The blue of his eyes is lost to the darkness, but I see the sorrow in them. “Your mom did what moms do. She held everything together.”
He raises a brow. “Like glue?”
“Like glue.”
“Tell me aboutyourmom.”
“Oh gosh,” I huff, grinning at the stars. “If the women in your family are glue, my mom is confetti.”
Rowan rolls the word over his tongue. “Confetti.”
I let the sound of the breeze sweeping through the pines and the soft lap of water beneath the dock lull my memories to the surface. Rowan doesn’t rush me.
“I never knew my father,” I begin after a long silence. “He and my mom were a one night thing. Growing up, kids would talk about their dads and how fun they were, and I remember thinking there’s no way these guys are as fun as my mom.”
“It’s always been just the two of you?”
Pressure builds behind my eyelids and I suck in a slow inconspicuous breath. I don’t meet his gaze, but I can feel his attention on my profile.
“Uh oh, I know that look,” I deflect, trying to keep my tone light.
“What look?”
“The loud kind.”
His face ripples, fighting a smile. “I’m looking at youloud?”
I nod at my lap then meet his eye. “It’s the same way Mom does.”
“And what way is that?”
“Like you can see right through me.”
Rowan’s throat bobs, but he doesn’t look away. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
It’s the truth and yet…
Am I really about to talk about this with a stranger?
“It wasn’tjustMom and me.” I set my mug down and drop his gaze. “She had a best friend named Gwyn she met in birthing class. Both single moms, due dates days apart. They always said Maddy and I became best friends in the womb.”
“The four of you then?”
I’m too lost in the sea of memories to really hear his question. It’sfamiliar, being under this sky. The stars overhead and the single cloud floating in my periphery are nothing but launching points for my eyes. I hit one, remember something, then bounce to another.
“When we were little, Maddy couldn’t say my name so she called meHaddy.” I shrug. “I guess because it rhymed? I don’t know, we never really figured it out, but it stuck.”
Warm tears bleed into the creases around my eyes. “By the time we were eight, we lived on the same street. Mom taught us to shave our legs. Gwyn taught us to drive.” My breath stutters. “We all went prom dress shopping together. We were supposed to go to pr—” I swat at a tear when I feel it trail down my cheek. “Sorry. You didn’t ask for my depressing life story.”
My pathetic attempt to laugh it away doesn’t work because Rowan’s right there. He’s pulled his chair closer, reached over the table between us, and folded my hand in his without me realizing it.
I look up, and the color I couldn’t find in his eyes before has returned. An infinite pool of blue. Refreshing and a little mysterious.
Losing Gwyn and Maddy is not a subject I bring up voluntarily.Ever. And I actively avoid dwelling on Mom’s diagnosis because seeing the glass as anything other than half full feels like an admission of defeat before the battle is over.
“What do you think happens after we die?” The question is an overflow of the Tilt-A-Whirl of thoughts spinning around in my mind. If self-preservation was within reach, I’d think to take it back because of how juvenile it sounds. But deep down, I’m just a daughter—a best friend—who aches to know there’s something beyond this.
I can’t explain how Rowan pulls everything I’ve pushed down for so long to the surface. All I know is when he looks at me the way he is now—all loud and reassuring—I feel seen.