“You look tired, sweetie,” she says, her brow creasing slightly.
“It’s before seven,” I say, detangling myself from her grip. “Anyone who’s awake right now looks tired…present company excluded.”
She smiles but it doesn’t erase the concern in her eyes. “Well, we’ve got plenty planned today, so you better rally.”
“I’m rallied,” I lie, forcing brightness into my voice.
“Good! Busy day ahead.” Mom’s attention wanders toward the shopwindow. “So, will we finally get to meet this Hayden you’ve been speaking so highly of? You haven’t introduced us to anyone since…well, since…” She stops herself, the words fading, but I know what she means.
Since they left Stonevale.
Since visits turned rushed and chaotic. Since I stopped letting them all the way in because they put the town…andme…in the rearview mirror.
My throat tightens, heat creeping up my neck like betrayal. “Yeah, he’s coming. Minimum interrogation, please.”
Mom gasps. “We wouldnever.”
Dad coughs into his fist. “Speak for yourself, Junebug.”
She swats at him playfully. “But seriously, sweetie, it’s been so long. He must be pretty special.”
I glance away, shrugging. “Maybe.”
She doesn’t push, but I feel the weight of the unspoken expectation settle between us. My brother’s absence filling the space like it always does.
Like it always has.
The morning’s a whirlwind. Breakfast at Café Clove, a tour of the updates at Full Bloom, then Mom’s boutique circuit. She picks up everything she thinks is “darling” but buys none of it. Dad chatters nonstop about the mating calls of chickadees and something about the nesting preferences of dark-eyed juncos. It’s busy and entirely surface level, exactly how they prefer it.
Somewhere between the bakery and the bookstore, I spot him…Hayden, in his usual black coat, striding up the steps of city hall with a folder tucked under his arm. I raise a hand automatically, ready to wave across Main Street, just in time to see him disappear through those glass doors. What could possibly keep a funeral director visiting city hallthismuch?
I mean, at this point, maintenance probably sends the guy holiday cards.
“You coming, sweetie?” Mom calls from a few paces ahead.
I blink, dropping my hand. “Yeah,” I call back, forcing a smile as I fall into step beside her. “Right behind you.”
Later, at my apartment, Mom immediately fusses. Watering plants she insists look parched (they don’t) and straightening the eclectic assortment of thrifted frames and colorful ceramics scattered across shelves. As I watch her carefully rearrange thetrailing ivy, murmuring softly about how plants thrive on regular attention…to me, of all people…a quiet ache settles behind my ribs. She means well, I remind myself. And so, I let her continue her gentle crusade against imagined neglect, fixing what isn’t broken, even though her nervous energy only heightens my own.
I’m about two seconds from cracking when the door to my apartment swings open without a knock.
Dominic bursts in, Elijah trailing behind him with a bakery bag. Dominic takes one look at the RV pamphlets scattered on my kitchen table and the color-coded bird-watching itinerary my father has hung on the fridge, and he’s saluting my parents like he’s reporting for duty.
“June! Bryan! My absolute favorite Wilders,” Dominic declares. “Heard there was a hostage situation.” He drops his voice for me alone: “We’ll stay as long as you need.”
Mom squeals, clutching his face like he’s back from war. Dad lifts his binoculars jokingly. “A rare Dominic sighting. Remarkable plumage.”
Elijah steps around them both, setting the bag on the counter. “Thought you could use reinforcements.”
Thank you, I mouth.
Dominic, meanwhile, is already center stage. He’s holding my mom’s hands, complimenting her haircut—she blushes when he calls it “radiant”—before pivoting expertly to clap my dad on the shoulder, loudly congratulating him on “tolerating retirement like a champ.”
“So,” Dominic continues, sliding into a chair and snagging a muffin from the table. “How’s the great RV adventure? Last time we spoke, June, you mentioned something about matching binocular tattoos?”
My mother laughs, a carefree, delighted sound I haven’t heard since they arrived. I try to not take it personally. She pats Dominic’shand warmly. “Still trying to convince Bryan. You know how he is.”
Dominic nods solemnly. “Always a tough nut to crack.”
