Page 25 of From the Embers
I wasn’t really going to move out. Bree knew this. I knew this. Asher, however, called me in hysterics on the walkie-talkie I’d given him for his birthday, begging me not to leave like his dad.
That was the last big argument Bree and I ever had. We all slept in Asher’s room that night. The binder was trashed the very next morning, and I started folding towels the way Bree liked—the wrong way, might I add.
Together, we were a team and those kids were our first, top, and only priority.
After that, things got easier. As we developed a mutual respect for each other, trust followed. And then somehow, through the chaos, a genuine friendship was born. I worked a lot of nights, writing music and playing anywhere that would have me. It was exhausting to get home at three a.m. then get back up with the kids at seven, but each time I stepped onto a stage, no matter how small, it felt like I’d found another piece of myself again. On the nights I wasn’t working, Bree and I would swap stories about Rob and Jessica. Sometimes we’d laugh, sometimes we’d cry, and on the one-year anniversary of the fire, we sat in silence, unable to even utter their names.
There was no rhyme or reason for the tides of grief. All we could do was hold on and try to keep our heads above the rushing water.
On Luna’s birthday, I’d felt like I was drowning, knowing Jessica would never get to see her grow up.
On Christmas, while watching the kids laugh as they tore through presents, I smiled until my face hurt and felt like maybe I’d finally climbed out of the depths of devastation.
On my wedding anniversary, I felt like I was trapped in an undertow, unable to reach the surface no matter how hard I fought.
Over time, Bree hit the same heartbreaking milestones, but day after day, week after week, month after month, we swam the often-turbulent ocean together.
Flat on my stomach, I ran a hand back and forth under the couch, still searching for my illusive phone. “How, in this huge house, do you not have one single radio?”
“Um, because it’s not nineteen ninety-nine,” she answered. “Here. Just download the app on my phone. I’ll meet you out there. I need to start story time.”
On a groan, I pushed up off the floor, vowing to never let Luna and Madison play with my cell again. Or so I told myself at least twice a day. Those girls knew I didn’t have any follow-through.
Bree and I made fast work of getting the kids in bed, and like a team of trained professionals, we made it to the backyard with time to spare. We spent a lot of nights huddled around that firepit. For obvious reasons, we’d never lit it, but I’d added a strand of white lights inside the burn basin. Partly because it added a nice, relaxing ambiance to our late-night chats. But mostly because I hated the way Bree stared at the fireless pit as though she could see the flames. God knew I still could.
“Here,” she said, handing me my phone. “It was in the storage part of the ottoman. Asher knew where it was.”
“Awesome. Remind me to share your M&M’s with him in the morning.”
She settled into her spot in the corner of the wicker sectional, glass of wine in hand. “Forget it. I already re-hid them.”
“Inside the box of granola doesn’t count as hiding.”
“Dammit,” she hissed, making me laugh.
While double-checking my connection to the Bluetooth speakers on the patio, I stole a glance at her from the corner of my eye. Just as I’d hoped, she was smiling, and it caused my lips to stretch as well. For whatever reason, keeping her in a good mood kept me in one. Making her smile or chuckle hit different now. Also like, if I could just make her feel better, relax, enjoy a goddamned second of peace—even if it was fleeting—then I could allow myself to do the same.
When she laughed, it made things easy on my heart, and she was pretty easy on my eyes too. Although that was probably more to do with my newfound celibacy than any real attraction. But when you’re lonely, it’s easy to confuse friendship with something more. Something I didn’t even let my mind entertain.
As the radio app on my phone filled the humid evening air with an auto parts commercial, I found my spot on the end, pulling the chair over to use as a footrest as usual. Luna had just started to doze off, so I switched the baby monitor for my beer and took a long pull.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
I ignored the fact that her expression made her look almost excited by the notion that I was anything but cool as a cucumber. “Why would I be?”
