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I look down at my hands before anyone can see my reaction.

“He spent thirty-four years not caring about any of that stuff,” Linda says softly. “Then suddenly, he did.”

Linda glances around the salon, flexing her fingers one last time before nodding in approval. “Well,” she announces, “I’m not quite ready for ladies’ day to end.”

Nessa immediately perks up. “Oh?”

Linda gestures to all of us. “I think we should turn it into ladies’ night.”

“I support this motion,” Nessa adds with enthusiasm.

“Excellent. Where are we going?” Linda beams.

Becca looks up from where she’s scrolling through her phone, already putting together a plan. “Oh! We could go to The Summit.”

Nessa’s eyes light up as she explains. “Friday nights, they bring in live music. Good drinks. Great appetizers. Half the town shows up.”

“And occasionally, if the band gets tired or takes a break, they open it up for karaoke.”

Linda gets a mischievous glint in her eye and proclaims, “Oh, we’re definitely doing that.”

“I am absolutely not singing karaoke,” I inform them, already grabbing my bag.

26

JACKSON

Mom

Sweetie, I ned you to come pick me up at the Summit. I have joind the Zentrology grls for girs night and do nt wish to be bithered with driving. Come collect me when I text. Also I ordered onion rngs.

How my mother went from supposedly spending the weekend visiting me to inaugurating herself into Phoenix’s friend group is no surprise to me. This screams Linda Mercer all day. I smile at the thought of how my mom is probably doting on Phoenix, treating her like one of her own. Good, she deserves to have a caring mother figure, and I would gladly share mine, even if I’m not allowed at the table.

I walk in to a subpar version of an “Achy Breaky Heart” performed by the local band, who is clearly getting paid in longnecks by the sound of their voice and the glass bottles piling up in front of their stools.

The scent of cedar, fried food, and beer lingers in the air, and it takes me all of three seconds to find them tucked into the oversized horseshoe booth near the windows overlooking the sea of people.

Nessa is halfway out of her seat, telling a story with enough hand gestures to qualify as interpretive dance. Becca is laughing so hard she’s wiping tears from her eyes. Mack is shaking her head while trying—and failing—not to smile. Phoenix is sitting between my mother and Nessa, her walking boot stretched slightly into the aisle. She’s laughing. Not polite laughter or the restrained version she uses at work functions. Real laughter.

It’s breathtaking.

Mom’s gaze settles on Phoenix, softening in a way I’ve only ever seen when she’s looking at family. An ache settles behind my sternum. None of them notice me at first, which gives me a moment to take in the contained chaos of the group. The easy affection. The teasing. The way Phoenix leans toward them without realizing it. Like she’s finally stopped carrying everything by herself.

My mother turns her gaze from Phoenix and spots me first. Instead of giving me the over-the-top motherly wave I expect, I get a simple nod, with a head gesture telling me to come and sit, angled toward Phoenix’s side. I laugh on my way over at my mother attempting to play wing-woman.

“Good evening, ladies. How is the night going?”

They finally notice me, and I can tell there is just enough alcohol in their system to allow me to be in their friend’s presence without ripping me a new one. That, or their newfound respect for my mother.

Mom beams as if she’s seeing me for the first time and is genuinely surprised I’ve appeared. “Jackson, my sweet misunderstood boy.” She shuffles across the booth to give me a hug, forcing Phoenix to stand.

My smile falters for half a second. I haven’t been this close to Phoenix in weeks. She steadies herself against the edge of the table, her walking boot planted carefully on the floor. The table suddenly feels too small.

Mom wraps me in a hug that lasts entirely too long before releasing me, hands on either side of my face, squeezing gently.

“Move over,” she orders Phoenix. “He’s driving me home. He can at least take a seat and buy us another round.”

The girls cheer to that as I laugh, looking to wave over a waitress. Mom slides past me, tossing over her shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll find someone to mix up a round of something girly and have it brought over.” Something about the glint in her eyes throws me off, but I let it slide.