I should go back inside, but part of me wants to sit and listen—to pretend Owen’s in there too, stacking red solo cups on his head, making everyone laugh while he pretends to help clean. If I stay out here long enough, the memories feel less like the past and more like something still unfolding in the backyard. Like maybe, maybe, he’ll still be there waiting to kiss me goodnight when I finally get up.
“Don’t act coy. Itotallysaw you making out with mom’s dentist in the corner when that 80’s love song came on,” Harper crows.
Viv’s high soprano adds in, “I told you to play it. I knew that one would do the trick!”
I can practically feel Marin blushing from here.
“Do you think anyone else noticed? I don’t know what came over me. I haven’t made out at a party since junior year of college.” Her voice drops lower and I strain to make out whatever confession she’s sharing next. “I blame Viv’s kombucha. It’s doing something to my senses.”
“You can blame the kombucha on your renewed sense of womanhood! Either way, it’s good for the gut and the guilt.” Viv must be moving toward the kitchen because her voice is fading as she talks, presumably to pour Marin another cup of liberating kombucha.
“I forgot how early an old people party ends. It’s only 11! Your favorite old haunt, the BeatWave is still pretty good. Should be starting to pick up in about an hour,” Harper’s voice calls out across the yard.
“Sounds promising.” Jalen’s deep voice bounces off the porch. “Matt, you up for round two?”
“There’s no 5 AM practice tomorrow so I can party all night. Hey, has anyone seen Mom?”
I hear a few murmurs and presumably some head shakes and I sigh, bracing myself to stand. But my body won’t budge, my arms refuse to listen. I’m not ready to walk back in and face that wall of memories, those frozen frames of the man who was supposed togrow old with me, captured forever at forty-eight. Like time ran out, and no one told me we were on the clock.
Then Matt’s voice echoes down the hall, followed by the telltale sound of his heavy footsteps. “Mom, you out here?”
It’s quite obvious that I’m slumped against the front door so I don’t bother to lie as Matt pushes against it and shifts my whole body across the rough wooden porch. “Mom? What’re you doing? You ok?”
I nod, and then shake my head, and then nod again. No one wants to break down in front of their child.
“Does this have something to do with Noah ducking out of here early?”
I shake my head, then nod, then shake it again—like my body can’t decide what story to tell. Matt gives me a look that would’ve made his dad proud. It’s the same one Owen used to master, half patience, half “I’m not buying a word of it.”
“Are you dating him?”
“No. Well, maybe. I thought I was. I don’t know. I’m not sure that’s going to work out.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Oh?” Matt crosses his legs and sinks down next to me, leaning his shoulder back against the wall. He’s trying to act casual, but his brows are knit together.
Something in the way he asks, the way his arms are clamped tightly together. My mom senses are tingling. “You knew… didn’t you?”
“Knew what?”
“Matthew Theodore Lawson.” I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb with me.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Remember when I used to have trouble sleeping as a kid, so Dad set up that little basketball hoop in the backyard so I could shoot around and wear myself out?”
“Yeah.” A soft smile touches my lips. “You used to be out there for hours.”
“Well, one night, must’ve been after one of your PTA meetings or something, you got home late. I was already outside, shooting free throws with that little foam ball, and I saw Dad and Noah out on the porch. They didn’t know I was there.”
I shift slightly. “What happened?”
He pauses, staring at the floor. “I heard Dad say, ‘I see the way you look at her.’ And Noah said something like, ‘You don’t have to worry. I’d never do anything. You two are, you’re it. I’d never mess that up.’ And Dad, he didn’t yell or anything. He didn’t really say anything. After Noah left, he stood there, staring out into the backyard, playing that one sad Sufjan Stevens song on repeat like he’d done something unforgivable.”
A silence blooms between us.
“Noah kinda stopped coming around after that. I didn’t know what it meant until years later. And even then, I tried to convince myself it wasn’t a big deal. Just a weird one-off thing. But now?” Matt’s jaw tightens. “He promised.”
I exhale slowly. “He did.”
“I’ve always liked Noah.” Matt’s voice is soft in the night. “I mean, he was part of our family. He was around all the time, holidays, school stuff, even movie nights where he’d bring popcorn with, like, five different seasonings.”
