17. Seventeen
I have to be dreaming. It’s the only explanation for how I can smell coffee while lying in bed.
“Finn, can you stir that?”
Marin’s voice sounds as real as the nutty aroma in my nostrils.
I pull the curtain around my bed back and blink my eyes open and shut.
Marin and Finn are moving around the kitchen, making breakfast, and Finn has an actual cup of coffee in his hand.
“Is this real life?” I croak as I roll onto my side and watch them.
“Good morning, Penelope.” Marin hums as she scoops oatmeal into bowls.
I squint. “What is happening in here?”
“Mar made breakfast, and I made coffee,” Finn says, like it’s obvious.
“You made coffee?”
I sit up with a start, banging my head on the ceiling.
“You are going to kill someone with that toxic crap,” he responds, leaning his hip against a small space of countertop.
I reach my hands out as I fumble down the ladder. “Gimme.”
Gone is the bitter bite that was on the brink of making me sprout chest hair, and instead is a taste of smooth nuttiness.
“I’ve died and gone to a caffeinated heaven, Finn James!” I gasp dramatically. “How did you learn to make this, and why have you been making me suffer all this time?”
“Google, Mom. This isn’t that impressive.”
He lifts his chin and shakes his hair out of his eyes.
Marin puts a bowl of cinnamon oatmeal in front of me, and I eye it suspiciously.
“Did you poison this?” I demand. “Why are you two being so nice?”
Yesterday was a disaster. The AC completely broke in the Avion in the middle of our thirteen-hour drive, and by the time we finished setting up camp last night, we were all the very worst versions of ourselves. Putting poison in my breakfast doesn’t seem that farfetched in the light of day.
“We can be nice when we aren’t having our souls boiled out on the interstate,” Marin says, sitting next to me, smiling, popping a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth.
Outside is cool and glorious. There’s a renewed sense of excitement when we finish breakfast and head out for a walk wearing sweatshirts with warm drinks cradled in our hands. If we didn’t just spend so many days melting in the desert, maybe I wouldn’t love it so much, but I do. God, I do. The earthy smell and the way the cool air wraps its fingers around my skin are everything I don’t know I need.
“Haystack Rock is supposed to be lit. I think we should check it out.”
Finn thumbs through a pamphlet as we walk.
“Lit, Finn?” I chuckle, taking another sip of my coffee. “I don’t think such hip words apply to such old formations.”
“Don’t be such a grandma,” he scoffs.
“Believe me, I think if I was your grandma, I’d be saying lit.”
At this, they both laugh, because yes—Poppy would be saying lit.
Lost in the conversation and the feeling of the crisp air on my skin, we end up on the beach facing the Pacific Ocean.
The gravity of the moment crushes down on me like a tidal wave, heavy and all at once.
We made it. I made it. We had gotten in a vehicle and driven across the country to another ocean without Travis.
The gray sky and rolling waves in front of me seem to perfectly capture the mood. In the distance, Haystack Rock shoots up out of the Pacific like a symbol of survival.
Marin’s eyes meet mine. “Mom?”
I don’t try to hide it—I let tears fall and make lines like the roads on the maps we’ve been following down my face.
“I don’t know if I thought we would make it. If I could make it. But here we are, without your dad, an entire country-length away from home. It kind of feels like… I don’t know… an open wound that’s starting to heal.”
I zip my ring along the chain as I stare at the ocean.
Marin squeezes my arm. “He would have been so proud of you,” she says, leaning on me. “Especially of the fact you didn’t wreck once.”
My laugh is damp but true.
“Mom! Mar! Over here!” Finn calls from the rocks at the water, holding up a starfish.
Marin doesn’t hesitate. She squeals and takes off, running toward him while I slowly walk behind.
Watching their joy bubble over like fountains as they wade in a tidepool, a brand-new truth crystalizes before me: even without Travis, I’m still here. Living, breathing, and able to watch my kids do incredible things if I let myself look.
After hours at the beach with our hands in the cold saltwater and Marin taking way too many pictures, I walk back to the campsite alone. I start a pot of chili over the fire, and when there’s nothing else to do, I open the American Restaurant magazine we’d been featured in. The first time since I stumbled on Travis’ map all those months ago.
But it’s not us I’m looking for in the glossy pages this time—it’s Ethan.
We’ve been emailing for months, but the one I got last night is different.
Flirtatious almost.
It’s a ridiculous thought. He doesn’t know anything about me, but still, I can’t shake it.
When I land on his page, I see it differently than I did before.
He’s leaning against his restaurant with the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up, arms crossed over his chest, and a slight scruff sloping across his jaw. It suits him.
Fine, really suits him. He’s an attractive man.
I read the caption.
Ethan Mills prides himself on using both seasonal and local ingredients at his flagship restaurant in Bethel, Maine, Mainely Local. “I wouldn’t be where I am without the farmers here and the people that keep eating the fresh food we serve. It’s an honor, and I’m happy to be feeding people in a way that makes a difference.” Between the menu that changes with the seasons and the cozy atmosphere, Mainely Local feels a little bit like home to anyone who visits.
Maybe it’s because he’s in the same business or maybe it’s because he doesn’t talk to me like I’m the woman who lost her husband, but something about our short emails makes me… curious.
It’s as if I know him. Ultimately, I know it’s just my grief—the quiet loneliness that makes me desperate for connection.
My cheeks heat with the pitiful realization of it.
I close the magazine and pick up my phone, rereading the last line of his latest email.
You know, if you ever find yourself in the White Mountains of Maine, I’d love to show you around, and I’d be happy to tell you all my secrets.
In the kitchen, of course.
I know he’s just being nice, I know that, but I can’t stop reading it.
It’s been so long since I’ve interacted with a man that this is where I’m at—stumbling because of an email.
I groan, humiliated.
I’ve always wanted to see Maine, and while it isn’t happening this summer, someday. Maybe.
Maybe someday, I’ll be ready to go somewhere I want to see and think of what it means to want a man to be flirting with me.
When that time comes, I can only hope it takes more than a stranger in a magazine sending a friendly email to get me worked up.
God, I’m pathetic.
***
The kids return, plus three.
“Mom, this is Donny, Garret, and Mike. They’re up from San Francisco for the weekend,” Finn says, introducing them as I stand up.
“I’m Nel.” I smile, shaking their hands. “You boys should stay for dinner. I made enough to feed the state of Oregon.”
I lift the lid of the Dutch oven, and wafts of chili billow out. I know enough about traveling in college to know that money is tight and the food mediocre.
“I won’t turn down any mom’s cooking,” Donny says with a lazy smile.
He has a mop of blonde curly hair and looks every bit the California boy he is.
Around the table with bowls of food, the boys entertain us with stories of their freshman year of college.
“What about you, Ms. C? What kind of stories do you have from your heyday?” Garret asks between bites.
Finn eyes me with doubtful curiosity. Like I won’t be able to deliver because I can’t possibly have had a heyday.
I know youthful secrets are supposed to be locked away with youth—it’s the responsible place to keep them. But the look on Finn’s face says it all—he thinks I’m boring.
I have no choice—I have to prove him wrong.
“Thursday nights always had the best drink specials around USF, and as a poor college kid, I wasn’t one to pass up a bargain,” I tell them, taking a sip of my beer. “One Thursday, 10PM turned into 1AM, and somehow, my best friend and I decided we needed to go to the fountain on campus. It was this shallow pool with these big bull statues. Anyway, she bet me $50 I wouldn’t get into the fountain and sit on one of the bulls for a full minute. Naked.”
Finn groans. “Tell me you did not do this.”
I nod solemnly. “Sadly, I did.”
“Oh, Mom!” Finn groans again at the same time Mike says, “Get it, Ms. C!”
“So, what happened?” Marin asks.
“I was ten seconds away from the minute mark when blue lights start flashing across my naked bull-riding body.”
“Oh my God, Mom, the cops?” Marin gasps, putting a hand over her mouth.
I nod.
“The cops. I got arrested for indecent exposure. Poppy and Grandpa had to come bail me out the next morning because your stupid Uncle Gabe wouldn’t answer his phone. I had to do volunteer hours picking up trash on the side of the road in a neon vest and everything.” I smile at how ridiculous it all was.
“Thanks for ruining my appetite,” Finn says, pushing his bowl away with a shake of his head that makes the California boys laugh harder.
“Your ole mom used to be pretty lit, huh, Finn?”
He covers his now red face with his hands, and everyone howls.
The conversation sets the tone for the rest of the night. Us sitting around the table, laughing, and playing cards.
When I grab the ring hanging around my neck, I think of how much Travis would have loved this. The kids, the stories, the food made over the fire. He would have loved it all. Well, Nel, I imagine him saying, looks like all the hot days you whined about were worth it.
Tears never come, and sadness doesn’t lurch in the shadows that night. For the first night in a very long time, I’m not only without grief—I’m happy. Really happy.
When I fall asleep, it’s with a smile on my face and the muffled sounds of laughter around the campfire as my lullaby.