“Hey,TheeThee,” she says.
I laugh. “Never heard that one before,” I tell her.
“Just thought of it,” she quips, wiggling her eyebrows, which dart above, then beneath her big white frame sunglasses. “I think I’m kind of genius.”
“I know you are.”
She swivels her head my way. “What’s up?”
I peer over at her, heart tugging. I don’t know what to say, when I know so much is about to change for her, when it’s not my surprise to ruin, but I can’t help worrying that she’s not going to like it.
“What’s your favorite thing about being six?” I ask her.
She turns her head back, facing the umbrella, brow furrowed. “All the words I know,” she says. “Because the more words I know, the better stories I can write when I grow up.”
“You want to write stories when you grow up?”
She nods. “Lots. Like Daddy does, but not about food. Stories like what Mommy teaches—people being brave and going on adventures and fighting monsters and learning something and coming home and being happy again.”
I smile. “That’s a good way to sum up a lot of great stories. I think you’ll do an amazing job at it.”
“Thanks,” she says. “Maybe, first, I’ll write stories like you read at StoryTime. For kids like me to use their ’maginations.”
“You like using your imagination?”
“Loveit,” she says. “It’s my favorite. Maybethat’smy favorite thing about being six. My ’magination.”
She turns my way again, this time propped up on her elbow, and shoves her glasses up on to her head. Every beat of that choreography is 100 percent Alex, and it makes my heart twinge with hope.
What happened last night is just a beginning. There’s more Ihave to say to Alex, words and intentions we danced around last night. Tonight, I’m not going to play a single round of euchre; I’m going to lay down allmycards and tell him everything. I hope that means we’ll figure out a relationship. I hope that means I’ll get to watch Mia grow up, use her imagination, become a big girl, a tween, a teen, a woman I get to love.
“Thea?” she says.
I blink, pulled from my thoughts.
Mia’s frowning.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “You had to say my name a couple times, didn’t you?”
“That’s okay, I could tell you were dickstracted.”
My mouth twitches as I fight a smile. I can’t wait to tell Lauren this new Mia-ism. “I was distracted,” I say to her, “but I’m listening now. What were you telling me?”
“I was telling you,” she says, rolling onto her stomach, propped on both elbows, “that I guess you like ’maginating, too. Because you spend all day trying to get people to buy stories, and stories are all about ’magination.”
“Yep,” I tell her. “I’ve always liked imagining, and daydreaming, letting my mind wander to unexpected places. And I’ve always loved stories.” My throat catches as emotion hits me, unexpectedly. I lean in and tell her, “I actually used to tell myself my own life story.”
Mia tips her head. “Like what?”
I glance around, then back to her, like I’m sharing a secret I want no one else to hear. “Like, ‘Once upon a time there was a girl named Thea. She had wild brown hair and eyes like the forest and sunshine kisses on her nose, and every day she woke up and wanted to climb trees.’?”
Mia smiles. “You made yourlifea story.”
“I did.”
“Did you stop?” Mia asks. “When you growed up?”
“When I grew up,” I tell her, weighing my words, “I still told my life story, but I started to get a little mixed up, which wasn’t good. Like a lot of good things, when you use it the way you shouldn’t, it can be not good anymore.”