Chapter Text
The first week in New York was everything Ramona had imagined it would be, which was precisely what made it so difficult. From the bedroom window of Steven's apartment, the city looked almost unreal. The buildings rose so high that Ramona sometimes found herself tilting her head back just to see where they ended, their glass and steel catching the sunlight during the day and reflecting thousands of tiny squares of light back into the darkness at night. There was always movement below her window. Taxis slipping between cars, buses groaning to a stop, cyclists weaving dangerously through traffic, people hurrying across intersections with coffee cups in their hands. Even after midnight, the streets were never truly quiet. Somewhere below, someone was always laughing, arguing, honking, singing, or simply walking quickly as though they were late for something important.
It was everything she had wanted. That was what she kept telling herself.
New York was bigger than Sterling Point. Bigger than the lake, bigger than the cabin, bigger than the small circle of people who had known her for most of her life and had already decided who she was supposed to become. Here, she could walk down a street and disappear into a crowd. Nobody knew she was Steven's daughter. Nobody knew about her grandfather or Sterling Point or the summers she'd spent by the water. Nobody knew about the dock where she'd spent hours talking to Oona until the sun disappeared behind the trees. Nobody knew about the nights they had stayed awake too late, about the arguments and laughter and all the little moments that had somehow become more important than Ramona had realized until they were gone. Most importantly, nobody here knew that she had left someone behind. There was no lake outside her window. No familiar sound of water against the shore. No smell of pine and damp earth after rain. No wooden dock warmed by the afternoon sun.
No Oona.
Ramona told herself that was a good thing. It was what she had wanted, wasn't it? A fresh start. A chance to see something bigger. A chance to meet people who didn't already have an opinion about her, people who didn't look at her and see the granddaughter of someone or the girl who belonged to Sterling Point. She had wanted to find out who she was when nobody was telling her what she should be.
And Oona had told her to go. That was the part Ramona kept coming back to. Oona had looked at her and told her that she deserved to see the world. She had told her not to stay simply because leaving was frightening. She had told her that she would regret it if she let fear decide her future.
So Ramona had listened. She had done exactly what Oona had wanted her to do.
Then why, every time she looked out at the endless city, did it feel as though she had left half of herself somewhere beside a lake in Ontario?
***
On her second morning in New York, Steven took her to breakfast at a small restaurant a few blocks from the apartment. The morning was cool, but the streets were already crowded, and Ramona had to stay close to him as they crossed several intersections. She still wasn't used to the rhythm of the city. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, while she constantly felt as though she was one wrong turn away from getting completely lost. Steven pushed open the restaurant door and held it for her.
"You're going to love this place," he said as they stepped inside.
Ramona looked around skeptically. The restaurant was warm and crowded, with tiny tables squeezed close together and barely enough room for the waiters to move between them. People talked over one another, silverware clattered against plates, and someone at the counter laughed so loudly that several people turned to look. A waiter passed them carrying three plates balanced on one arm while another shouted an order toward the kitchen.
Ramona raised an eyebrow. "How do you know I'm going to love it?" she asked, looking at Steven as they followed the hostess toward a table by the window.
"I don't," Steven admitted with a shrug. "I'm still learning."
She glanced at him, and despite herself, a small smile appeared. "You're supposed to be the experienced New Yorker." She joked.
"I'm supposed to be a lot of things." He replied.
That made her smile properly. They sat near the window, and Steven handed her a menu. Ramona opened it without really looking at the words.
"What are you getting?" he asked.
"Coffee." Ramona answered.
Steven lowered his menu and stared at her. "That's not breakfast."
"It is if you're seventeen." She replied.
"That's not how breakfast works."
Ramona looked over the top of her menu. "You sound like a dad."
"I am a dad." Steven laughed quietly.
"Fine," she conceded, closing the menu. "Pancakes."
"Good." He seemed pleased.
When the waiter came, Ramona ordered pancakes and coffee. Once he walked away, she rested her elbow against the table and looked through the window at the passing crowd. She hadn't slept much the night before. There was simply too much noise. Even with the windows closed, the city seemed to find its way inside. Sirens had woken her twice. Someone had been shouting somewhere below the apartment at three in the morning, and she'd spent another hour listening to the distant rumble of traffic. At Sterling Point, nighttime had been different. There had been moments when she could hear nothing except the lake. Sometimes Oona had sat beside her on the dock without saying anything, their shoulders touching as they watched the dark water. Ramona hadn't understood then how comforting silence could be. Here, there was never silence.
"You okay?" Steven asked.
Ramona turned back toward him. "Yeah."
He studied her for a moment.
"What?" She asked.
"You've said 'yeah' about six times since we got here." Steven said.
"So?" She asked confused.
"Usually when someone says they're okay that many times, they're trying to convince themselves." He replied.
Ramona gave him a faint smile. "You've known me for, like, five minutes."
"Technically longer than that." He quipped.
"Not really."
"Fair."
Their food arrived, giving her an excuse not to answer. For a few minutes, they concentrated on eating. Ramona cut her pancakes into smaller pieces than necessary, mostly because she didn't feel particularly hungry.
Then Steven spoke again. "How's Oona?"
Ramona's fork stopped halfway toward her mouth. She looked up slowly. "What?"
"I asked how Oona is." He repeated.
Ramona lowered her fork onto the plate. For a moment, she considered pretending she hadn't heard him.
"I don't know." She said.
Steven nodded, not pushing. "You haven't talked?" He asked.
"Not really." Ramona answered.
"Did you two leave things badly?" Steven asked carefully.
Ramona looked down at her plate. The pancakes suddenly seemed much more interesting than the conversation.
"We broke up." She sounded sad.
"I should have guessed."
Her eyes snapped toward him. "Why?"
"Ramona, you're not exactly subtle." Steven said.
She frowned. "I didn't tell you."
"You didn't have to." He contended
She looked away, her fingers tightening slightly around her coffee cup. "It was complicated."
"Most things worth caring about are." He said.
That made her look at him again.
After a moment, she sighed. "She told me to go."
Steven remained quiet.
"She told me New York was where I was supposed to be. That I shouldn't stay somewhere just because I was afraid of leaving." Ramona paused, swallowing around the tightness in her throat. "And I think I wanted to believe her."
"But?" He asked, genuinely interested.
Ramona stared through the window. A woman hurried past carrying a small child while trying to balance a phone between her shoulder and ear.
"But I think part of me wanted her to ask me to stay." She eventually said.
Steven didn't immediately answer.
When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. "Maybe she didn't know you needed her to ask."
Ramona looked down. "Maybe." She picked up her fork again, even though she had lost her appetite completely. "Can we not talk about it?" Ramona added.
"Of course." He agreed.
And he didn't.
That was one of the things Ramona was beginning to appreciate about Steven. He didn't try to force conversations simply because silence made him uncomfortable. He didn't tell her that everything would be fine or pretend that he understood exactly what she was feeling.
After breakfast, Steven took her to a bookstore. It was tucked between two larger buildings on a busy street, and the moment Ramona stepped inside, the noise of the city seemed to disappear behind the door. The place smelled like old paper and coffee, and narrow wooden shelves stretched almost to the ceiling. Ramona wandered between them, running her fingers over the spines of books. She picked up one with a ridiculous cover and immediately imagined Oona holding it, squinting at the title before making some sarcastic comment about the author.
Ramona smiled before she could stop herself.
Steven noticed.
"What?" She asked.
"Nothing." He replied amused. "You smiled." Steven added.
"I'm allowed to smile." Ramona said defensively.
"Of course you are." He laughed quietly.
She put the book back.
At the museum later that afternoon, she caught herself thinking about Oona again when they stood in front of a modern painting that looked, to Ramona, like someone had spilled several cans of paint onto a canvas and decided to call it art. Oona would've hated it. Or, more accurately, Oona would've pretended to hate it while secretly having an entire argument about why it was actually brilliant. Ramona could practically hear her voice.
She smiled. Then the smile faded.
Because Oona wasn't there.
That realization followed her everywhere. At the park, she saw a girl with dark hair sitting on a bench with her girlfriend, their shoulders pressed together as they shared a pair of earbuds. Ramona looked away almost immediately, pretending to be interested in a dog chasing a tennis ball across the grass. It was ridiculous.
Oona wasn't even in New York. And somehow she was everywhere.
***
That evening, Connor was already in the apartment when Ramona came home with Steven. He had taken over one end of the living room, stretched across the couch with his laptop balanced against his knees, while some show played quietly on the television in the background. The city lights spilled through the enormous windows behind him, turning the apartment blue and gold as evening settled over Manhattan. He glanced up when the front door opened, and his expression immediately changed when he saw Ramona's face.
"How's New York?" he asked, closing the laptop halfway.
"Big," Ramona replied, kicking off her shoes near the door.
Connor stared at her for a second before grinning. "That's your review?"
"And loud." She added.
"That's more believable." He quipped.
Ramona laughed softly as she walked farther into the apartment. She dropped her bag onto the armchair and sank onto the other end of the couch, letting her head fall against the cushions. She was exhausted, but it wasn't the kind of exhaustion that came from doing too much. It was the strange tiredness that came from spending an entire day surrounded by unfamiliar places and unfamiliar people, constantly trying to take everything in while pretending she wasn't overwhelmed.
Connor watched her for a moment before asking, more carefully this time, "Are you happy?"
Her smile faded. She looked at him, then toward the enormous windows behind him, where Manhattan stretched endlessly into the evening. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"Because you moved to New York," Connor said, shifting the laptop onto the coffee table. "You're supposed to be happy." He added.
Ramona gave a quiet laugh, but there wasn't much humor in it. "That's not how it works."
"I know." Connor leaned back against the couch, studying her face. He didn't push immediately.
For a while, the only sounds in the room were the muted television and the distant traffic coming through the windows. Ramona rubbed her thumb absently against the edge of her sleeve, her thoughts drifting somewhere far away from the apartment.
Then Connor asked, "Have you talked to Oona?"
Ramona's entire body seemed to tense at the name. She looked down at her hands and shook her head. "No."
"Did you try?" He added.
"Once." Ramona answered.
"And?" Connor pushed.
"Nothing." She replied sadly.
Connor's expression softened. He reached for the remote and turned the television off, giving her his full attention. "You tried again, didn't you?"
Ramona looked at him.
"A few days ago," she admitted.
"Still nothing?"
She shook her head. "No."
Connor exhaled slowly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She might just need time."
"I know." She answered.
"Or she might be mad."
"I know." Ramona was starting to get irritated
"And maybe—"
"Connor," Ramona interrupted, giving him a tired look.
He immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Okay. I'm done."
That finally made her smile.
She pulled one of the cushions against her stomach and curled slightly into the corner of the couch. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Connor looked at her for a moment before asking, "Do you want to talk to her?"
Ramona didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Then call her." He replied easily.
"I already did." She said.
"Call again." Connor added.
She looked toward the phone lying beside her on the couch. "What if she doesn't want to hear from me?"
"Then she'll tell you." He said like it’s that easy.
"You make everything sound easy." She replied.
Connor shrugged. "Because you're making it complicated."
Ramona gave him an offended look. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." He replied cheekily.
She laughed, and Connor smiled because that was exactly what he'd been trying to do. He leaned back into the couch and nudged her shoulder with his own.
"There," he said. "I got you to laugh."
"Don't get too proud." She joked.
"Too late." He seemed proud of himself.
For the next twenty minutes, they talked about everything except Oona. Connor asked about the places Steven had taken her, complained about the terrible coffee he'd bought that morning, and told her about something ridiculous he'd overheard downstairs. Ramona laughed more than she expected to, and for a little while the ache in her chest became quieter.
When Steven eventually came back into the living room, carrying two cups of tea, he found tchem sitting together on the couch, arguing over which pizza place in the neighborhood was actually worth ordering from. He shook his head and handed Ramona one of the cups before sitting in the armchair opposite them.
The apartment suddenly felt warm and familiar. Almost like home. And that, more than anything, made Ramona realize how much she missed the other one.
Later that night, after Connor had gone to his room and Steven had disappeared down the hallway, Ramona remained awake in her bedroom. The city glowed through the windows, casting pale reflections across the floor. She sat cross-legged on the bed with her phone in her hand, staring at the same name she'd been trying not to think about all evening.
Oona.
Her thumb hovered over the contact. She finally opened their old messages.
The last conversation was still there, preserved exactly as it had been, as if the months between them hadn't happened. Ramona scrolled slowly, rereading messages she'd already memorized. Every joke, every argument, every stupid little exchange suddenly felt painfully precious.
Then she stopped at one of Oona's messages.
I just don't want you to wake up one day and realize you stayed here because of me.
Ramona stared at the words until her eyes began to sting. She opened the keyboard and typed:
I didn't leave because I wanted to leave you.
She stared at it for several seconds before deleting it. Then she tried again.
I miss you.
Delete.
Are you okay?
Delete. She locked her phone and dropped it onto the mattress beside her, then leaned back against the headboard and covered her face with both hands.
She hated this. She hated that she could spend an entire day exploring one of the most incredible cities in the world and still end up sitting alone in the dark thinking about one person.
She hated that she had finally gotten what she'd wanted and somehow couldn't stop wondering whether she'd made the wrong choice. Most of all, she hated that she didn't know what Oona was doing.
She didn't know whether Oona was angry. She didn't know whether she was sleeping. She didn't know whether she missed her. She didn't know whether she had started moving on. And Ramona had no right to ask.
***
The next morning, Steven found her sitting at the kitchen counter with her phone lying face down beside her. Connor was already there, eating cereal straight from the box while scrolling through something on his phone. Sunlight poured through the windows, bright enough to make Ramona squint as she wrapped both hands around her coffee.
"You look tired," Steven said as he walked into the kitchen.
"I am." She replied.
"Didn't sleep?" He asked interested.
"Not really." Ramona answered.
Connor glanced at her over the top of his phone but didn't comment. Steven poured himself coffee and sat across from her, and for a few moments the three of them existed together in comfortable silence. Connor eventually reached across the counter and stole one of the pieces of toast from Ramona's plate.
She slapped his hand away. "Seriously?"
"You weren't eating it." He shrugged his shoulders
"I was going to." She added.
"Sure." Connor replied amused.
Steven watched them with a faint smile before his expression became more serious.
"You know you can go back." He said.
Ramona looked up sharply. "What?"
"If you need to." Steven added.
Connor stopped chewing and looked between them, but he remained silent.
Ramona frowned. "I just got here."
"I know." He answered.
"Are you telling me to go back?" She asked confused.
Steven shook his head. "No. I'm telling you that coming here doesn't mean you have to pretend you don't miss home."
Ramona lowered her eyes to her coffee. She could feel Connor watching her now, but she didn't look at him.
"I'm not going back," she said quietly.
"Okay." He said.
"I want to be here." She added, getting defensive.
"Okay." Steven was calm.
She swallowed, and her fingers tightened around the warm mug. "But I miss her."
Steven's expression softened. "I know."
Ramona looked away quickly when her eyes filled with tears. She hated crying in front of people, especially over something she couldn't even explain properly.
"I don't even know why I'm crying." She replied sadly.
Steven's answer was simple. "Because you love her."
The words settled between them.
Connor looked down at his cereal, deliberately giving her some privacy, while Ramona wiped beneath her eyes and tried to steady her breathing.
"What if she hates me?" she asked.
"Then you deal with that," Steven replied.
"What if she doesn't want me anymore?" She asked again.
"Then you respect that." He replied.
Ramona stared at the coffee in front of her. "And if she does?"
Steven smiled faintly. "Then you figure out what comes next."
She looked up at him. "How?"
"One day at a time." He said easily.
Connor finally spoke from beside her. "That's actually pretty good advice."
Ramona glanced at him with a watery smile. "Don't encourage him."
Connor grinned. "I'm just saying."
***
That afternoon, Steven took both of them to a rooftop overlooking the city. Connor wandered toward the other side with his phone, leaving Ramona and Steven near the railing. The wind tugged at Ramona's hair as she stared down at Manhattan, watching the endless streams of people and cars moving beneath them.
New York was beautiful from up there. It was impossible not to understand why people fell in love with it. There was always somewhere else to go, something else to discover, another street around the corner, another person to meet, another version of yourself waiting to be found.
Ramona should have felt free. Instead, she felt homesick.
Not just for Oona.
For Sterling Point. For the lake. For the cabin. For Maple's voice. For Annie, even with all the complicated feelings between them. For Sully jokes. For Ellis calmness. For the kind of silence that existed only beside the water. She missed the life she'd been so desperate to escape.
Her phone buzzed. Ramona's heart jumped before she even looked at the screen.
Oona.
But it was only Connor, standing twenty feet away and apparently bored enough to text her despite being in the same place.
You alive?
Ramona looked over at him. He raised his eyebrows innocently. She smiled and typed back,
Unfortunately.
His response appeared almost immediately.
Tell Oona I said hi.
Her smile disappeared. She stared at the message for a long moment before looking back at the city. She didn't tell him that she'd almost cried thinking about her again. She didn't tell him that she'd been thinking about Oona since she'd woken up. She didn't tell him that New York felt enormous and strangely empty at the same time. She simply replied,
I will.
But she wouldn't. Not yet. Because she still didn't know whether Oona wanted to hear from her, and Ramona was terrified that the answer might be no.
***
The days continued, and slowly New York began becoming less foreign. She learned which subway entrances actually led where she thought they did, found a little café she liked and started recognizing one of the baristas, discovered a bookstore hidden between two larger buildings and began exploring different neighborhoods with Steven and Connor. Some evenings the three of them ate together in the apartment, Connor complaining about something he'd seen online while Steven tried to convince Ramona that she needed to eat something other than coffee and pastries.
She laughed more. She began building a life. And from the outside, everything looked perfect. But every time something good happened, she wanted to tell Oona.
When she finally managed to navigate the subway without getting lost, she instinctively reached for her phone before remembering. When she found the tiny bookstore filled with old paperbacks, she took a picture and stared at it for almost a minute before deciding not to send it. When she ate terrible pizza at two in the morning with Connor, she laughed because she could already imagine Oona's disgusted expression.
Then she remembered. They weren't together.
The hardest part wasn't simply not being able to tell Oona about her life. It was knowing absolutely nothing about Oona's.
Ramona knew what New York looked like from the twenty-second floor. She knew which café had the best coffee. She knew which subway line took her downtown and how long it took to walk to the park.
But she didn't know whether Oona was eating. She didn't know whether she was sleeping. She didn't know whether she was angry. She didn't know whether she missed her. She didn't know whether she had started moving on.
That last thought always hurt the most.
Ramona had wanted freedom. She had wanted distance. She had wanted to discover who she was outside of Sterling Point and outside of the relationship that had consumed so much of her heart.
She just hadn't understood that discovering herself wouldn't make her stop loving Oona. If anything, being away from her had made the truth impossible to ignore.
She missed her. She missed her so badly that sometimes it physically hurt.
But missing Oona wasn't enough to justify going back. That was what she kept telling herself. They broken up. She had chosen New York. She had left.
What reason did she have to suddenly appear in Muskoka again?
Oona had every right to be angry with her. Annie was still hurt, and although they were slowly working through the distance between them, Ramona knew things weren't the same. She couldn't simply walk back into their lives because she was lonely.
She didn't want to become another person who left and returned whenever it suited her. So she stayed.
***
Three nights later, Ramona sat alone in her bedroom after Connor and Steven had gone to sleep. The apartment was finally quiet, although the city outside continued its restless rhythm. She had been staring at her phone for so long that the screen had gone dark.
She picked it up again. Oona's name was already open. Ramona stared at it, her heart beating harder with every second. Then, before she could change her mind, she pressed call.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Ramona held her breath.
Four.
Five.
Then voicemail. She almost hung up. Instead, she waited for the tone and closed her eyes.
"Hey," she whispered, her voice sounding strangely fragile in the darkness. "I don't really know what I'm supposed to say."
She gave a nervous little laugh, rubbing her free hand over her face.
"I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. I hope you're okay." Her throat tightened
She paused, staring at the floor.
"And... I miss you." The words came out barely above a whisper.
"That's all." She ended the call and sat perfectly still, staring at the phone in her hand.
Nothing happened. No message. No call back. Just silence. Ramona finally placed the phone beside her and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the city lights moved across it.
She had expected it to hurt. She just hadn't expected the silence to hurt this much. She turned onto her side and pulled the blanket around herself, trying to force her mind toward something else. But one thought kept returning.
I want to go home.
She closed her eyes.
I want to go back to Muskoka.
But she didn't have a reason to go. No invitation was waiting for her. No family emergency demanded her presence. No responsibility required her to return. Oona hadn't asked her to come back.
Nothing. Just a feeling. And feelings weren't always enough.
***
Hundreds of miles away, in a small house surrounded by dark trees and the quiet waters of the lake, Oona's phone lit up on the kitchen counter. She was sitting alone at the table, a mug of tea cooling between her hands, when she saw Ramona's name.
She froze.
For several seconds, she didn't move. Then she picked up the phone and listened to the voicemail.
Once.
Then again.
When Ramona's voice said
I miss you,
Oona closed her eyes and pressed the phone against her chest. She missed her too. More than she was willing to admit. But after everything that had happened, missing someone was easy. Trusting them again was the hard part.