“This is just the regular version. The version that doesn’t have to hide anymore.”
We collect the dogs—who are thrilled to be back on solid ground—and load them into my Jeep for the drive back to Cobbiton. April connects her phone to the speakers, and we sing along badly to pop songs while the dogs howl the chorus.
This is what I want. Every day. Forever.
About halfway home, April’s phone buzzes with a text. She glances at it and her whole body tenses.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She inhales a long breath. “Nothing. Just ... my parents.”
I wait, giving her space to tell me if she wants to.
“They’re asking if I’m coming to visit next month for my mom’s birthday.”
I grunt. “That’s right. She and I have the same one. Do you want to go?”
“Not particularly.” She stares out the window. “They’ll just spend the whole time asking when I’m going back to law school and getting a real job.”
My jaw tightens. I hate how they make her feel. Hate that they can’t see what everyone else sees—that April is smart and driven and that the Barkery is brilliant.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But if you do, we’ll celebrate my birthday when you get back. Or I could come with you if it works with the game schedule.”
“Thank you. If I go, it’ll be awful. If I don’t, I’ll feel guilty. Either way, they’ll use it as more evidence that I’m selfish and irresponsible and—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Sorry. This isn’t your problem.”
We stop at a light and I glance at her, slouched in the seat. “April, your problems are my problems. That’s what thismeans. And for the record, you’re not selfish or irresponsible. You’re the most selfless person I know.”
Her eyes get shiny, and I squeeze her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Anytime. Now, let’s play French toast.”
She smiles at our game. “Okay. French Toast makes me think of breakfast.”
“Breakfast makes me think of this morning.”
“This morning makes me think of your mom’s French toast.”
“My mom’s French toast makes me think of cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon makes me think of fall.” She sighs.
“Fall makes me think of hockey season.”
“Hockey season makes me think of playoffs.”
“Playoffs make me think of stress.” I grumble.
She chuckles. “That escalated quickly.”
“Your turn.”
April taps her chin. “Stress makes me think of deep breaths.”
“Deep breaths make me think of balance during my dryland training.”
“Balance makes me think of you and me.”
