Page 52

The suggestion that she make herself at home was a silly one, since this house used to be ours. After we announced we were expecting, my mother had insisted we move out of the heatless shack. Palmer Ranch was vast, and there were several single-family homes scattered across the property. Dial and I moved into one, and she immediately went into nesting mode, working overtime to make this place a home. When we split, Dial returned to her parents’ house, leaving me with a shit-ton of memories. The curtains, bed frame, and the pots and pans I cooked in had all been picked out by Dial.

I started up the truck and made the short drive to Craig and Faye’s house. We’d gone to high school together, and now we both had daughters in the same elementary class. Small towns came with so much history. Everyone was connected. You heard of six degrees of separation? It’s the idea that everyone is separated by no more than six people. The theory that, despite the earth’s massive population, we are more connected than we know. Shit, I could connect myself to everyone in Hume and would only need two degrees or fewer.

All the way back home, I treated the speed limit as more of a suggestion. I was worried Dial would think better of my offer and leave. Maybe I was a masochist, because I kept extending myself only to get shot down every time. Loving Dial was all I knew, so I was going to keep trying until I got it right. Dial wanted to reset to a point in time when she didn’t mean the world to me. But I could be in a coma for fifteen years, and when I woke up, she would be the first person that came to mind.

When I returned, the house was filled with the fragrant smell of soy sauce, brown sugar, and peanut butter. “Are you cooking?” I cast my shoes aside.

“I figured I’d get started.”

“No, I didn’t invite you to stay so you’d cook for me.”

“You know I can’t stand still for longer than a minute.”

I washed my hands and did my best to pitch in. The kitchen had always been small, but tonight it felt downright impossible—every turn, every reach for a pan or a jar of spices, brought her within inches of me, and each time she adjusted her path a fraction too late, my heart rate accelerated. I chopped peanuts with more focus than the task required, eyes fixed on the cutting board because looking up felt dangerous, like an admission. I could sense her behind me at the stove, and the specific rhythm of her stirring had the power to unearth memories long buried. Us, much younger, cooking dinners together, our laughter floating like music filling the air. Dial’s body pressed against mine as she reached for chicken broth or a serving spoon. The familiarity of it ached somewhere beneath my ribs.

“Come taste the sauce.” She fed me a spoonful of the sweet, spicy juice.

“Better than anything I could’ve whisked together.”

“Thank you.” She licked the spoon clean before tossing it into the sink. “Was Maple all right?”

“I handed over the bunny, and she ran off giggling with her friends.”

“She inherited your extroversion gene.”

“You know Palmer offspring tend to be gregarious.” Pulling down two bowls, I placed them on the counter.

“That’s a big word for you,” she teased.

“I have an app on my phone. Trying to expand my vocabulary.”

“Was that today’s word?”

“No, today’s word was pulchritudinous.”

“I’m not familiar.”

“It means good looking, beautiful.” I pulled up the app, showing her proof. “Dial Birch was pulchritudinous.”

A wrinkle creased her forehead. “Was?”

Pressing my hand to my heart, I said, “My bad, is, and forever will be, pulchritudinous.”

Her gaze flashed to my lips; it was fleeting, but that brief flicker warmed me through. If you were keeping track, every accidental brush of the elbow, every moment our hands hovered near the same drawer, almost seemed intentional. I tried to tell myself I was only watching the sauce, but my attention kept drifting to the curve of her neck where she’d tucked a cord of locs behind her ear, a gesture I used to reach over and do for her, back when I still had the right to.

“You’re on drink duty. Why don’t you mix up something to pair with dinner?” she said.

Dial was always in command, and as a loyal foot soldier, I followed my orders and got to work crafting cocktails. Outsiders witnessing us collaborate in the kitchen would never believe that we’d been screaming at each other a week ago. Being good parents to Maple was what kept the smoking bridge between us from burning down, because she deserved a mom and dad who didn’t make their issues her issues.

With food in hand, I dimmed the lights and pressed play. Even though Dial had seen this movie one hundred times before, she still jumped when the creature made its first dramatic appearance. She loved to be scared, and when we were teenagers, she used it as an excuse to lean into me and cuddle close.

“Did you not know that was gonna happen?” I teased.

“I did, but it gets me every time.” She twirled noodles onto her spoon.

“You wouldn’t last two minutes with a foreign creature loose on your spaceship.”

“I would be making a beeline to the escape craft. And if all else failed, I would chuck myself into the void. I’m not letting some alien use me as an incubator.”