Because that question feels bigger than I’m ready for.
The front door opens before the silence stretches too long, and June bursts inside carrying a tote bag and enough energy for all three of us.
“Oh my God,” she says breathlessly. “You guys are never going to believe the morning I just had.”
She drops the bag onto the table dramatically and starts pulling books out one by one.
I blink. “What is this?”
“Nathan’s wife is so cool,” she says, practically glowing. “We talked for like two hours about books, writing, romance, everything. She’s writing a series about a soccer team, and she basically told me the entire plot. I feel like I know a sacred secret, and she gave me all of these, and they’re signed!”
April gasps and reaches for one immediately. “No way.”
June grins, cheeks flushed from excitement. “She even wrote little notes inside.”
I laugh softly, watching them both lean over the books, excitement filling the kitchen in a way only they can.
June finally notices our faces. “What? What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” April says innocently, shooting me a look over her mug.
I kick her lightly under the table.
And for a little while, I let myself pretend I don’t feel the quiet question April left sitting in my chest.
What do I want?
Saturday night finds all three of us crowded in my kitchen, cooking, music low in the background, while ingredients take over every available counter space. April insists on opening a bottle of wine before dinner is even half finished, and somehow that turns into two bottles by the time we finally sit down to eat. The smell of roasted vegetables lingers in the air, mingling with the sweetness of the cookies cooling on the counter.
We talk about everything and nothing at once. Old memories. Stories from when we were kids. The kind of conversations that loop in circles because someone keeps remembering one more thing that makes us laugh harder than the last.
Later, once we’ve settled onto the couch with refilled glasses, the talking slows, and the silence feels easier.
June pulls her knees up beside her, rolling her glass slowly between her hands. “Thanks,” she says after a moment, voice softer than usual. “For this. For taking the time to be here with me.”
April nudges her shoulder immediately. “You don’t have to thank us for that.”
“I know,” she says, smiling faintly. “But… it helped. More than I thought it would.”
April studies her. “So what are you going to do now?”
June exhales slowly, looking down at her wine. “I’m just going to keep living my life.” She shrugs lightly. “Luca was great. He is great. And I think we’ll still be friends. But…” She pauses, searching for the words. “I know I deserve better than feeling unsure about where I stand.”
I reach over, squeezing her hand. “You deserve a man who’s proud to be seen with you,” I say quietly. “Someone who cares more about you than anyone else’s opinion.”
Her eyes soften, and she nods slowly.
“Exactly,” she says. “I’m not settling until I find a Max… or an Aiden.” She smiles faintly, lifting her glass. “I want someone who worships me.”
April laughs. “Okay, fair. But what about Finn?”
June hums, considering. “I like Finn. Finn is fun.”
She turns toward me then, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.
“But Aiden…” she says gently, lifting one shoulder. “Aiden is a keeper.”
Sunday morning arrives quietly, the house already in motion before I’ve fully finished my coffee. Suitcases sit open in the living room, half-zipped, clothes spilling out while April insists she can absolutely fit one more thing if she just rearranges everything again. June moves more slowly, folding and refolding a sweater before placing it carefully into her bag, pausing now and then to glance around the room like she’s trying to memorize where things belong.
