Page 99 of Neap & Spring

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice conspiratorial. “They have a system. If you try to join, you’ll just throw them off.”

She’s right. Wesley washes, his hands moving efficiently through sudsy water. Hayes dries with a dish towel that’s seen better days. Beckett puts away everything, opening cabinets without looking, knowing exactly where everything goes. Patrick supervises while also packing up leftovers into mismatched Tupperware containers, his running commentary a mix of instructions and good-hearted teasing. Callum floats between stations, helping wherever he’s needed — grabbing a dish from Wesley, handing Hayes a pot that needs extra drying, reaching the high shelf Beckett can’t quite get to.

It’s mesmerizing to watch. The ease of it and the way they move around each other in the small kitchen without colliding and without needing to communicate. A wordless language built over decades of dinners just like this one.

“You’re an only child, right?” Iris asks, watching me watch them.

I blink, pulled from my thoughts, and nod slowly.

“You’re watching them like you’ve never seen siblings interact before.” She smiles, understanding in her eyes. “I’m an only child too. It’s a lot, isn’t it? The way they just … exist together.”

“Yeah.” My voice comes out wonderstruck. “It’s fascinating, really.”

I’ve never had that. I’ve never had people who know my rhythms and can predict my movements. Someone who has a place set aside for me in their choreography. My parents love me — I know they do — but we’re polite with each other. They never even asked why I stopped cooking. Or what happened with Callum. They never push.

We’ve never had this kind of easy, messy, beautiful clutter.

We sit back down on the couch, and I realize I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in days. Maybe weeks. The knot between my shoulder blades has loosened. My teeth aren’t clenched. I’m not running through worst-case scenarios or exit strategies.

Maybe I’m more relaxed than I’ve been since I walked into Neap & Spring and saw Callum for the first time in five years and felt my entire carefully constructed world tilt sideways.

“Alright!” Patrick’s voice carries from the kitchen. “Highs and lows! Living room, everyone!”

“Oh God,” Iris mutters beside me. “Here we go.”

“What’s highs and lows?” I ask, my stomach already tightening with dread.

She looks at me in surprise. “Cal didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

But everyone’s already moving to the living room, claiming seats like they know exactly where to go. Beckett sprawls in the armchair, long limbs everywhere. Hayes takes the other end of the couch from where Iris and I are sitting. Wesley leans against the wall, arms crossed, still holding a dish towel. Patrick settles into what’s clearly his chair — a worn leather recliner near the fireplace, the leather cracked in places and molded to his shape.

Callum sits down next to me on the couch close enough that our thighs touch, electric even through denim and leggings.

“Okay,” I whisper, leaning toward him slightly. “What is this?”

“Family tradition.” His voice is low enough that only I can hear. “Everyone shares their highs and lows from the week. The best thing and the worst thing.”

“Everyone?”

He pauses, and I can see him choosing his words. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but —”

“House rules,” Patrick announces, clearly having overheard despite Callum’s attempt at discretion. “If you’re at a family dinner, you participate.” His eyes are kind when they land on me, crinkling at the corners. “But you can keep it simple if you want, Vivienne. We’re not trying to interrogate you.”

“Just mildly investigate,” Beckett adds with a grin that’s all mischief.

“Ignore him,” Hayes responds flatly. “We all do.”

Patrick settles back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Wesley, why don’t you start us off?”

Wesley pushes off from the wall, the movement so slow and casual, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. His eyes go somewhere distant.

“High” — he looks at his dad, and there’s pride shining in his eyes — “we pulled in the best catch we’ve had all season on Wednesday. The hold was completely full. We had to ice everything twice to keep it fresh, and we sold out before noon.”

“Heck yeah,” Patrick says, his face lighting up. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Market price was up too,” Wesley adds, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “So we actually made decent money for once. Enough to cover the repairs that have been piling up and still have some left over.”