2. Two

Two

Kacey

The hum of the radio blends with the soft morning light streaming through my kitchen window. It’s barely dawn as I sip my dark coffee, savoring the last quiet moments before my daughter wakes. I pull my long hair into a messy bun, glancing at myself in the reflection from the window. I’ve gotten used to the familiar dark brown color I’ve worn for over a decade.

I hear a yawn and soft footsteps patter across the hardwood floor. Cassidy, my eleven-year-old, shuffles into the kitchen. Her light blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail. She gives me a sleepy smile, then stifles a yawn as she heads straight to the fridge to pour herself a large glass of orange juice.

“Mom, can we put on some music?” Her voice is muffled by another yawn.

“Sure,” I say. “Do you want a hot breakfast or cereal?”

“Cereal,” Cassidy says, making a beeline for the radio and flipping it on. Soon, the entire kitchen fills with music, the melody winding through the morning air.

“Mom, I want to get to school early this morning. The music teacher promised to listen to my arrangement before classes,” she explains with a shrug.

I watch my daughter as she eats, her head automatically bobbing to the tune on the radio, her fingers drumming along on the table. The music lights her up, animating her sleepy eyes as she hums along.

As I watch her, a familiar ache rises in my chest. The spark in her eyes, the tilt of her head as she gets lost in the melody—she reminds me of him . Every day, she grows more like him, and it takes all my strength to hide how her growing passion for music affects me. It splits my heart wide open.

When Cassidy stands to put her bowl in the sink, a new song begins, its guitar chords humming through the air.

“Mom, listen!” Her face lights up, her clear gray eyes sparkling, and there’s no mistaking it—she’s in awe. I watch as she closes her eyes and sways to the music–losing herself in the song. Her admiration for the singer seems to have grown over the past year, despite my misgivings.

“You really like that one, don’t you?” I say, my tone light, as I place the cereal box back on the shelf, working to keep my voice even.

“I love Cass Wild! His lyrics just mean something, you know? It’s like I can feel what he’s saying.”

Cassidy tilts her head. “Mom, why don’t you like him? His songs are really good.”

Freezing at her words, I force a laugh. “I never said I don’t like him or his songs.” I shrug and deliberately look away, the corners of my mouth pulling into a tight smile. She has no idea, no idea at all. Then I lightly hum the tune just to show I’m not lying.

Cassidy faces me, eyes bright with youthful conviction. “You should sing more often, Mom. You’ve got such a good voice.”

“Thanks,” I tease, managing a playful shrug. “But I do sing. I sing all the time, here, in the shower, and sometimes at work.”

Cassidy laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Come on, Mom. You never sing in front of other people. And you’re good! They’d love your voice.”

I laugh along with her, playing it off—Cassidy, with her adoration and absolute conviction that her mother could be more—do anything. But her words hit harder than she could know. She has no doubts. There’s nothing holding her back. Oh, to be so young again, to think that dreams can come true if you just wish hard enough.

She turns back to the radio, turning it up and grinning. “Mom, listen to this part! It’s the best.” Cassidy’s voice rises and falls with the tune, each note filling the room, and I can’t help but smile, letting the moment linger between us.

“You really love his music, don’t you?” I say, feigning casual interest as she practically vibrates with excitement.

“Yes! He’s so real, Mom. His songs—they’re not like anyone else’s.” Her words tumble out in a rush, her cheeks flushed with eagerness.

She’s right; the songs aren’t like anything else out there. Cass Wild has that magic about him and always has. That spark that makes people listen. I just wish she weren’t so taken with him.

The song ends, and Cassidy’s excitement lingers as she goes through her morning routine with a spring in her step. Her enthusiasm bordering on devotion—it all reminds me of how I used to feel about music once. I swallow down memories that flash, unbidden, of lights, sound, and the electric hum of a crowd.

“You really should give his music a chance.” Cassidy sighs but doesn’t push.

I watch her gather her things. She grabs her guitar case from by the door, hoisting it over her shoulder with practiced ease. Last Christmas, her only wish was a guitar. It took me months of saving up, but it was worth it. Now, it’s a permanent fixture in our lives—her prized possession.

She’s always reaching for something I’ve tried very hard to let go of—her next song, her next big idea. She’s always strumming new chords and muttering lyrics, completely lost in her own little world. Her face set with a quiet determination I both love and fear. She gets so wrapped up in making music that I can’t help but worry about her.

After she hugs me goodbye, I stand in the doorway and watch her walk down the sidewalk, her head still bobbing to some silent beat that only she can hear. When I close the door, the house falls back into silence, my secrets curling back up into their safe little corners.

Alone, my thoughts drift, as they always do, to the simple life I’ve built here for me and my daughter.

After I clean up the kitchen, my phone buzzes on the counter, and I glance down to see a text from Leah, my friend, and owner of Heart & Grinds, the coffee shop where I work.

‘I know it’s your day off - but can you come in to work today? Sue called in sick. We’re shorthanded.’

I reply with a quick, ‘I’ll be there.’ Heart & Grinds is only a few blocks from Cassidy’s school, the perfect kind of job where no one pries. There, I’m just ‘Kacey from down the street.’ I slip into my shoes, grateful for the distraction, and start the short walk.

As I walk to the shop, I pass by an electronics store, and on the large screen in the front window flashes an image of Cass Wild. I give a startled jump, my nerves shredded, a familiar pang settling in my chest.

I quicken my pace, focusing on the steady rhythm of my footsteps—anything to keep my eyes off his face on the screen. Seeing Cass, even just on the television, is enough to shake my steady world and pull at memories I’ve buried. It’s been years, but the sight of him still stirs something—anger, regret, longing—all tangled together.

When I step into Heart & Grinds, Leah’s already behind the counter, taking orders from the early crowd. She waves at me, flashing a grateful smile, and I slip into my apron, tying it around my waist as I join her behind the espresso machine.

“Thank you so much for coming in,” she says, barely looking up as she takes another order. “It’s been nonstop since we opened.”

“No problem.” I offer a quick smile, slipping into the familiar routine of making lattes, pouring coffee, and exchanging small talk with customers. It’s grounding, in a way. Each order is its own little task, anchoring me to the present.

“You look a little distracted today,” Leah says during a lull. She’s giving me that look, the one people wear when they sense something but can’t quite put their finger on it. “Everything okay?”

I shrug, stirring a cappuccino. “Just the usual morning chaos. You know how it is with kids.”

She chuckles, nodding in understanding. “I don’t know how you do it, honestly. Being a single mom, juggling work and everything else, I can barely manage my cats.”

I laugh, appreciating the lightness of her words, even though they brush against something deeper. Leah doesn’t know about my past or why I came back to this quiet corner of the world with Cassidy in tow. She just knows me as Kacey, the barista who can hit a perfect high note while pouring coffee and who reliably works her shifts and never talks about her past. And for now, that’s exactly who I need to be.

As the rush dies down, I find myself humming softly, a tune slipping out before I realize it. Leah pauses, tilting her head as she listens. “Would you please reconsider joining our church choir?” she pleads with a grin. “We really need you.”

I freeze, the words catching in my throat. “No,” I say quickly, laughing it off. “You know I just sing for fun.”

But Leah doesn’t drop it. “I know… but I wish you’d change your mind. We’re always looking for great voices. We’d love to have you.”

I manage a tight smile, shrugging it off. “Maybe someday.” But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Someday is a word I use when I don’t want to come right out and say never.

As the clock moves closer to three, I type out a quick text to my daughter that I’m working and to stop by on her way home from school.

After a few minutes, I hear a jingle as the door opens, and in breezes Cassidy, like a breath of fresh air, her smile bright and her disposition sunny.

“Hi, Mom! Hi, Leah.” She gives everyone, even the customers, a cheery wave, and I smile. She’s comfortable around strangers and in a crowd. She makes friends easily wherever she goes. Another trait she definitely didn’t get from me.

“Want your usual?” I ask with a fond smile.

“Please!” She grins, settling into a chair, pulling out her homework while I prepare her drink. By the time my shift ends, I’m more than ready for some peace and quiet.

On our walk home, Cassidy chatters away, filling me in on her classes. She’s animated until we pass the street corner, where, to my dismay, a concert poster catches her eye. It’s plastered on a lamppost, a glossy photo with a set of dates printed in bold. The words “One Night Only” hover beneath a name that I can’t seem to escape: Cass Wild .

She stops dead. Her eyes lock on the street poster, wide with excitement. A familiar, sharp pang strikes me, though I say nothing.

“Mom!” she says, grabbing my arm. “Can I go? It’s only for one night!” She turns to look at me, her expression pleading and hopeful.

“Cassidy, you’re eleven,” I say, barely holding my voice steady.

She scoffs. “That’s old enough to go to a concert! My best friend will be there!”

My chest tightens as I look into her hopeful eyes, the image of Cass Wild on that poster looming just behind her. I take a breath, steadying myself, trying to ignore my jumbled emotions.

“I’ll… think about it, Cassidy.”

“I know it’s expensive–but everyone’s going,” she mutters, crossing her arms. A mixture of disappointment and hope flashes in her eyes as we continue down the street toward home.

I take another deep breath, her hopeful face blurring before me. I’m caught between the image of him and the girl at my side.

I hesitate, wanting to relent. I could possibly scrape up the money… but then say warningly, “I said I’d think about it.” My tone makes it clear I’m done with that topic for now.

Cassidy can’t hide her disappointment as we silently walk the rest of the way—the excitement dimming from her eyes. As I watch her retreat into her thoughts, I can’t ignore the feeling that everything is moving too fast.

As we step into the house, the silence envelops me once again. But now, it feels different—less like a haven and more like a quiet lull before the past comes crashing back in.