

“everything okay?”

you don’t answer right away, because the message doesn’t make sense at first, not really, your brain catching on certain words but refusing to piece them together—your sister’s name, hospital, emergency, can you take her and your stomach drops before your thoughts can fully catch up, before you can make it something manageable instead of something that feels too big all at once.

“hey,” paige leans forward now, voice softer, steadier, grounding in a way you didn’t realize you needed. “what is it?”

you swallow, reading it again like it might change, like the words might rearrange themselves into something less urgent, less real, but they don’t, they stay exactly as they are, heavy and immediate and impossible to ignore.

“my—” your voice catches, and you hate that it does, hate how quickly the calm slips through your fingers. “my brother-in-law’s in the hospital. something with his appendix, they think. my sister’s with him but—” you pause, exhaling shakily, trying to keep your thoughts from tangling over each other. “they need someone to take lila.”

lila, your niece, four years old with soft curls that never quite stay in place and bright, curious eyes that seem to hold more emotion than they should at that age, with sticky hands that always reach for yours the second she sees you like you’re something steady in her world, something she doesn’t have to question paige doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second, not even long enough to consider what this does to the night she planned so carefully or how long she’s been looking forward to it.

“okay,” she says, already pulling her phone out, already shifting gears like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “we’ll go get her.”

we, it’s always we, always something shared, something that belongs to both of you without needing to be defined as you blink at her, still caught somewhere between the life you were about to have for the night and the one that’s suddenly replaced it.

“paige, the reservation—”

“we can cancel.”

“the flowers—”

she shrugs, like it’s nothing, even though you know better, even though you saw the way she checked the time earlier, making sure everything would line up perfectly. “she’s more important.”

just like that, the night shifts, not in a way that feels like it’s falling apart, but in a way that feels like it’s being rewritten, reshaped into something you didn’t plan but somehow still fits just as naturally as anything you would have chosen.

lila answers the door in mismatched socks and a t-shirt that hangs too big on her small frame, eyes lighting up the second she sees you like you’ve just given her the best surprise she could’ve asked for.

“auntie!” she launches herself at you, small arms wrapping around your legs, and whatever tension was sitting in your chest melts instantly, replaced by something warmer, something easier that you didn’t even realize you needed.

“hey, bug,” you murmur, crouching down to pull her close, pressing a quick kiss to her hair that smells faintly like whatever shampoo your sister bought last. “missed me already?”

“yes,” she says, completely serious, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like there’s no version of reality where she wouldn’t.

paige’s hand settles at the small of your back, steady and familiar, grounding you without drawing attention to itself. “hey, lila,” she adds, softer, and lila turns immediately, her grin somehow widening.

“paigey!”

that’s when it becomes obvious—immediately, overwhelmingly obvious that you are not the favorite this weekend, not even close, not even competing. because the second paige crouches a little, opening her arms just slightly, lila doesn’t even hesitate before reaching for her instead, abandoning you mid-hug like you were just a checkpoint on the way to where she actually wanted to be. 

paige laughs, surprised but easy about it, lifting her up like she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there, and lila just melts into her, small arms wrapping around her neck like she’s not planning on letting go anytime soon.

“hi, paigey,” she says again, softer this time, like it means more up close, like she’s been waiting specifically for this part while you let out a quiet, offended huff. “okay. wow. i see how it is.”

lila doesn’t even look at you not once.

she’s too busy pressing her cheek against paige’s shoulder, already settling in like she’s claimed her spot for the entire weekend, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt like if she loosens her grip even a little someone might take her away.

paige glances at you, amused, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. “i think you’ve been replaced.”

“you think?” you mutter, but there’s no real bite to it, just something softer, something that settles in your chest in a way you don’t expect.

“you ready for a sleepover?” paige asks, adjusting her hold like she’s done it a thousand times.

lila pulls back just enough to look at her, eyes wide. “really?!”

“really.”

“with snacks?”

“obviously.”

“and movies?” paige glances at you briefly before looking back at her, her voice warm in a way that feels effortless. “as many as you can stay awake for.”

lila gasps like she’s just been handed the best deal of her life and then immediately buries her face back into paige’s shoulder like she never plans on leaving it, and you realize then that this isn’t just excitement, it’s attachment, immediate and intense and completely unfiltered in the way only kids can manage.

the weekend unfolds in layers of that same energy, lila glued to paige in a way that becomes almost ridiculous, like she’s decided, without discussion, that paige is her person for the next forty-eight hours and nothing is going to change that. 

she follows her everywhere, small footsteps trailing right behind hers, reaching for her hand before she even thinks to ask, climbing into her lap the second she sits down like it’s the most natural thing in the world when paige tries to stand up at one point, lila tightens her grip around her neck and mumbles a quiet “no.” like that settles it, like movement is no longer allowed.

“lila,” you laugh softly, leaning against the counter as you watch them, “you’re gonna have to let her breathe at some point.”

“no!” she repeats, firmer this time, face tucked into paige’s hoodie, paige just shrugs, completely unbothered, one hand rubbing slow circles over lila’s back like it’s instinct. “i think i’m fine.”

she is, that’s the thing, she doesn’t look overwhelmed or unsure or even slightly out of place, she looks comfortable, settled into it like this is something she’s always known how to do, like taking care of someone small and soft and completely dependent isn’t something new, it’s just another extension of who she already is.

there are pancakes in the morning that turn into more batter on the counters than in the pan because lila insists on helping paige specifically, standing on a chair beside her and handing her things she doesn’t need just to be involved, just to be close there are cartoons where lila refuses to sit anywhere except pressed against paige’s side, occasionally looking up at her instead of the screen like she’s more interesting than whatever’s playing. 

there’s a moment in the afternoon where you try to pull her away to wash her hands and she actually pouts, reaching back toward paige like you’re taking her from somewhere she belongs. “she’s really attached.” you say quietly later, watching as lila dozes off against paige’s chest, completely knocked out like she spent all her energy just existing this close to her.

paige looks down at her, something soft settling over her features, something quieter than you’re used to seeing. “yeah.” she murmurs, careful not to move too much. “i noticed.” and then, after a second, almost like she doesn’t mean to say it out loud. “i don’t mind.”

you don’t respond right away, because there’s something in the way she says it, something deeper than just this weekend, something that lingers a little too long to be brushed off as nothing.

the rest of the time passes the same way, lila orbiting paige like she’s the center of something important, like everything else is secondary, and you exist somewhere just outside of it, watching it happen in real time, feeling something unfamiliar settle in your chest that you don’t quite name but don’t push away either and then sunday comes too fast, like it always does when something matters more than you expected it to.

your sister texts that they’re back, that everything’s okay, that they’ll come pick up lila in an hour, and you read it twice before you say anything, like you’re trying to slow the moment down just by holding onto it a little longer.

“she’s going home.” you say eventually, your voice quieter than before paige nods, but her hand doesn’t stop moving against lila’s back, slow and absentminded, like she’s not ready for that to change yet.

when you tell lila, she doesn’t react at first, like she didn’t hear you, like the words didn’t quite land where they were supposed to but then she lifts her head, blinking sleepily, and looks between the two of you like she’s trying to understand.

“home?” she asks. “yeah, bug,” you say gently. “mommy’s coming to get you.”

her face falls not in a dramatic, not loud, just quiet and immediate in a way that hurts more than anything else could.

“but…” her voice wobbles, small hands tightening in paige’s shirt. “i stay with paigey.”

paige exhales softly, something in her expression shifting as she adjusts her hold, pulling her just a little closer. “hey,” she murmurs, brushing a curl back from her face. “you gotta go home, okay?”

lila shakes her head, quick and stubborn, burying her face into paige’s shoulder like if she can’t see it, it won’t happen. “no. i stay.”

you swallow, glancing at paige, but she’s already focused on her, already handling it in that quiet, steady way she does everything.

“listen,” paige says softly, not forcing, not rushing, just patient. “you can come back, yeah? this isn’t the last time.” lila sniffles, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes glassy. “promise?”

but something about that—something about the way she asks it, like it matters more than anything else—makes your chest tighten paige doesn’t hesitate.

“promise.”

lila studies her for a second like she’s deciding whether to believe it, and then slowly, reluctantly, she nods, but she doesn’t let go, not until the very last second, not until your sister is at the door and gently coaxing her away, not until her fingers finally loosen from paige’s shirt like it physically hurts to do it.

“bye, paigey.” she says, small and sad, reaching for her one more time paige crouches down, pulling her into one last hug, tighter this time. “bye, bug. i’ll see you soon, okay?”

lila nods against her, but she still looks back twice before she leaves, like she’s not sure she wants to walk away at all.

when the door finally closes, when the apartment settles back into something quieter, something emptier it lingers that feeling yet that shift.

you look at paige, and she’s already looking at you, something unreadable but soft sitting right beneath the surface, and neither of you says it out loud but it’s there, clear as anything, this wasn’t just a weekend, it was something else entirely. 

it lingers in the quiet that follows, in the way the apartment feels bigger now, emptier in a way that doesn’t quite make sense because nothing actually changed, nothing is missing that wasn’t always gone before, and yet it feels like something was there, something warm and loud and alive that settled into the space so naturally you didn’t even notice it happening until it was gone. 

the cartoons aren’t playing anymore, the countertops are wiped clean, the small socks that had been abandoned near the couch are folded and set aside, and still, somehow, the echo of her laughter sticks to the walls like it hasn’t decided to leave yet.

paige doesn’t move right away, still standing where she had crouched to hug lila goodbye, like her body hasn’t caught up to the fact that there’s no one there to hold anymore, like her hands are still expecting something small to reach back for her. 

you watch the way she exhales slowly, the way her shoulders drop just slightly, not heavy, not upset, just more aware, like she felt it too, whatever this was, whatever settled into both of you over the last two days without asking permission.

“it’s quiet.” you say finally, your voice softer than you expect it to be, like speaking too loudly might break something fragile still hanging in the air.

paige huffs a small breath that almost turns into a laugh, but not quite. “yeah,” she murmurs, straightening up, her hand dragging absentmindedly over the back of her neck. “a little too quiet.”

you lean back against the counter, arms crossing loosely as you watch her, taking in the way she moves through the space now, slower than before, like she’s noticing things she didn’t earlier, like every corner holds some small reminder of the weekend she walks past the couch, pauses for half a second like she’s about to sit, then doesn’t, like she forgot what she was going to do once she got there.

“you miss her already.” you say, not teasing, not really, just stating something that feels obvious.

paige glances at you, something flickering in her expression before she looks away again, like she’s deciding how honest she wants to be, like she’s weighing it in real time. “she’s hard not to miss,” she says after a second, voice quieter now, more grounded.

you nod slightly, because that’s true, because lila has always been like that, easy to love, easy to get attached to, but this—this felt different you saw it in the way she clung to paige, in the way paige never once pulled away, never once seemed unsure or overwhelmed or out of place. 

it wasn’t just that lila liked her, it was that she trusted her, immediately and completely, like there was something about paige that felt safe enough to hold onto without question and maybe that’s what’s sitting in your chest now, heavy and light all at once, something you can’t quite sort out.

paige finally moves again, stepping into the kitchen, her fingers brushing absentmindedly over the counter like she’s looking for something to do, something to ground herself in. “she really didn’t let me breathe, though.” she adds, a small smile tugging at her mouth, softer now, almost fond.

you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “you loved it.”

she doesn’t answer right away and that’s what makes you look at her like really look because paige isn’t someone who hesitates, not like that, not over something simple, but right now there’s a pause, small but noticeable, like she’s standing on the edge of something she hasn’t fully stepped into yet.

“yeah,” she admits finally, her voice low, almost like it slipped out before she could stop it. “i did.”

it settles between you, heavier than the words should be, because it’s not just about this weekend, not really, it’s about everything that came with it, everything it showed you without asking if you were ready to see it.

you push off the counter slowly, taking a step closer, not rushing it, not forcing anything that doesn’t need to be forced. “you’re good with her.” you say, softer now, more careful.

paige looks at you again, properly this time, her expression open in a way that feels rare, like she’s not trying to hide behind anything. “she’s easy.” she says, but there’s something under it, something that doesn’t quite match the simplicity of the words.

“no,” you shake your head slightly, closing the space between you just a little more. “you are.”

she holds your gaze for a second longer than usual, like she’s searching for something, like she’s trying to figure out what you mean without asking you to explain it. “you think so?” she asks, quieter now and it’s such a small question, but it lands heavier than anything else she’s said.

you nod without hesitation. “i know so.”

something shifts in her expression then, something softer, something almost uncertain in a way you don’t see often, like she’s not used to looking at herself through that lens, like she’s not sure what to do with it now that it’s there.

“she didn’t wanna leave you.” you add, your voice gentler now, like you’re easing into something neither of you has said out loud yet.

paige exhales slowly, her gaze dropping for just a second before coming back to you. “i didn’t really want her to.” she admits, and there’s no humor in it this time, no deflection, just honesty, plain and steady and there it is.

that thing which is the one that’s been sitting between you since yesterday afternoon, since the moment you caught her watching, since the moment lila drew the three of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your chest tightens, not in a bad way, not in a way that makes you want to pull back, just in a way that feels real. “paige.” you start, quieter now, your voice catching just slightly on her name.

she doesn’t look away, doesn't interrupt, just waits for you as you swallow, trying to find the right words, something that won’t make this feel bigger than it already does, even though it is, even though there’s no way around that now. “this weekend—”

“i know,” she says softly, cutting in just enough to stop you from overthinking it, like she’s already where you are, like she’s been there a little longer you let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “yeah?”

she nods, slow, deliberate. “yeah.”

another pause settles, but it’s different this time, not uncertain, not hesitant, just full, like everything that needs to be said is already there, sitting in the space between you without needing to be spelled out.

“they’re gonna ask again,” you say after a moment, something a little more grounded, a little more familiar slipping back in. “next reunion.”

paige huffs a quiet laugh, her head tilting slightly. “they always do.”

“and we always say someday.” she watches you carefully now, like she knows where this is going, like she’s not going to let you back out of it this time.

“yeah,” she says, softer whereas you hesitate, just for a second, just long enough to feel it fully before you step into it. “what if someday isn’t as far away as we keep pretending it is?”

the words hang there, heavier than anything else you’ve said, heavier than anything you’ve let yourself think too clearly before now.

paige doesn’t react right away, doesn't joke, and doesn't deflect; she just looks at you, really looks at you, like she’s taking in every part of what you just said, like she’s measuring it against something she’s been holding onto quietly for longer than you realized.

“you mean that?” she asks, her voice low, steady, but there’s something under it, something that feels a little like hope and a little like fear all at once.

you nod, slower this time, more certain. “i think i do.”

another silence, but it’s not empty but it’s full of everything you haven’t said over the years, every moment you brushed off, every question you avoided, every “someday” that felt easier than figuring out what you actually wanted.

paige steps closer then, closing the last bit of space between you, her hand finding yours like it always does, like it doesn’t know how not to. “okay,” she says quietly just that.

okay.

it’s not an answer, not fully, not something that maps everything out or makes it simple, but it’s enough, it’s more than enough, because it means she’s there with you, in it, not running from it, not brushing it off.

you squeeze her hand gently, something steady settling into your chest, something that feels less like a question now and more like the beginning of an answer and somewhere in the back of your mind, you can still hear lila’s voice, small and certain “i stay with paigey.”

but for the first time, the thought doesn’t feel distant or overwhelming or too big to hold it just feels possible.

it doesn’t happen all at once after that, not in some sudden, life-altering moment where everything shifts overnight instead, it settles into you both slowly, like something finding its place, like a quiet decision being made in pieces rather than all at once. 

the conversations aren’t big at first, not heavy or serious, just small things that slip into your days without warning paige asking what you think about houses instead of apartments, you lingering a little too long in the baby aisle at target without meaning to, both of you noticing it and neither of you pointing it out right away. 

it becomes something shared, something understood without needing to be defined, and somehow that makes it feel more real than anything you could’ve forced into words.

lila comes back, of course, because paige keeps her promise like she always does, and the second she steps through your door again it’s like nothing has changed except now she’s even more certain of where she belongs. 

she doesn’t even greet you properly this time, barely managing a quick “hi auntie” before she’s already reaching for paige, arms out like she’s been waiting all week just for this exact moment, like everything in her small world has been leading back here.

“paigey!”

paige laughs, dropping down just enough to catch her, lifting her up like it’s automatic, like there’s no thought behind it anymore. “hey, bug.”

lila wraps herself around her immediately, cheek pressed against her shoulder like she never quite stopped being there, like she just picked up where she left off.

“i told mommy i stay with you,” she says, completely serious, like this is a fact she’s already decided on.

you snort softly, leaning against the doorframe. “oh, you did, huh?”

lila nods firmly, pulling back just enough to look at paige. “i stay forever.”

paige well paige just smiles not in a joking way, not in a brushing-it-off way, but in that quiet, soft way you’ve come to recognize, the one that means she’s feeling something deeper than she’s letting on.

“we’ll see about that,” she murmurs, brushing a curl back from lila’s face.

but you catch it the way her voice softens the way her eyes flicker to you for just a second after and the way something unspoken passes between you both, quick but certain.

it builds from there, quietly, steadily, until it becomes something you can’t ignore even if you wanted to.

you don’t know when she starts planning it that’s the thing about Paige she moves in ways that don’t draw attention until suddenly everything clicks into place and you realize she’s been building something behind the scenes the entire time.

it’s a normal day when it happens, or at least it feels like one.

your sister invited you over, something about a small family dinner, nothing special, nothing that stands out as different from any other time you’ve all gathered together as you don’t question it, because you’ve gotten used to these, to the noise and the questions and the way your family fills up every space they’re in.

paige is quieter on the drive over, not distant, just focused, like her mind is somewhere else for a second longer than usual. “you good?” you ask, glancing at her.

she nods quickly, almost too quickly. “yeah. just tired.” you hum, accepting it, because it’s not unusual, because her schedule’s been packed lately and you know how much she’s been balancing.

you don’t see it yet you don’t notice the way her hand squeezes yours just a little tighter when you get out of the car, or the way she exhales slowly like she’s steadying herself before you walk in.

you don’t notice the way your mom smiles a little too knowingly when she sees you both you don’t notice any of it not until you step into the backyard and everything, everything feels different.

there are lights strung up, soft and warm, wrapping around the fence and the trees like something out of a memory you haven’t made yet there are flowers, your flowers that are placed carefully along the table, the same kind she brought you that night in dallas, the same quiet, thoughtful choice that means more than anything loud ever could. 

your family is there, all of them, standing a little too still, a little too expectant, like they’re holding something in your breath catches before your brain catches up.

“paige…” you start, your voice quieter now, uncertain in a way it hasn’t been in a long time.

she’s already looking at you with that same look that was laced with something soft, steady, sure. “wait!” a small voice cuts through everything, loud and urgent.

lila.

she comes running toward you, curls bouncing, a wide grin on her face like she’s been holding onto a secret she can’t keep anymore as she stops right in front of you, slightly out of breath, holding something behind her back like it’s the most important thing she’s ever carried.

“i helped!” she announces proudly you blink, your heart already racing for reasons you’re starting to understand but not fully ready to accept.

“you did?” you ask softly she nods, then carefully brings her hands forward and there it is.

a small box not perfectly hidden, not carefully presented, just held out to you with all the excitement and seriousness a four-year-old can manage at the same time.

“for paigey,” she says, turning slightly to look at her. “do it.”

your breath stutters because now you see it all of it the way your family is watching the way paige’s hands are just slightly unsteady at her sides and the way the entire moment feels like it’s been waiting for you to catch up to it.

“paige…” you whisper, your voice barely there now.

she steps closer, slow, deliberate, like she doesn’t want to rush a single second of this, like she’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have without even realizing it.

“hey,” she says softly, her eyes not leaving yours lila tugs on her hand impatiently. “do it.” she repeats, quieter this time, but somehow even more serious.

paige lets out a small breath, something almost like a laugh, but it’s nervous, real in a way you don’t see often. “okay,” she murmurs, mostly to herself, like she’s grounding herself in the moment before it slips away.

then she takes the box from lila and drops down onto one knee and everything, while everything goes still. “i had a whole plan,” she admits, her voice softer now, a little uneven but steady where it matters. “like… something really thought out to say.”

you let out a shaky breath that almost turns into a laugh, your hands already trembling slightly at your sides. “but i think you know me well enough to know that i’m not gonna get through that without messing it up,” she adds, a small smile breaking through.

there’s a quiet ripple of laughter around you, but it fades quickly, because this, well this is everything paige looks up at you, and there’s nothing guarded in her expression, nothing held back, just honesty, just love, just five years of everything you’ve built sitting right there between you.

“we’ve done everything together,” she says, her voice steadier now. “every step, every change, every big moment. and none of it ever felt scary because you were there.”

your vision blurs slightly, but you don’t look away you can’t. “and i don’t wanna do anything else without you either,” she continues, quieter now, like the words mean more the softer she says them. “not the big stuff, not the small stuff, not any of it.”

lila shifts beside her, resting her hand on paige’s shoulder like she’s part of this too, like she belongs in this moment just as much as either of you and somehow she does.

“so,” paige exhales, her grip tightening slightly on the box before she opens it, revealing something simple, something perfect. “will you marry me?”

your heart stutters, then races, then feels like it’s trying to do both at once, like it doesn’t know how to process something this big happening all at once.

you look at her at lila and at your family and then back at her and there’s no hesitation there never really was. “yes,” you breathe, your voice breaking around the word. “yes.”

lila gasps like she’s just witnessed something incredible. “she said yes!”

paige lets out a breath that sounds like she’s been holding it for days, standing quickly, pulling you into her like she needs to make sure you’re real, like this moment is real.

your arms wrap around her just as tightly, laughter and something softer mixing together in your chest, something that feels like relief and excitement and love all at once.

somewhere between the noise of your family cheering and lila jumping up and down beside you, chanting “i knew it, i knew it,” paige pulls back just enough to press her forehead against yours.