The start of winter creeps on me like the chilly ocean breeze that hints at winter. One day, I am planning for my last day at Cafe Elpida and then it's there, unavoidable, forcing me to go back to New York City.

In a way, it's a blessing in disguise. It's two months now that I've been pregnant and it's becoming harder and harder to avoid the curious questions. Last week, I woke up in the morning and rushed to the bathroom only to be violently sick for the first time. I told Moira it must have been some bad shrimp I ate and she believed me. It was harder to lie the second time and I learned to be quiet about it so she wouldn't ask any more questions by the time the fifth time rolled around. Liza's convinced I've got a bladder infection from the amount of times I need to take toilet breaks. I tried to be coy about it be she has eyes like a hawk. Things are only going to get more obvious and, for some reason, I don't really want to tell anyone about the baby. It seems too personal.

But I can't deny there is another reason too. I can't shake the fear that they'll judge me. It's what people have done all my life, everyone from my best friend's mother to my employers. It feels like I would be proving them all right.

On my last day though, I would give anything to put the world on hold and just stay in Montauk. Just for a few more days. Leaving Montauk means leaving behind everything I've found here: friends, a family and, of course, Poseidon. Going away means leaving him behind properly. I want to be able to see him one last time, just to say goodbye, but he'd made it pretty clear that the last time we saw each other was the final time. I have tried everything, waited by the sea for hours, but he never comes. It's time I accepted that what we had is over but something new is beginning. Soon, we'll have a baby, an unbreakable bond that will tie us together forever.

For my last day at work, a Sunday, Liza makes me a special omelet for breakfast and I finish the whole thing even though I had cereal before coming. I don't want her to think I am ungrateful for everything she's given me. It's Jean's last day too so we have a little celebration in the kitchen after closing early with canapés and what Liza calls 'bubbly' but is really sparkling grape juice.

"I don't know what I'm going to do this fall with y'all gone and Don too," Liza says, sounding genuinely sad that we would be leaving. "I'm gonna be stuck here with only Mason who don't talk and Lucille the drama queen." She says the last part jokingly and Mason laughs but Lucille rolls her eyes. I am going to miss her least.

I hug Jean and Mason and Lucille manages a sharp nod before focusing her attention on her drink. Liza pulls me into a tight hug and I whisper, "Thank you," in her ear. If it hadn't been for her, I never would have come to Montauk. Everything that happened was only possible because of her.

"You're a good girl, Sally," Liza says to me, "You're gonna go far in life, I can see it now. Send me a copy of your book when you get published, eh?"

"I will," I promise her, laughing.

Jean and I walk together and when we've left the cafe behind, she says, "I honestly wasn't mad at you, Sally. I should have said something sooner."

"No," I reply, "You were really brave when you stood up to Lucille. It couldn't have been easy and, honestly, I think it's one of the first times someone really stood up for me."

Jean smiles. "Don was cute, don't get me wrong," she says, "But I was never after him. Uh, it's not like that for me. But people surprise you and your opinion changes and someone you thought was awesome can turn out to be downright awful. But, hey, you move on."

It dawns on me what she's saying and I have to ask, "Wait, Lucille?"

Jean laughs, "Hey, don't judge me, ok? She's, like, really pretty."

"I'm sorry but I would have thought that the peroxide hair would have made her bitch status pretty clear," I say and I can't help but laugh along.

"It looks pretty natural!" Jean insists, "And she did a good job of playing nice girl."

"That she did," I agree.

After a few moments of silence, Jean says, "I'm going to miss you, Sally. I'm going to miss this job."

I take her hand and squeeze it. I'm glad to have been able to get to know Jean. We weren't that close but she's a girl and she's fun to be around. I regret not spending more time with her when I could have. "Me too, Jean," I say. "I'm going to miss this place like crazy."


The walk up Moira's drive has never felt longer. I know with every step closer to the front door, I am closer to a goodbye. It's going to be the hardest to say farewell to Moira. She is the funny aunt, the caring mother and the wise friend I have never had all in one. She gave up her house to me but, more than that, her time and her friendship.

I turn the key in the lock, trying to memorise what colour the doorknob is and the way the sunset looks from the front porch so I can save them for a rainy day. I take in the walls I helped to paint in my free afternoons and the garden I brought back to life with Poseidon. It comforts me knowing that I'll leave my mark on this house. It can't forget me.

"I'm home," I call out to Moira when I enter through the front door. Over the past few weeks, I haven't really thought about it but it strikes me as funny how easily I can call this house a home and never really feel that way about my own apartment.

"In the kitchen," comes Moira's reply.

The house smells like flour and chocolate and the warm scent of bread baking wafts through the kitchen door. The kitchen in a mess of spilled milk and ghostly, floury fingerprints mark the cupboard doors and countertops.

"What is happening in here?" I ask, though the answer is pretty clear.

"I'm baking," Moira hoots, "I'm actually doing it! It's been in the oven for almost the whole time and – look! – no burning!"

"Moira!" I laugh, "You did it!"

"Well," she says quietly, "I figured I better do something special for your last day."

She turns away, clattering with pots and pans in the sink, but I catch her expression before she can hide it. Her eyes are red and puffy and something tells me it's not from the baking. I think of how lonely Moira truly is out here on her own. Not once does she leave the house except to go grocery shopping. She never calls anyone; no one calls her. She has Travis for company but that's it. I've been lonely long enough to know how it hurts.

"Hey, Moira," I say, sitting myself down at the kitchen table, "Would you mind if I called from time to time? From New York, I mean. I get kind of lonely by myself."

I don't mention that I won't be lonely for much longer, that soon I'll have a baby and he'll be the light of my life. But that is still nine months away. I could use her company as much she could use mine.

"Well, I'll have to see," Moira replies, "I have a very busy schedule, you know. Phone ringing off the hook and that sort of thing." She laughs and I join in. She comes over to give me a hug and says, "Please call, Sally. Call everyday if you want to."

A sharp ring cuts me off as I'm about to respond and Moira rushes away to take the cake out of the oven. She winces as she touches the hot tray without her oven mitts and manages to take it out the second time, her hand suitably protected.

"Ta da!" she announces, brandishing the cake proudly, "The first ever cake Mora DeLonge ever baked by herself."

I clap and can't stop smiling. Moira did this for me. The cake is steaming and smells delicious. The whole kitchen is filled with the smell of cocoa and, in the golden light from the setting sun, it looks like a scene from a fairytale book.

"It's perfect."