Page 6 of Tessa and Nash

DON’T PERFORM

JUST TELL THE TRUTH

I lean back in the chair, notebook balanced on my knees, staring at the mess of ink and arrows and symbols.

Anyone else would call it madness.

I see a future. I don’t feel I’m waiting for someone else to hand me permission. I’ve got the bull by the horns.

And this time, I’m not letting go.

CHAPTER TWO

Tessa

January 2nd

I wake up to knocking.

No, banging.

I groan, pull the pillow over my head, and consider pretending I’ve moved out in the night and joined a monastery where early mornings are illegal.

The knocking gets louder.

“Tessa.”

My uncle’s voice slices through my denial like a knife through butter. Which is impressive, considering I’m still half asleep and deeply committed to avoiding reality.

“I need you up. Now.”

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. January second. Barely into the new year and already this might as well be a personal attack.

“I’m awake,” I lie. “I’m just… spiritually unavailable.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It is to me,” I mutter, swinging my legs out of bed. “One minute.”

I drag on a sweater and pad down the hallway, hair still braided from yesterday, sleep clinging to me as a second skin. My uncle is already pacing the landing, jaw tight, phone clenched in his hand.

“You look like someone died,” I say. “Please tell me it’s not you. Grandma would be very upset.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Thomas says. “There’s a rumor going around town.”

I sigh. “There’s always a rumor going around town.”

“This one matters.”

That gets my attention.

I follow him downstairs, the house still wrapped in that early morning quiet that belongs more to night than day. The old grandfather clock ticks steadily in the corner, unimpressed by urgency or grudges or small-town paranoia.

In the kitchen, my grandmother is already up. Of course she is. Nell Long has been waking before dawn since before I was born, and probably before my mother was, too. She stands at the counter, pouring hot water over loose tea leaves, movements unhurried.

She glances over her shoulder and smiles when she sees me. “Morning, love.”

I cross the room and kiss her cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of bergamot—it’s faintly floral.