I nodded, the weight of her caution settling in my chest but buoyed by the unexpected blessing. “I know, Mom. I can’t deny that this whole thing is a bit of a ticking clock.”
She rose again and glanced at the pictures of Finn on my desk. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Absolutely. Careful is my middle name. Right next to martyr.”
“Just know I’m here if you need advice. Romantic or otherwise.”
“Thanks. You’ve always been there.”
Mom reached for the door handle, then paused to turn back. “Why don’t you invite Chase over for Sunday dinner?”
I burst into laughter, the sound escaping before I could stop it. “Wow, Mom. Zero to sixty much? You’re literally throwing him into the deep end of the Coleridge pool.”
Mischief danced in her eyes. “From what I’ve seen, that young man can swim quite well. He managed to win you over, after all.”
“That’s…” I shook my head, unable to argue with her assessment. “Okay. I’ll ask him, but don’t blame me if he runs screaming in the opposite direction.”
“He won’t,” she said with unnerving confidence. “See you at dinner, sweetheart.”
With that, she slipped out the door.
I flippedthe parrotfish over with a sigh. We had spent weeks refining the costume. Finn needed it perfect—realistic, he’d told me in all seriousness—and I’d sent him to the official kindergarten dress rehearsal with the glue-encrusted creation I thought he’d love.
Now it was home, shedding glitter like a miniatureparade, one pectoral fin bending in the wrong direction. I gave it a worried look as Chase knocked and let himself in. The scent of chicken tenders hung in the air. “Wow, something smells amazing,” he said, wrapping me in a casual hug. “Am I too late to get a plate before the private rehearsal?”
“Your punctuality needs work, buddy,” I teased, pulling back to check for Finn-induced glue damage as I moved the wayward fin. “If you’re brave enough to eat chicken tenders with ranch, have at it. You have about five minutes until the star makes his entrance.”
He set a bottle of wine on the table and peered over my shoulder at the rogue fish. “What’s flopping around?”
“His pectoral fin,” I confirmed, moving the costume to the couch and clearing a spot for us. Toys were tidied but still present, their containment always short-lived. “Finn’s deeply concerned about the realism.”
“As he should be,” Chase said, feigning gravity as he picked up the leftover chicken tenders and ate one in a single bite. “Parrotfish are famously authentic creatures.”
He lounged back against the counter and wiped a second piece of chicken in a leftover smear of ranch dressing, the comfortable intimacy of his posture mirroring how it felt between us now. All the awkwardness and tension that defined our every move, every interaction, only weeks ago, had evaporated. In their place was an easy familiarity that could be either relief or terror, depending on how deeply I thought about it.
He picked up the wine bottle again, a question in his eyes.
“Yes, please.” He pulled two glasses from the cabinet as I thought about the upcoming Sunday dinner conversation. “I might need extra fortification tonight.”
“What do you mean? We’re about to receive a scintillatingreef fish performance.” He was handing me my glass when Finn charged in, a six-year-old bundle of anticipation.
“Chase!” Finn came to an abrupt halt. “I need to practice for the show! Are you gonna watch me?”
“You kidding? I’ve got front-row seats.” Chase set down the glass and pointed to the green and blue pile of sequins and felt. “Is this your famous costume? The one with the realistic fins?”
Finn nodded so enthusiastically I was afraid he’d decapitate himself. He quickly pulled on the costume. I held my breath, but it stayed together. I bent to adjust his fishy cap, and Chase pinned the floppy fin so it had more structural integrity. Finn wiggled his face into something that might have been intimidating, had he not been so blatantly pleased. “I’m gonna be so good. I’m learning my lines really fast.”
“You must have your mom’s brain,” Chase said, looking at me as he settled back into the couch. I sat next to him, and he draped an arm over my shoulders.
“She’s helping me. We practiced ten times yesterday, didn’t we, Mom?” Finn climbed onto the ottoman, puffed up his chest, and did a wild arm flourish. “I’m a parrotfish. Please don’t step on me because I live on the reef, which is super fragile. But that’s not all…” He stopped and blinked at us as if expecting a cue.
“Keep going, buddy,” Chase said. “What else do you do?”
“I poop sand!” Finn shouted with such unrestrained glee it sounded more like a superpower than a biological fact. “Lots and lots of sand. That’s why we have beaches. And I’m here to tell you…” He glanced around as his eyes grew wider and wider, clearly searching for more lines.
“Save the reef!” I whispered.
“Right! Save the reef!” Finn burbled, triumphant, thrusting his fin-clad arms to the sky. “You don’t want me to poof out of existence!” He bounded across the room, the words flying faster and faster, the force of his felt feet echoing through the cottage. “Please don’t get rid of me or all the sand you love so much will go away!” Finn turned back and bowed. “Was it good?”
