So: two tents. Penny as a buffer. An educational adventure for my daughter. These are the parameters that make it okay. Safe. Decidedly non-romantic.
I can do this. I can go camping with Josh and keep it what it needs to be—a friend helping another friend give her kid a memorable weekend. Nothing more.
But am I playing with campfire? Am I being reckless? I keep telling myself it’s for Penny, that every kid should know how s’mores taste when you roast them over actual flames. But underneath, a crackling awareness sparks in me whenever Josh is around. This fluttery, nervous heat. I’m inching closer to something I shouldn’t touch. I know I’ll get singed if I’m not careful, and yet I don’t back away.
“Sounds lovely,” my mom comments with a barely contained hopefulness in her voice that makes my stomach knot. She wants me to be happy, to find someone new, to move on and rebuild. She worries about me being alone, about Penny growing up without a father. But the glint in her eye is destined to fade. Josh is not the person I can move forward with.
Josie, who knows Josh is in the “non-datable” category and why, keeps throwing me these worried side-glances. Her eyes scream “we need to talk” every time Penny drops Josh’s name, which is approximately every single sentence tonight.
“I told Josh he should come to family dinner sometime,” Penny announces, and I choke on my wine.
My eyes bug out. “When?”
Penny shrugs. “The other day.”
“That would be lovely,” Mom says before I can plan a response that doesn’t include profanities.
“We should meet this Josh,” Aunt Moira declares, setting down her fork with a decisive clink. “Is he hot?”
“Aunt Moira!” I chime.
“What?” She blinks. “It’s a legitimate question.”
Penny nods pensively. “For someone old, I guess. He’s hot even in regular clothes. I still haven’t seen him in his uniform, but Gossip Granny told me men in uniform are hotter.”
“They are, sweetie.” Moira toasts Penny with her wine glass. “I need to meet this lady.”
“Uniform?” Mom perks up. “Is he a police officer?”
The quiet laughter dies as Penny, with her characteristic bluntness, drops the bomb. “No, he’s a firefighter. Like Daddy was.”
The temperature at the table plunges twenty degrees in an instant. Mom’s face crumples into an expression of such complete apprehension that heat prickles at the base of my nose. Josie freezes mid-sip, eyes darting between Mom and me. Even Aunt Moira, who never met a tense situation she couldn’t defuse with an inappropriate joke, seems at a loss for words.
It’s like we’re back standing at Daniel’s funeral, the folded flag pressed into my numb fingers. The sirens wailing in salute as they lowered his empty casket into the ground.
I can’t breathe. The fairy lights strung above the patio blur into fuzzy halos as my eyes sting. I want to run, but my legs feel stuck in concrete.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Dorian’s voice breaks through the silence, saving me. I shoot him a thankful look. He winks back, standing up. “Alfred made his famous tiramisu.”
I’ve never been more grateful for my sister’s boyfriend and his social grace.
“I need some air.” I stand, pushing away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
I escape to the far side of Dorian’s massive garden, past the pool where the property ends in a metal railing overlooking the city below. Los Angeles sprawls beneath me, a glittering carpet of lights stretching all the way to the ocean. On a clear night like this, it looks magical rather than smoggy and congested.
I grip the cool railing to steady my breathing, wondering when Josh Collins embedded himself so thoroughly into our lives that my daughter can’t go ten minutes without mentioning him. And why, despite my absolute certainty that I will never date another firefighter, I can’t stop thinking about him or seeing him.
Footsteps approach on the flagstone path behind me, and I know it’s Josie without turning around. My sister never gives me space once she decides I need comfort, even if I’d rather be left alone.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say before she can speak.
She steps up beside me anyway, her shoulder brushing mine as she leans against the railing. “Fair,” she says simply. After a pause, she adds, “But are you okay?”
I stare out at the city lights, watching an airplane’s blinking path across the night sky. “I don’t know if I’m okay,” I admit. “I haven’t been okay in four years.”
Josie doesn’t push, doesn’t offer empty reassurances about time healing wounds or Daniel wanting me to be happy. She stands with me, silent and steady, her presence both comforting and irritating, in the way only sisters can.
“Talk about something else,” I request, not looking at her.
