“She must be special if she gets you flustered,” Hayes said.
“She is,” he said. “Mom had been gone a little over a year when I met Avery.”
She’d only been at Montressa for a couple of days when Sam had sent the two of them to Portland to pick up some new kayaks. When they’d finished lunch, the boats weren’t ready and after being away at school for several months, Miles had the overwhelming urge to visit the beach where he and his father had scattered his mother’s ashes. Not acknowledging his mom’s memory would keep him up all night. Feeling self-conscious about being sad in front of a girl he had just met, he’d driven to the beach without explanation. He sat alone on the jetty for at least an hour and Avery had let him sit, quietly wading along the shoreline, picking up sea glass. When he finished and tried to explain, he’d choked up.
“That was such a hard time for me, and she understood how to reach me. You know how the other person cries and you end up comforting them?”
“Yep,” said Hayes. “You become their support when you’re the one who needs it most.”
Anna Catherine nodded.
“Exactly. She didn’t do that.” Miles said. “She gave me a hug and gently wiped my tears away with the cuff of her sweatshirt. It was actually my sweatshirt. I lent it to her after she refused to wear the plastic bib and got lobster juice all over herself at lunch.”
He let out a sad laugh. That day, Avery had explained how her grandmother Mimi described grief as a balloon trapped in a room with a button on the wall. In the beginning, the balloon is so full, it’s constantly pushing the button. But as time goes on, the balloon deflates a little and bounces around the room, pressing it less and less. That image had given him hope.
“I will never forget her saying she could hold space in our friendshipfor me and my grief. She hugged me and I can’t explain why, but I let myself be comforted. Later, she picked up a piece of heart-shaped sea glass, put it in my hand, and told me it was a sign my mother hadn’t left me. I still have it.”
Anna Catherine and Hayes were both speechless.
“What?” he asked.
“And you let her go?” Hayes asked.
“Did it ever occur to you the heart-shaped glass was your mom’s way of telling you Avery was the one?” Anna Catherine believed the universe sent signals.
Miles felt a weight drop into his stomach. “No, but that sounds like Mom.”
Maisie Magrum would have appreciated the care Avery took of other people’s hearts. That would’ve been all she needed to know.
Miles carefully transferred the macaroni and cheese to his mother’s vintage CorningWare baking dish. The recipe didn’t taste the same when made in any other dish. He dotted the top with tomatoes and sprinkled crushed, buttered saltines over the top.
“Miles,” Anna Catherine said. “I feel like I’m watching Food Network.”
Miles licked a dollop of cheese and cracker off his finger.
“Secret topping reveal. Mom said these saltines are the only ones to use.” He held up a box of Premium crackers.
“Yum.” Hayes smiled. “How come you never cook fancy dinners for us?”
“Because we’re always at parties or Hayes’s movie premieres.” Miles laughed. “And I do cook for you. How many times have we ended the night at your kitchen table, confessing our deepest secrets to one another over my grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“I adore a midnight grilled-cheese confessional.” Anna’s jazz hands shimmied over her eyes. “We need another one soon.”
He put the dish in the oven, set the timer, and wiped his hands on a towel.
“What’s Avery’s vibe now?” Anna Catherine asked.
“When we’re alone, there are moments where she softens. But when people interrupt and embarrass us with cringe comments, one or both of us shuts down.” He got the trout out of the fridge and seasoned it with herbs and pepper.
“But you said there was progress,” Hayes said.
“There is. I convinced her to collaborate on a website and reservation system for Montressa. But yesterday we were in the cabin where she and I first slept together. Ten years ago, we thought no one knew. Turns out everyone did. Anyway, the head of maintenance came in and did his best Michael Scott impersonation. I think we were both already contemplating our history there, and histhat’s what she saids upped the awkwardness, and oh”—he placed his hands over his eyes—“I was rattled.”
“You two are like Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts inNotting Hill.” Anna put a finger to her mouth in thought.
“Because I own an oddly specific travel bookshop, and she owns my favorite Chagall painting of goats?” Miles smirked at Anna.
“No, because their relationship is perfect when they are by themselves. Other people, the media, and her stardom complicate everything.”
