Page 67 of The Last Five Yards

Her last word comes out like a declaration to the universe as she flops down on the blanket, scattering the ‘Happy New Year’ napkins all over the blanket.

Maren laughs softly and lifts the paper bag she has been carrying since she got out of the car.

“Then you may be interested in what I have here,” she says. “Congratulations fries.”

Rowan’s eyes light up so fast they might as well ignite.

“For me?” She takes the bag with both hands like it is a priceless artifact. “These are like the best things ever.” She adjusts herself on the faded blanket, cross-legged, already pulling the bag open.

Maren crouches down and sets her backpack near the edge of the blanket, tucking it beside one of the corners like she is claiming a small space for herself without thinking too hard about it.

Rowan doesn’t even look up, already mid-monologue as she digs into the fries. “Okay okay okay, so during my fifty I could totally feel that second dolphin kick, and it was perfect, and Coach, look, I made a sign for you, but the markers bled, so don’t judge it.” She gestures to the victory sign with a fist full of fries.

Maren sits down on the opposite side of the blanket, knees up, arms draped loosely over them. The evening light filters through the old oak branches above them, warm and dappled.

Reese glances over at her, the smile still there, softer now. “Make yourself at home, friend,” she says.

And for the first time in a long time, Maren does.

Rowan is already halfway through the fries, barely chewing between bursts of excitement.

“So, then Coach, after the streamline, I kicked again but not too much because you said not to overdo it in the beginning, and then I swear, I felt the water like open up around me, and also, Mom, look, I saved one fry for you.” Rowan chatters as she shoves the singular last fry in her mom’s general direction, then eats it anyway.

Reese bursts out laughing, bending to open a woven picnic basket Maren hadn’t noticed before. It has stickers on the lid. Glittery ones, of course. A dinosaur. A crooked star.

“Okay,” Reese says, making a face somewhere between sheepish and amused. “Full disclosure. I packed it for a seven-year-old.”

Rowan, mouth full, raises a triumphant hand. “Nine,” she corrects, muffled.

“Sorry, nine,” Reese corrects herself with a smile. “Point is, I wasn’t expecting… well, you.” She glances at Maren, then lifts the basket lid. “Prepare yourself for a very kid-friendly dinner.”

Rowan leans over the basket like she is diving into a treasure. “We have the good stuff,” she says proudly, listing the items as Reese pulls them out. “Uncrustables. Carrots with ranch. The tiny yogurts. Also, the fancy cheese because mom says I need calcium or whatever.”

Reese sighs dramatically. “You do need calcium.”

Maren laughs, the sound easy in her throat. “Honestly? This looks better than half the dinners I have had this week.”

Reese hesitates for a moment, holding a pack of fruit snacks, eyes flicking up long enough to meet Maren’s. Something warm and relieved passes through her expression.

“Well,” she says softly, “you’re welcome to share.”

Rowan waves a carrot in the air like a pointer. “Coach, the fruit snacks are mine, but you can have one of the purple ones.”

Reese snorts. “Wow. A true honor.”

Maren leans back on her hands, letting the warmth of the evening settle around the three of them. The old blanket beneath her, Rowan’s unstoppable commentary, Reese’s quiet smile as she unwraps the circles of wax-wrapped cheese, it all feels absurdly gentle.

For a moment she lets herself just sit in it.

Maren and Reese sit in a comfortable silence, as they leisurely snack on all the kid-cuisine. Rowan continues to catch them both up on every aspect of the last 24 hours, including helping her grandma chase the neighbor’s cat out of the yard this afternoon before the cat could get to the flowers. Maren finds herself hanging on every word of the 9-year-old’s stories but does wonder if the child ever takes a breath.

The sun slowly slides down behind the tree, casting the whole yard in soft golden beams of God Light. Reese glances down at her watch and over at Rowan, then back at her watch and tapping the face to get Rowan’s attention. Rowan sits up straight, looking directly at her mom.

“You know what this victory picnic needs, Mom?” she says excitedly. “Ducky pjs and popsicles!”

She shoots up off the blanket and sprints toward the house, bursting through the sliding door and disappearing inside without bothering to close it behind her.

The sudden quiet settles around them the second the sliding door clicks against the frame. The absence of Rowan’s voice feels almost startling, like the yard exhales all at once.