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“We’re just friends, Briar,” I repeat. “That’s all we can ever be.”
Briar assesses me for another beat before she nods, and I can tell when whatever kind of interrogation hat she put ontemporarily has been removed. Her shoulders ease and her arms drop from where they were crossed in front of her.
“Well, then. If that’s really all it is…I’m glad she has a friend like you.” She turns, heading back toward the sliding doors leading out to the porch. “Let’s eat, yeah?”
I let out a long breath and follow in her wake, though I come to a stop when she pauses just before opening the door.
“But if youdiddecide to be more than friends, I think a man like you could be exactly what Busy needs.”
I blink, surprised by her approval, though I don’t say anything in response as she pulls the door open and steps outside. It takes me a few seconds to follow behind her, and when I emerge into the unforgiving sun and humidity, I find that everyone is surrounding a table on the deck, putting together their plates of food.
My eyes find Busy’s immediately, bright and happy to see me, before they lock on Junie, who is snacking happily on a hot dog bun as she sits on Busy’s hip.
Just friends.
Just friends.
Just friends.
I repeat it over and over in my mind, like a mantra, a reminder I need to live and breathe for as long as I am lucky enough to be in Busy and Junie’s lives.
I wasn’t lying when I told Briar friends is all Busy and I can ever be. The smarter thing would be to not even allow that, because I can’t be around Busy and not be just…overwhelmed by her. Fascinated by her. Captivated with her.
The truth is I wish what we had was more.
The truth is if I could give her more, I would do it in a heartbeat, would givehermy heartbeat, my very last breath.
But I can’t. I can’t do that to her.
It wouldn’t be fair.
chapter thirteen
Busy
After everyone has eaten, we bring out Junie’s birthday cupcakes and sing to her. She claps and laughs, and then we stick a big candle with the number two on it on her own cupcake to blow out, which she figures out after a few tries. Then she absolutely demolishes the treat.
When Junie turned one last summer, it was just the two of us in our apartment near campus, and after she went to bed, I cried as I picked up the mess of her cake smash from the floor. It was partly because I was so, so exhausted. But it was also because we were alone.
Mom was on the Fourth of July committee last year and Bellamy and Rusty were visiting a friend in Seattle. Bishop and Gabi and Boyd and Ruby live clear on the other side of the country. Briar offered to come, but honestly, I was doing summer school and the idea of having anyone come visit felt chaotic and stressful, so I told her to stay in town and enjoy the holiday at home.
In the end, that meant it was just me and my Junie Bee, which didn’t feel like a big deal until it suddenly was, until the loneliness of what it’s like to handle everything on your own as a single parent felt like too much to just barrel my way through.
I had just curled up in bed, crying quietly and trying not to wake Junie, until the fireworks did the job. Then we sat outside together, headphones over her ears, watching the sky erupt. I promised her then that it would be the only birthday she would ever spend alone for as long as I could help it.
And now…
I’ve felt on the verge of tears all evening watching everyone rally around Junie at my parents’ house, making her feel special, like it’sherday, and not just a holiday. From the décor—unicorn themed to strike a stark contrast to anything red, white, and blue—to the food to the most thoughtful gifts.
Not that gifts are the way to show someone you love them. But to see her surrounded by toys that were bought with her in mind warmed something in my heart. Mom and dad got her this cushy chair that looks like a couch for a toddler. Bellamy and Rusty went in with Andy and Briar on a kitchenette play station, though Bellamy wanted to assure me she wasn’t ‘sending my daughter to the kitchen’, which made me laugh.
And then there‘s the gift from Reid, a wooden rocking horse he made himself. An oak body, yarn for the mane and tail, and tiny leather ears.
“It might be too big for her,” he says, crouching down and hoisting her onto the seat, showing her where to grasp the handles. “But I figure it’s a toy she can grow into. And I left the wood unvarnished in case you want to paint it. Give it some more…personality.”
Reid looks up at me then, his eyes soft.
“You know…get back into the water.”
