"She's going to need a hose," I say, and Mom laughs softly.
Mercy's sparkler fizzles out and she immediately turns to Dad. "Pop, I need another one."
"You just had one, sweetheart."
"But it died." Her bottom lip pushes out in a pout and her eyes grow as large and round as puppy dog eyes.
Dad looks at me for permission and I nod. It's the Fourth of July and I'm too happy tonight to say no to anything. He pulls another sparkler from the pack and lights it for her. She holds it up like the Statue of Liberty, grinning so widely, I can see the gap where she lost her tooth last week.
She's growing up so fast, and it feels like time is passing so quickly, there's no way I can store all these memories. Which only makes me remember how much her father has missed and triggers me to wonder where he is again.
I check my phone for the third time in ten minutes. Jaxon said he'd be here by eight, and it's a quarter after now. I'm not worried, exactly, but old habits die hard. There's still a part of me that braces for the letdown and waits for the text that says something came up.
Years of nursing an abandonment wound has left me hypervigilant to it. I'm having to retrain my brain every day now, to trust him and relax when my nervous system wants to jump into fight or flight and just run away.
I search the crowd again, standing tip-toe to look over the heads of passing festivalgoers, and I see his head bobbing up and down, face locked in our direction. He's cutting through the crowd near the funnel cake stand, carrying so much stuff that he looks ridiculous. There's a massive bouquet of roses tucked under one arm and what looks like two ice cream cones balanced in his other hand.
Mercy spots him before I can say anything. "It's Jaxon!" she screams, loud enough that three people at the next table turn around.
He grins when he sees her and picks up his pace, somehow making it to our table without dropping anything. "Hey, kid," he says, handing Mercy one of the ice cream cones—strawberry, her favorite. She takes it with both hands, sparkler forgotten on the ground. Then he turns to me.
"These are for you," he says, holding the roses out to me. I take them and press my nose into the red, white, and blue flowers. They're beautiful, and completely impractical at a festival like this, but his grin is so wide, I can't begin to point that out.
"You didn't have to do all this," I tell him, but I'm smiling.
He leans down and kisses my forehead. "Well, I wanted to."
He shakes Dad's hand and gives Mom a side hug that she accepts with cautious warmth she's been nurturing for the past few weeks. They're getting there. Mom still watches him protectively, but tonight, I can tell she's starting to loosen up like I am.
Jaxon slides onto the bench next to me and hands me the second ice cream cone—mint chocolate chip, which is my favorite, and he definitely knows that one by heart. "Mmm, you remembered," I say, taking a lick and leaning into his side. He puts his arm around me and presses a kiss to my cheek as he watches me enjoy the ice cream. This feels so natural, like we never skipped a beat or lost a day.
"Nice to see you, Son," Dad says to Jaxon. It's good to hear him call Jaxon that again. It's been a long time.
"Mr. Carter, I hope you and Mrs. Carter are enjoying the festival. I hear the band was right up your alley." Jaxon's eyes twinkle as he jerks his chin up in the direction the band has now finished playing. "Bluegrass?"
Dad chuckles and pats Mom's hand. "Yeah, well, I don't plan to join the junk band jamboree any time soon, but I do like to listen now and then." I roll my eyes at Dad and watch the ice cream dripping from Mercy's chin.
"You play?" Jaxon asks, but before Dad can reply, Roger walks up behind us, gripping both of Jaxon's shoulders and giving him a hard shake. It's good to see them getting along too. God knows how much Roger needed Jaxon to come home, and it was rocky at first, but they're figuring it out, just like us.
"Hey, Dad," Jaxon says, patting a spot next to him on the bench. "Glad you came."
Roger sits down and nods at everyone. "Wouldn't miss it," he says quietly, though I think had Jaxon not come home, Roger would have missed all of this. Not that he'd have stayed home, but he'd have been so drunk, there's no way he'd have remembered anything. Seeing him sober is heartwarming.
"You want some? It's strawberry," Mercy says, thrusting her ice cream cone in Roger's face. She has no clue that's her grandpa yet, but hopefully, one day, she'll learn it. And hopefully, she'll come to love him the way she loves my parents.
Roger studies her sweet face and I swear his eyes get glassy before he clears his throat. "No, thank you, sweetheart. That's all yours." She leans back, shrugging her shoulders, and licks a long stream of melty pink ice cream from her arm.
I catch Jaxon watching Mercy interact with Roger before he puts his arm around me and kisses my cheek again. I know he must feel some modicum of pride and joy at seeing his little girl interact with his father. I'm sure one day soon, he'll want to tell Mercy the truth, but we've been pacing ourselves.
The first firework goes up at ten sharp—a single gold streak that bursts into a wide ring above the water. Mercy gasps and grabs my arm with even stickier hands, and I pull her onto my lap so she can see better. a blue one that crackles and splits into adozen smaller ones follows, making the crowd around us start oohing and ahhing. Every loud boom makes Mercy jump, and I wrap my arms tighter around her.
"So pretty!" she exclaims, and I agree. This year, the fireworks seem even more beautiful than ever. Probably because I have a reason to be happier than ever. Jaxon's hand finds mine under the table and he threads his fingers between mine, making all of this even more perfect.
The fireworks go on for a solid thirty minutes—big, booming ones that shake the beach, quiet, shimmering ones that hang in the air like glitter before they fade. Mercy claps and shouts after every single one. By the end she's half-asleep against my chest, her sticky hands curled into my shirt.
When it's over, Mom stands and reaches for Mercy. "Let us take her home. She's done for the night." I hesitate, but Mercy 's already reaching for her nana with her eyes mostly closed. Dad takes the diaper bag and the leftover sparklers. Mom lifts Mercy onto her hip like she weighs nothing.
"Thanks, Mom," I say, standing.
