“Keir, I’m so sorry.” I want to step forward, to wrap her in my arms and absorb some of her hurt, share it so it’s not so heavy, but she flinches when I move, so I keep my arms at my side, stiff and cold.
She brings a hand to her bulging belly, rubbing it mindlessly, like she’s not only thinking about herself but about what it will mean for Xavier, and for this little one who isn’t even here yet.
“I’m starting to think you had the right idea,” she says, picking a leaf off a nearby maple tree and rubbing it between her fingers.
“What do you mean?”
“Leaving. Looking for a life better than this one.”
“Is that what you think I did?”
She shrugs. “You left. You gotout.” Her eyes are shiny now. “I stayed, married the college boyfriend, did everything I was supposed to, and look at me now.”
“I didn’t leave because I wanted a better life. I left because I couldn’tbreathehere.” I thought that was obvious. “If I could have stayed, I would have. You were stronger than me for that.”
Her lips twist to the side.
“And I never thought I was better than you. I wasjealousof you.” My voice thickens. “I can’t believe that’s what you’ve been thinking this entire time.”
“What was I supposed to think?”
“That I would’ve given everything to have your life. Probably still would.” I let go of the bag of branches I’ve been carrying. “I’ll never have kids. Never have a family like yours, messed up as it might be. And I’m not saying that to have your pity, or to make you feel like what you’re going through isn’t shitty, because it is. It really fucking is, and I’ll kick Rob’s ass the next time I see him. But I want you—Ineedyou—to see that I never thought I wasbetter than you.” I swallow, then breathe through the knot in my throat. “I only ever wished I could be as strong as my big sister.”
She kicks a rock. Cracks her knuckles. I’d never realized until now that she does it, too.
And then her arms are around me. “It’s annoying when I’m pissed and you make sense.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say around a laugh, hugging her back.
She pulls back almost as fast as she came in, but I still feel elated from the simple touch.
“Egg his car when we go back?” she says.
“Count me in.”
Later that day, after Keira and I have made our way back to the cottage, we go on another boat ride, and this time, Eli lets me drive for a while. Everyone is gathered at the front of the boat, looking at a pack of littlefucksfloating across the water—Zoe has now contaminated Xavier with her pronunciation—which allows Eli to step in behind me, so close I can feel the shape of his biceps around mine and smell the lemon popsicle he just ate on his breath. I shouldn’t enjoy feeling like a seventh grader hiding behind the bleachers as much as I do, but that’s the way Eli makes me feel. Like I’m carefree again.
Once we’re done, Eli settles at the barbecue and makes enough burgers to feed an army. Zoe asks for maple syrup on her bun—even my sweet tooth could never—and since it’s her birthday,no one says a word. We stuff ourselves with bright-yellow corn grilled to perfection and comically large, juicy heirloom tomatoes from the local market that burst with flavor on every bite. Eli serves the prettiest pink cake covered in edible flowers which excites Zoe to no end. She then opens her gifts, and I’m happy to say mine is her favorite (and clearly Eli’s worst nightmare based on the glare he sends me when she opens the flute and starts blowing painful notes). By the time we’ve cleared the table, her crown braid is almost touching her plate, her entire body sagging with fatigue.
“All right, birthday girl, time to say goodnight,” Eli says as he pulls her chair back.
Still half-asleep, Zoe says, “Can Cassie do bedtime?”
I don’t think my heart will ever recover from demands like this.
Both Keira and Charlie give me looks with raised brows, but I pretend not to notice as I stand and grab Zoe’s body out of Eli’s arms. I won’t make a habit out of it, but I can make an exception for her birthday. She clings to me like a koala bear, her hair smelling of sunscreen and maple. Eli’s gaze remains on us for a long moment, expression feather-soft, and even without words, I know that whatever happened or will happen in the future, in this moment, he is the definition of happiness.
The stairs creak under our weight, muffling the conversation I can hear happening in the kitchen while plates clink and bottles of wine are thrown away. I skip the bathroom and bring her directly to her bed. Birthday celebrations include skipping teeth brushing. When I lay her down, her eyes flutter open. I go to undo the bobby pin holding her braid up, but her chubby hand stops me halfway.
“You’ll be more comfortable if we take it out, honey.”
“I want to keep it for tomorrow.”
I brush a thumb over her messy, dark brow. “How about I promise to make you another tomorrow?”
Her eyes brighten like I’m a genie who’s offered her three wishes. When I try to touch her hair again, she lets me. I undo the braid, then pick up the brush by her bed and untangle her hair. This used to be my favorite part of the night when I was a kid, when my mother would pick the wooden brush made of soft bristles and start from root to end, going over and over the same sections; sometimes while humming, sometimes while asking me about my day, and sometimes in perfect silence. I do the same with Zoe, taking my time, thinking she’s fallen asleep from the heaviness of her breathing and the quiet that’s so rare of her.
She makes me jolt when she says, “Cassie?”
