I hear the fridge open, followed by a can cracking.
She comes back, handing me a lime beer.
“Thirsty?” I ask.
“Oh—it’s not for me,” she adds quickly. “It’s for you.”
I take it, smiling faintly.
“Right. You’re being responsible.”
“We’re trying,” she says.
I take a sip and let it sit for a second.
“Can I stay?” she asks. “I love a good burn ritual.”
I glance at the pile, then back at her.
“And I’ve had the kids all day,” she adds. “It’s Jackson’s turn. I watch them during the week and I could use a little break.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Stay.”
By the time we’re done, the fire pit’s stacked high. Books are at the bottom, with old papers layered in.
And, you know, some real wood on top since we need something solid to carry the flame.
I strike the lighter and hold it on some old magazines at the bottom. For a second, nothing happens.
Then it catches. Slow at first, then faster.
Ivy and I watch, me with another beer, and Ivy with a seltzer, as the flames take hold.
We both step back as the fire starts to climb.
I grab the Barcelona ticket, and turn it over one last time, wrapped in the love letter Evan gave me back.
“Anything you want to say?” Ivy asks gently.
I think about it and about everything I thought that trip meant. I chuckle, because actually? When I really remember it without rose-colored glasses, Evan and I were bickering even on that trip. Though it did have some sweet moments.
Then I shake my head and toss it in.
The fire takes it immediately, and I watch as the orange flames devour the paper.
“How’s it feel?”
“You know, when I was with him, I thought I’d hang onto those things forever. But now? I truly feel lighter already,” I say. “It’s the wildest thing.”
“I bet.”
We settle into the Adirondack chairs, the fire crackling in front of us, orange light flickering across the yard.
The heat reaches us in waves.
For a second, neither of us says anything. Then Ivy breaks the silence.
“So. What are you going to do about Logan?” she asks, catching my eyes.
