And maybe, what I could have again.
If she didn’t run first.
Barcode’s hooves clopped around the corner, fading as Sienna coaxed her back toward her enclosure. I stood rooted to the spot beside the Polaris, hands still faintly tingling where they’d held her. The brisk spring air hit the back of my neck, but it didn’t cool anything in me. If anything, it made everything sharper—the smell of pine sap rising with the sun, the metallic tang of wet mud, the faint echo of Sienna’s laugh lingering in the shed.
I tried to breathe normally.
Didn’t work.
Tried again.
Still didn’t work.
Because somewhere between her mother’s ambush invitation, Sienna’s wide eyes meeting mine, and the ridiculous zebra shoving her head into my ribs, something had become unmistakably clear:
I wasn’t in the shallow end anymore.
I wasn’t even treading water.
I was underwater, holding my breath, hoping she’d come up for air at the same time.
I rubbed a hand across my jaw and forced myself back to the Polaris, but my mind wasn’t on gear or rides.
It was on Sienna’s face when I said I wanted to come to Easter.
The shock.
The warmth.
The fear.
All wrapped together like she didn’t know whether to smile or run.
Back when my parents were still alive, Easter meant crowded tables and loud laughter, my dad trying to fix a wobbly chair, my mom fussing over the roast until the whole house smelled like rosemary. After they died, I avoided holidays because the quiet felt too big. Too empty. My brother built a new family, and I stayed out of the way because grief makes you think stepping aside is safer.
I hadn’t stepped into a family holiday in almost a decade.
And somehow, without meaning to, Sienna’s mom had invited me back into something warm and chaotic and communal, something I’d convinced myself I didn’t need anymore.
But I did.
Maybe I did.
And that scared me more than anything.
The sun had shifted, warming one shoulder while the other stayed cool. It was grounding. I needed grounding.
Footsteps crunched behind me.
I didn’t have to turn to know it was her.
“I got her in,” Sienna announced, sounding simultaneously proud and exhausted. “Barcode only stole one glove and a granola bar on the way back.”
I turned. “She took a granola bar?”
“Yeah. The blueberry crumble one, straight from my pocket. Munched the wrapper right off.”
I groaned. “Sounds fitting
