She smiles obnoxiously.
“That’s the plan,” Nash admits. “I’d love to pick your brain.”
Those words are Reese’s dream come true.
When she hugs me, she whispers, “Remy and Mom are driving me crazy. There better be so much alcohol in this place.”
“So much,” I whisper back.
Remy wiggles her way into our arms. “I knew he was still in love with you,” she says. “You’re glowing with sex.”
“Well, Nash lays pipe like you wouldn’t believe,” I admit, making them both cackle.
Over their shoulders, I watch Cap and Mom talk with arm touches and shy laughs. Bangles up her arm and his oxygen over his shoulder, it’s charming. They are. A second chance at what could have been. The way he’s looking at her makes me think she might be the thing to get him back to Fontain.
“Alright, fam,” Sunny hollers, adjusting the brim of her wide hat. “We havin’ a party or we havin’ a party?”
“Oh, I like her,” Reese says, breaking our hug.
I snort. “Just wait.”
“Everything’s out back,” Nash calls. “Make yourselves at home.”
Greetings and introductions happen while we walk, Nash and I lagging behind as we round the house, hand in hand.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods. “You?”
I hum my yes. We’ll go over it all later, but now—I glance around the yard, covered with our people—the ones I never would’ve believed would gather like this mere weeks ago. Less than two weeks and my life is nearly unrecognizable. The pieces are the same, just rearranged.
Who knew a ridiculous treasure hunt was all I needed to help the world make sense, and it’s not even because of the treasure I came to find?
My mother, that’s who.
With less than twenty dollars to my name, I’ve never felt so rich.
“You ready for all this?” I ask him. “Sunny and Reese might be scary.”
He answers by way of a grin and a swift motion that pulls me to him before tossing me over his shoulder. My scream turns to a laugh the moment he launches us both into the pool.
Every kid follows suit.
Forty-Six
The scene in Nash’s backyard could be painted as a Norman Rockwell replica. Kids scream. Grills grill. In a pot the size of a small bathtub, potatoes, corn, shrimp, sausage, and enough seasoning to coat everyone’s taste buds boil before being dumped across a table covered in newspapers. We gather around it to eat without plates, napkins, or couth.
When Danimal shows up, it’s in a haze of smoke and with a pan of brownies I tell the kids they absolutelycannottouch. They don’t mind because Nash, in his anxiety-induced shopping spree, bought every frozen treat available.
It’s chaos and laughter. It’s fun and it’s play. An entire afternoon filled with everything I didn’t know my life was missing.
When the sick feeling creeps in that I could have been having nights like this for the last eight years, I smash it like a Murano candlestick holder against a concrete floor. I may have missed out, but unlike some stories of history—including Anson and his wife and even my own parents—I have it now. I get today. With a little luck, maybe even tomorrow.
In a lawn chair next to my mom, she and I watch Sunny and Cap start the electric slide to the tune of yacht rock playing ona small stereo. I roll my head to the side to look at her—she’s happy; I’m happy she’s here.
“What’s it like seeing him?” I ask, taking a sip of my sangria.
“Probably what it’s like for you to see Nash,” she says, sipping her own drink. “Just with more wrinkles and a fake leg.”
