“Always,” I supply.
“You might think it’s gross.”
“You should tell me anyway.”
The thing about Hannah’s smile is, it’s something you feel in your bones. From thousands of miles away, even though I can’t see it, I know it’s there.
“I haven’t washed my sheets or the ones at your cabin because I like that they smell like you.”Like us.
“So gross.”
She rolls her eyes—something else I don’t have to see to know with absolute certainty. Hannah James is the most compelling subject in my universe, and I am nothing if not a model student.
“But it’s also cute,” I add. “I suppose I owe you something embarrassing now?”
“It’s only fair.”
I kick my feet up on the deck railing, sink deeper into my chair. “Bri caught me staring at your picture on my phone this morning.”
She huffs a warm laugh. “Which one?”
“Just one I took out on the dock.”
Her, knees tucked under her chin, hot chocolate in hand, long golden hair swept all to one side. It’s too dark because I left the flash off so she wouldn’t see me take it, but you can justmake out her flicker of white teeth as she gazes up at the stars from Nana’s chair. On the dock, behind the cabin where every beam of wood and rusty hinge, down to the soil in the ground tells the story of me. In that single image, it was as though this place—this tangible piece of who I am—had welcomed her, saying,see? she belongs here.
It’s when I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that someday we’d make this place ours.
“Lovesick fool,” she teases.
“You’re one to talk.”
We hang up a few minutes later when Mom summons me inside and Hannah has to run interference between Artie and Richard arguing over who gets to carve the turkey.
One window is left open as we settle around the Thanksgiving table, the sound of waves beating the shore wafting through the small rental.
“Now, let’s go around and say what we’re thankful for,” Mom says. She turns to my stepsister. “Bri?”
A finger whirls around the rim of her wine glass as she considers. “I’m thankful for you, Tess, and your health. You’re kind of the only family I have, so I’m grateful you’re here.” Two of my favorite women exchange a tender smile, but there’s an emptiness in Bri’s eyes that doesn’t sit right.
“Hey,” I prod, her smile dropping a little when she looks at me. “You have me, too. Always.”
“Of course, yeah.” Bri waves a dismissive hand. “You know what I mean.”
I regard her for long seconds.Do I know what she means?She averts her gaze and takes a pull from her wine.
Mom claps her hands once. “My turn. I know it’s the obvious choice, but I’m thankful for my last doctor’s report.”
The reminder of the reason we came to the beach in the first place sparks a genuine excitement among the three of us. Mom’s scans at her most recent follow-up last week showed no immediate concerns. No more surgeries. Her PT will continue for many months to come and her nerve endings may take over a year or more to fully repair themselves. She’ll need to continue using her cane or walker when the pain flares up, but her doctors assured us the need for assistive devices will diminishwith time. And we’ll go in for scans every couple months to ensure no issues arise, but the operating tables, extended hospital stays, surgery wound care—it’s all done.
When I asked how she wanted to celebrate, she knew right away: Thanksgiving at the beach.
“And”—she folds a hand over Bri’s and mine—“for my kids.”
Bri’s lips flutter before lifting into a grin—a flash of hesitation. Mom calls on me before I can parse out what it might mean. “Rowan?”
I bounce my eyes between the two of them. My response doesn’t come quickly—there’s so much I’m thankful for this year, I’m not sure how to narrow it down. Naturally, my thoughts circle to Hannah, and I know Mom and Bri wouldn’t be surprised if my only answer was her. But I owe so much to the two women sitting at this table with me.
“I know I’m not good at asking for help, but I’m trying to be better about not going at everything alone.” I shift in my seat, clear my throat. “So, I’m thankful for the two of you and how you’re always there when I need you most, whether or not I asked for it.” A thoughtful silence expands the air, and I lock eyes with Mom and then Bri, holding a bit longer on the latter. “I love you both very much. And I suppose if I’m thankful for the people who show up for me time and time again, I have to say I’m also thankful for”—I lift my beer—“Walker Willis.”