I brought the jar inside and set it on the kitchen windowsill, where the light hit it just so. For a minute, I let myself feel it; the simple sweetness, the fact that someone saw what I needed before I could ask.
Maybe that was the real wish Iris had for us. To let ourselves be seen. Not just needed.
Later,after Lily had gone to bed and the house was heavy with the hush of late summer, I found myself in the library. The box of Iris’s wishes was still there, tucked beneath the window seat, exactly where we’d left it.
I pulled it out, hands shaking slightly, and picked up the next card, this one tied with a blue ribbon.
I sat on the window seat, legs folded beneath me, and read.
Wish Two:
fix the porch swing—and sit on it together, every day.
even if you don’t want to.
especially if you don’t want to.
I let out a slow breath. Leave it to Iris to know exactly which walls we’d try to rebuild the moment she was gone.
The porch swing was fixed. That part was easy. The hard part would be making ourselves sit in it together, every day. To share the same air, the same view, the same tangled ache of wanting to belong and not knowing how.
I pressed the card against my chest, let my eyes close, and promised myself: I’d try.
Even if it hurt.
Especially if it hurt.
6
WILLA
The next morning, I made everyone coffee.
Which should’ve been the first sign that something was off.
I didn’tmakecoffee. I existed near coffee. I commented on it. I flirted with baristas to get free extra shots. But this morning, I woke up early, found the good beans, and even frothed oat milk like some kind of semi-domesticated forest witch.
“Okay,” I said, balancing three mugs like a caffeine fairy with boundary issues. “Family meeting. Porch swing. Mandatory attendance. No excuses.”
Harper looked up from her laptop like I’d just threatened to set it on fire.
June raised one eyebrow, suspicious.
“I made you coffee,” I said, handing them each a mug. “That’s how serious I am. Now come on. We’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?” Harper asked flatly.
“The thing Iris told us to do,” I said, gesturing with both hands like a motivational speaker in a cult documentary. “Sit on the porch swing together. Every day. Even if we don’t want to. Especially if we don’t want to.”
June blinked. “You read the next card?”
“Don’t act so shocked. I read things. Especially when they’re wrapped in ribbon and emotionally manipulative.”
I was already halfway out the door before they could argue.
The porch was warm from the sun. The swing creaked under my weight as I flopped onto it, crossing my legs and sipping from my own mug. The other two followed reluctantly, like they were heading to a performance review.
We sat shoulder to shoulder. The chain creaked gently. The silence between us was filled with clinking mugs and internal resistance.
