“We need to get going. I don’t want to be late.”
Ella looks up. “But didn’t Owen say 10?”
“No. He said 9.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Oh, my bad. Well, isn’t Owen always late?”
My father lets out an amused huff. “What did I tell you, son? She fits right in.”
Ella beams, wrapping her fingers around her mug. Her eyes meet mine, and her face falls flat when she sees that my expression doesn’t match that of the man she’s trying too hard to please.
My mother asks her something about the park, whether she’s been before, and Ella turns toward her with that bright smile. I stop following the conversation and check my phone again. 8:07.
I pull up the tracking app without thinking about it. Sawyer’s blue dot sits at the rental cottage address off Route 9, exactly where it was twenty minutes ago when I checked it upstairs. Still there. Not moving. They haven’t left yet either, which means I was right about Owen and his complete inability to be anywhere on time.
I lock the screen before anyone can see what I’m looking at.
“I’m going to get some air,” I say to no one in particular.
My father looks up. “We haven’t finished?—”
“Five minutes.”
I don’t wait for a response.
The back porch is quiet, the lake flat and silver in the morning light. I sit on the railing and pull my phone back out. The dot still hasn’t moved.
I’ve decided what I want to do today. What I want to say to Sawyer. Or some version of it, something small enough to walk it back if I have to. I’ve been running through it since last night and I still haven’t landed on the right words. Every version either says too much or says nothing at all.
The truth is I’ve been saying the wrong things to her for years. On purpose. It was easier to be cruel than to want something I’d already decided I couldn’t have, and then her father fucked everything up, her whole family really. They made the choice for me.
I don’t know if I’ve ever forgiven her for that. For being his daughter, her daughter. For being the one thing I wanted that I never got to keep.
And then she chose Owen.
So, yeah. Cruelty was easier. It still is—but I’m going to say something today anyway. That’s decided.
The sliding door opens behind me and Ella steps out, mug still in hand. She leans against the railing a few feet away. Close but not close enough to touch. She’s learned my boundaries, at least. A perk of her always watching and calibrating.
“Hey.” She looks out at the water. “Sorry if I said something wrong in there.”
“You didn’t.”
“You just seemed?—”
“I’m fine, Ella.”
She’s quiet, thankfully. I take that moment to breathe and watch the still lake. A bird cuts across the tree line and disappears into the pines. Warm air breezes, making ripples in the water.
“Are you nervous?” she asks. “About seeing them?”
She means Owen and Sawyer. It’s an olive branch—she’s offering me an out for my shitty mood. It’s socially acceptable, generous even, thinking there’s a singular reason. Smart too, because she’s not entirely wrong.
“No,” I say.
She nods, but I know she doesn’t believe me.
We stand there for another minute, the morning breeze moving around us, and I think about how Ella deserves someone who comes downstairs and is actually glad to see her. Someone who doesn’t check his phone twice before he’s even said good morning. Someone whose first thought of the day isn’t about another woman entirely.
