“How long is a while?” Jackson asked.
“Almost a year,” I admitted. “My brother and I got more attached to Henry than our mom ever did.”
“He was just as attached,” Dean added. “My dad is friends with everyone. He collects people.”
Lacey glanced between the two of us, looking contemplative. “Do you, like, do Thanksgivings together then? How often do you see each other?”
Dean stepped around an overachieving bush with thorns growing into the trail before glancing back to make sure I did as well. “What do you think, Grace? When was our last Thanksgiving together?”
“It’s been a while. We have the typical blended American families, so Dean usually has Thanksgiving with his mom. I’m usually with my dad and stepmom Jill. Or I’m with my mom.”
“And you’re divorced, too.” Stella so helpfully pointed out.
I nodded, biting my lip. I saw her point. Perhaps my Thanksgivings were complicated by my ex. He was as much a part of my big blended family as Jill, or Henry, or even Dean. But the squeezing in my chest didn’t care about logic.
I never wanted to be divorced. I wanted to shout it up at the clouds. If they gave out trophies for trying to make a relationship work, I’d have a whole shelf full of them. Not that it did me any good.
Stella had so casually pointed out my biggest fear. That fate set this in motion a long time ago. That I was doomed to repeat the mistakes of my parents and I was part of a chain that would continue to break in places. And if all that were true, why did I come on this hike today?
In my inner spiral, I’d failed to notice Dean hanging back until he was right next to me. His finger found a loop on the side of my cargo shorts, and he gave it a small tug.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey, yourself.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
“Okay,” I whispered back. If only it were that easy.
“You’re pretty great. On a scale of one to ten, I’d give you an eleven.”
“On a greatness scale?” I turned my head the other direction so he wouldn’t see my stupid goofy, watery smile.
“Yes. People I tolerate are in the three-to-four range. Then there’s the good people. The ones who smile at you on instinct and bring treats to meetings. I’d rate them as a seven or eight. You could have a decent conversation with them on an elevator, but you wouldn’t think about them at night or anything.”
If I were talking to anyone else, I’d think they were rambling, but this was Dean doing what he did best. Distracting me. Teasing me until I had no choice but to take notice of him. He was also maybe insinuating that he thought about me at night. Which if that were true… same.
“I guess I should start bringing treats to meetings,” I said.
“That might get you higher on other people’s lists. You should do it. You don’t have to earn your spot on my list, though. I like you for other reasons.” Dean pointed up to a cloud off to our right, as if he hadn’t just dropped thatmysterious little tidbit. “These clouds are unreal. That one looks like a hippo. Don’t you think?”
“Which one?” Jackson practically wedged his way between us in his need to cloud search with us, which Dean found hilarious. He couldn’t look at me without laughing. When people mentioned golden retriever energy, I’d always picture Jackson.
The trail narrowed up ahead, and I moved behind Dean, stepping where he stepped. I felt light and fluffy again, like maybe it was okay to be here with other single people, even if I wasn’t sure why. I could branch out in my own small way.
When the group slowed to check out a bird’s nest up in a saguaro cactus, I drew closer to Dean until I could talk right into his back. He smelled like fabric softener and sunshine and creosote bushes. “You’re nailing this friendship thing.”
He reached back, wiggling his fingers at me. “Should have taken me up on it sooner.”
That was the closest he’d come to mentioning last night. I couldn’t fall asleep after he left, even after a long shower. I bet he’d slept just fine. Dean had been a perfect gentleman while we danced. Maybe too perfect. It was maddening to realize I preferred the Dean who messed with me over the one who respected all my careful boundaries. With a little bit of encouragement, what would he do? How far would mutual flirting go before he decided things were getting a little too real?
I rubbed my neck, hating that my mind went back to things my ex had said when he was frustrated or mad. That being with me was sometimes a drag. That I made him unhappy. I put too much pressure on him. I had too many rules. We’d never established rules!
Dang, I was mind spiraling again. The shadow of a hawk passed overhead, and I glanced up to watch it circle in a slow arc. I breathed in deep and imagined letting every negative thought go. As effortlessly as that hawk soared on the wind, I could breathe in and out. My lungs would do the work whetherI asked them to or not. The sun beamed down, warming my face. Today was good. No, today was great.
“Are you seeing that cloud that looks like a fire hydrant?” Jackson hollered back at me.
“I was looking at a hawk.” And using breathing techniques. Thank you, therapy.
