“Let’s goooo,” Greta chants from the exit, breaking the spell between us. “This homie’s hungry.”
Down at the parking lot, Linden takes my lunch order, then he hands the keys to Greta. I follow them down the hill, and through the back window of his truck, I catch Linden’s profile when he talks to Greta, and though I can’t hear what they’re saying, I can sense the ease between them, almost hear their laughter. Have they always been close, or did the divorce offer an opportunity? It makes me think of my dad, and the unfamiliar landscape we were forced to navigate when Mom passed. Would we have become so close if we’d still had Mom?
Even though Greta and Linden stop to pick up lunch, by the time I hurry into my house and change into my suit, they’re already scampering down to the water’s edge.
I soak in the way Linden’s calves flex when he plows the shallows before he dives beneath the surface. Do I secretly love that we shared our own private swim together yesterday? Yes, almost as much as this one, because the welcoming tug of belonging I’m feeling right now is making my heart hum inside my chest.
The sharp sand pricks my bare feet as I stroll to the shore, dropping my towel and yanking my ponytail free. My newbracelet catches the light. I decide to keep it on. It’s served me well so far. Maybe it will help me through the rest of this day.
Because my craving for him is like a hot ache inside me. What we shared feels like so much more than a hookup, but is that how he’s feeling about it? I don’t know that I want the answer. It’s easier to pretend I haven’t already given him too much of my heart.
Or that it’s too much to take back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Greta wantsto sleep outside with me. She lasts all of ten minutes picking out constellations before she drifts off, her breaths easy and deep.
There are lots of highs being a parent, but there’s something incredibly satisfying about your kid sleeping peacefully, unencumbered.
When Kelly and I divorced, Greta had wicked night terrors for months. Bedtime became an ordeal. She needed so much reassurance and patience at a time of day when I was at my worst. Drained after a long day of keeping it together.
For a while, it was easier for me to sleep in her room. Kelly wanted to put her on medication, but I resisted. Not that medication isn’t a great tool in certain circumstances, but I didn’t think we were at that point. As long as Greta could tolerate it, I wanted her to feel whatever she needed to feel. Even though it was hard and scary. Even though I got even less sleep than usual. Because how else do we learn to cope with loss, with our fears? Something Dad used to tell me:The only way through it is through it.
The lights in Meg’s downstairs have long since gone out, butthere’s a soft glow from the second story. Maybe her bedroom. Is she reading? Packing for her trip?
Spending the afternoon with her and Greta was so…easy.
I wish she was here.
The distant call of a loon wakes me before dawn, the dry air so still and crisp. The few beads of dew coating the foot of our blankets have almost melted thanks to the approaching sun. Next door, Meg’s kitchen light is on.
I’m not going over there. She doesn’t need me disrupting her routine.
Even if she’s leaving today and I don’t even know when I’ll see her again.
I suppress a groan and shut my eyes.
People leave all the time. Hell, I do it for work. It’s not a fucking crisis.
Plus she’s my date for Ev and Vivian’s wedding, for crying out loud. I’ll see her.
The problem is I want her to be more than just my plus one, my fake date.
I want her to be my somebody.
It’s a mess. Maybe it’s good she’s leaving. It’ll give me time to get my head on straight.
After checking on Greta, I tuck inside the house to brush my teeth and dress for a paddle. Greta’s latest find from her online thrift store is folded on the top of my dresser. It’s red, with that broken-in softness, and still smells of the strong detergent they always use. In the center, a faded white crayfish, pincers out, is framed by “LET’S GET CRAY CRAY”.
I switch my pajama pants for a pair of trunks, then pad down to the kitchen. Outside on the deck, Greta hasn’t moved, but to my surprise, Kody is curled into a ball at her side. When I pad pastthem, he gives me a one-eyed glance before ignoring me. That he doesn’t attack my ankles is an interesting development.
I stand at the corner of my deck, the voices in my head dialing up to a roar. All I have to do is grab my paddle and the board tucked under my deck, walk to the shore, and push off. By the time I get back, Meg will have left.
Is that really what I want?
I run my fingers through my hair and tug until it stings.
Fuck this.
