9. Sophie
SOPHIE
The wind off the water carries grease, salt, and the broken dreams of at least three fish shacks within shouting distance. I hope their loss isn’t a foreshadowing of how today’s lunch might go, but I try to stay upbeat. We have to start somewhere.
The café, slapped together at the edge of the tourist circuit, sprawls across a patch of gravelly patio half-shaded by faded umbrellas.
A couple of tables are already taken by locals, and the few tourists are easy to pick out.
I spot my destiny at once, the only group radiating enough tension to set the plastic chairs humming.
Inside, I groan, but thankfully, it doesn’t escape my mouth, and my forced smile doesn’t falter… much.
Noah anchors the far side of the table, with his elbows planted and every muscle in his forearm carved tense under rolled sleeves. His jaw’s set, and his gaze is tracking both directions like he’s waiting for snipers. And I guess, in a way, we both are.
Danny’s already arrived, slouched with spectacular indifference, one heel hooked over the opposite knee.
In typical Danny fashion, his phone is in his hand, and his focus is glued to the screen.
I don’t know what was going on with them at dinner the other night, but I’m hoping it was fleeting.
Even if they unite against us, I can’t stand the thought of their being strife in their friendship.
Trent lags behind me. He’s got his hoodie up, with his hands burrowed deep in his pockets, and every step telegraphs the effort it takes to be here at all.
I’m hoping he’s just tired and that this won’t be explosive, but he keeps to the shadows, only peeling off at the last second to slide into the chair farthest from Danny.
I want to scream, but instead, I remind myself that everyone is putting forth effort.
And right now, I have to consider that a win.
For a heartbeat, no one says anything.
I hover at the table, all nerves, but Noah’s already on his feet. He moves fast, like tearing off a Band-Aid, and presses a quick, careful kiss to my cheek. It’s brief—respectful—but enough to jolt Trent out of his cloud of self-loathing or exhaustion or teenage angst. I no longer know what it is.
Trent stiffens, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m sure it’s tough for him to see, regardless of how “adult” he claims to be.
I paste on my best let’s all be functional smile. “Hey, guys. Thanks… Honestly, thanks for showing up.”
Danny drops his phone just long enough to arch a brow. “I didn’t realize it was optional.” His tone isn’t cruel—just bored, but the dig lands.
I glance at Noah and then decide to ignore it.
“It wasn’t. I just… The other night was rough.
For everyone.” I slide into the open seat across from Noah and hope my voice doesn’t betray the dread curdling my stomach.
“I thought maybe we could talk things out. Get it all out in the open. I’d like for all of us to enjoy each other’s company again. ”
Trent remains folded in on himself, and I want to scream because this is a far cry from how he implied he’d act when treated like an adult. It makes me want to point out that this behavior is the very reason Noah and I kept things from them. But I don’t.
Noah returns to his seat and glances at both boys. “Let’s keep this simple. Nobody’s in trouble. We just want to be honest, try to build a bridge, and maybe spend some time together.”
Danny snorts, but underneath it, he’s listening. And I do my best to remind myself that they’re kids, regardless of how much they want to pretend they’re adults.
A server approaches, balancing two water pitchers and a notepad. She barely glances at us before plunking down the glasses. “You want menus, or you know what you want?”
“Fries and a root beer,” Danny says, not missing a beat.
Trent mumbles, “Same.” He doesn’t even lift his eyes.
I order a seltzer, and Noah asks for black coffee, the way he always does. But when the server leaves, her wake is a vacuum of silence.
Noah leans forward in his chair, arms wide on the table, like he’s reclaiming territory.
“Look, we’re not going to drag this out.
Sophie and I are together. We were trying to keep things quiet, mostly to give you two some space.
We didn’t want to get ahead of ourselves.
Now that it’s out in the open, what do you guys think is the best way to proceed? ”
Trent shrugs, barely visible under the hoodie. Danny, on the other hand, is suddenly alert now. His eyes dart between us, his mouth curling like he’s fighting a grin. I don’t know if he’s happy to be included or plotting our demise.
I lean in. “I know dinner was a train wreck. That’s on us. We should’ve handled it sooner and better…and maybe not with everyone else around.”
Danny cuts in, “Yeah, well, the element of surprise keeps things lively. Kinda wish you’d filmed the whole meltdown, though.” There’s a flicker of humor there, but it’s barbed, so I let it go.
I turn to Trent, willing him to look at me. “We’re not trying to hide from you. Or from anybody. The only thing I care about is getting this family to a place where you don’t feel like you’re on the outside. If I screwed that up, I’m sorry.”
For a minute, he doesn’t move. Then, so quietly I almost miss it, he says, “You did. But whatever.”
Danny whistles, low and fake-sympathetic, but Noah shuts it down with a look.
“You’re allowed to be mad,” I tell Trent. “You’re allowed to hate this. But we’re not going anywhere. You both said you wanted to be kept in the loop, so here we are.”
He keeps his gaze fixed on the tabletop, tracing the edge of a battered straw wrapper.
The silence stretches, and I wonder if we’re back to where we were before he and I talked last night.
This doesn’t feel like progress. But I also don’t know if this is about Noah and me, or whatever is going on with Danny that hasn’t seemed to have gone away.
Noah clears his throat. “If you guys have questions, just ask. It’s not a soap opera.”
Danny perks up. “Are we, like, moving in together? Should I start calling her Mom?” He grins, and I realize his defense is sarcastic humor, but there’s also something in his eyes that’s soft and tells me he’s not as unhappy about us as he is that he was kept in the dark.
For a split second, I giggle, and then stifle my laugh. Danny peeks up, and I wink where Noah can’t see me.
Noah deadpans, “You can call her whatever you want, as long as you don’t call me at midnight asking for pizza money.”
Danny grins, sunshine breaking through. “No promises. But does that mean you’re extending my curfew to midnight?”
Even Trent’s mouth twitches—just a hair. And for a second, the tension breaks. We’re just people, having lunch.
I seize the opening. “I just want you to know, nothing else changes. You’re still family. We’re not trying to replace anybody or make things weird.”
Danny stirs his water with a straw. “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”
“Noted.”
I glance at Trent, searching for some sign he’s back in the conversation. His arms are like a fortress, but I catch the flicker in his eyes—resentment, exhaustion, something softer underneath. He hasn’t let down his guard like Danny seems to be doing, but he isn’t fighting, either.
Our order arrives, breaking whatever spell was brewing. Fries hit the table with a sizzle, drinks thud down, and for a moment, all four of us are distracted by the promise of salt and carbs.
We’ve survived the ambush. Now comes the hard part—figuring out how to navigate whatever lies ahead.
Danny grabs a handful of fries and pops one into his mouth, never breaking stride. “So, what’s the real plan? You two gonna get married and open a bakery? Have some babies? Or do we just play it by ear?”
I almost spit my seltzer. “We’re not even close to that.”
Trent cuts in. “So you say.”
Noah tries to bridge the gap. “Look, I don’t expect you to like me. Or to like this. But I’m not the enemy. None of us are.”
Trent’s lips press flat, his stare icy.
Danny offers a shrug. “I mean, from where I sit, it’s not the worst thing in the world. As long as you guys don’t start singing at breakfast or something.” He snorts, and I can’t help but like the sound of his happiness.
I keep my hands folded under the table, squeezing them to keep from reaching for Trent. Eventually, his posture softens—not much, but enough to register. It’s not healed, but the jagged edges are less likely to cut us open.
I risk another glance at Noah. He gives me a small nod. And I realize we’re both content with how things have turned out.
Danny nurses his root beer, eyes half-lidded, as if he could fast-forward through the personal bits. “So, if the two of you get serious, what changes for us? Joint custody of the microwave? Family vacations?” He offers a lopsided grin.
Noah almost smiles. “Nothing changes for you unless you want it to. You’re both old enough to call your own shots.”
I let out a sigh and reach for Trent’s forearm.
Just to touch him. Let him know I’m there.
“I know these last few weeks have been hard. Everything’s been chaotic, and you’ve had to depend on people you wouldn’t normally.
I’m so grateful Rebecca was there, but I want you to know Noah and I will be, too. ”
Danny’s chair screeches as he leans back so far he nearly tips over. He actually rolls his eyes—a full orbit, exasperated. “Oh, please. Rebecca? Can we not?”
Noah catches it instantly. But I’m a little slower on the uptake.
There’s a beat. Trent’s body language shifts—no longer retreating, but coiling, ready to strike. He slams his palm down, hard enough to jump the salt shaker and slop Danny’s soda. Everyone at the nearby tables turns—just for a second, but it’s enough.
I have no idea what’s going on, but from the look on Trent’s face, I’m about to find out.
“What would you know about it?” he flings at Danny, eyes burning. “You’re just mad she didn’t pick you.”
Noah’s face goes flat. “Lower your voice, Trent.”
I reach for his arm, desperate to anchor him. He jerks away so hard my hand smacks the table. Danny’s mouth is open, but he doesn’t speak—out of retorts for once.
Trent’s tears don’t fall, but they’re there—in the way his voice wrenches, the tremble in his shoulders, glistening and threatening to fall. “I had one person who didn’t treat me like I was broken, and now you’re just…jealous. You wanted her, and she didn’t want you.”
The words bloat with accusation. Danny just gapes at Trent. And I want to crawl under the table. Instead, I nudge the napkin dispenser into the middle, as if that alone could restore order.
Danny is silent. For once, he looks rattled.
Or maybe hurt. But he doesn’t deny the accusation.
I think back to being a teenager and how important girl code was when it came to boys.
And I realize that exists between guys, too.
Danny isn’t just hurt that Rebecca picked Trent. He’s crushed that Trent picked Rebecca.
I don’t know how much of Trent’s relationship with Rebecca is romantic or grief-driven since he hasn’t talked to me about any of it, and I certainly can’t trust Caroline’s account of what’s going on. But whatever it is, the two of them need to resolve it.
For a moment, all I feel is the pull—between Trent and Danny, between Noah and me, between what I want and what Trent needs.
We all wanted honesty.
This is what it costs.
The question becomes, will they be mature enough to work it out? Selfishly, I pray they will, for Noah’s and my sake…and their own.