She scoots over on her bed, making room for me, and I slide on top of her covers and position myself against the headboard as I stretch my socked feet out on the bed.
"Daddy, do you have dates?"
"What do you mean? I have had dates before."
"When are you going to go on one again?"
"Oh, I'm not sure. I guess I don't really have anyone in mind I'd like to go on a date with. Why are you asking?"
"I heard Aunt Sarah telling her friend she has a date. But she said you never go on dates. That you won't go on them because of me."
Hazel curls up against my body and avoids looking up at me.
"Hey, listen to me." I lean down and tilt her chin up so we're eye to eye. "That is not true at all."
I'm going to kill my sister.
"I date. I just haven't lately because I'd rather spend time with you. Sometimes, dates take up too much time, and other times, they aren't very fun."
"Maybe I could help you find a fun date?" She looks up so innocently that I can't help but think the universe is shoving this idea down my throat tonight.
"I think taking you to the space center is a fun date. What do you think about that?"
"I think that would be a fantastic date! When?"
She's got me there. Bamboozled by a six-year-old.
"I'm sure I can find some time this weekend. Now, can I get back to this book?"
"Yeah. But Dad? I know you date so you can fall in love. And you already love me, so maybe you should find someone you want to love and ask them to date you."
Gut-punched by a kid.
When I reach the end of the chapter, Hazel is already asleep. I guess creating a planet does wear you out. As I head downstairs, my mind drifts to Sophia as I think about what Hazel said about finding someone to love. I'm not sure if love is what I'm after, but I'll admit that being around her isn't a burden at all.
"Knock, knock," Sophia says in her softest voice. The kitchen door is open, and she's leaning inside, hesitant to enter.
"Come on in. I just got Hazel to bed. Perfect timing."
"Oh, bummer, I wanted to say hi."
Something about her disappointment pulls at my heart. I sidestep the comment and bring us back to the reason she's here. "Come on back. I brought home some ideas I want to show you."
The house is quiet except for the gentle clink of Sophia's wine glass against the coffee table. We've been reviewing the script for a few hours, and the bottle between us is nearly empty. Papers are strewn across the couch cushions, covered in her neat handwriting. She's curled up at the other end, herfeet tucked under her, wearing an oversized UCLA sweatshirt that makes her look younger than her twenty-five years.
"I know if we can shoot this scene on the lot, we can find the money for the shot we want at Honey Pine, but this scene still isn't working." She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "I get why Maya won't leave the house, but we need the audience to understand, too."
I scan the pages again. The scene is simple on the surface. Maya is arguing with her mother about evacuating as mudslides threaten their neighborhood. But there's something deeper there, something about holding on to the past that feels achingly familiar.
"What if…" I pause, choosing my words carefully. "What if it's not really about the house at all? Maybe it's about what leaving means to her. Every memory of her husband is in those walls. Leaving means accepting that life goes on without him, and she's not ready for that."
Sophia looks up sharply. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
The wine must be hitting me harder than I thought because I find myself saying things I rarely talk about. "My mom was like that after my dad died. Watching her…it was like she died, too, in a way. She stayed in our old house until it practically fell apart around her. Wouldn't even paint the walls a different color because Dad had picked the original shade."
"Grant…" Sophia's voice is soft. She shifts closer, and her knee brushes against mine. "I'm so sorry."
"It was a long time ago." I take a sip of wine, buying time. "But I think that's why this scene matters so much. It's notjust about a stubborn woman refusing to evacuate. It's about grief and how, sometimes, we confuse holding on to things with holding on to people."
