Chapter 19 #2
“We went to see the horses today with Miles and Greggy!” she tells him excitedly, noodles already dangling from her fork.
Dad gives me a look-a smirk tucked behind his curiosity. “Miles and Greggy?” he asks.
There it is.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. And Riley, bless her sugar-hyped heart, hasn’t yet learned the art of keeping things vague.
“Miles is this cowboy bull rider that likes Mommy,” she continues, completely unfazed. “And Greg is Mommy and Auntie’s friend—well, I think him and Auntie like each other. They give little kisses.”
Mindy and I both freeze, like teenagers caught sneaking out past curfew.
I glance at her. She’s refusing to make eye contact. I do the same.
Dad stirs his Bolognese like he’s not enjoying every second of this. “Is that so, girls?”
“Okay, first of all,” I start, placing Riley’s plate in front of her as she digs in with gusto, “I wouldn’t say like—”
“I would,” Mindy cuts in, mouth full, chewing like she’s got nothing to hide. “Miles definitely likes her. I mean, you should see the way he looks at her…”
“Mindy,” I hiss under my breath.
She finally shuts up, muttering something under it as she shoves more garlic bread in her mouth. Riley copies her perfectly, rolling her eyes with all the flair of a five-year-old sponge soaking up her aunt’s sass.
Dad nods toward the vase of flowers sitting on the kitchen windowsill—the one that overlooks the garden, bathed in soft afternoon light. “Did he get you those?” he asks, his tone casual but knowing.
I glance at the lilies, their petals fully open now. “Yeah,” I say. “He did.”
A small smile tugs at his mouth. “Lilies. Your favorite.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Lucky guess, I think.”
His eyes stay on mine, warm and steady. “You’ve been smiling a lot more lately,” he says, his voice dipping gentle, honest. He reaches across the table and gives my hand a light squeeze. “That’s all I really care about. I’m proud of you.”
The words land deep, catching me off guard in that way only a parent’s love can.
Riley, in her own world of soft hums and sticky fingers, sits at the table completely unaware that she blew up my entire love life with one innocent sentence. Like she didn’t just throw everything under a spotlight with all the subtlety of a megaphone.
And yet, somehow…I don’t mind. “Thanks, Dad,” I murmur, voice softer than I mean it to be.
He leans back in his chair with a knowing smile, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Well. Just let me know if I should set an extra place at the table next time.”
And just like that, my heart flutters.
“I don’t think he’ll be joining us. He’s quite busy,” I say, trying to sound casual as I swirl spaghetti around my fork.
Dad just gives me one of those quiet, knowing looks and takes another bite of his food. “For you, I doubt that.”
I glance across the table and catch Mindy’s eyes—she’s already smiling. That smug, all-knowing grin that says she’s thinking the exact same thing.
I try to bite back my own smile, but it’s hopeless. The warmth creeps in anyway, soft and slow, and settles somewhere deep in my chest.
I take a bite and let out a small sigh. “Thank you, Dad. This is amazing.”
“Yeah, thanks, old man,” Mindy adds, reaching for another piece of garlic bread. “Can never say no to your food.”
“It’s the best!” Riley chimes in, cheeks round and messy, a ring of sauce painting her mouth like a moustache. She beams at us all, full of joy.
And we all laugh.
That kind of full-belly, soul-deep laugh that makes a house feel like a home.
It’s messy and loud and a little chaotic-but it’s ours.
And for tonight, that’s enough.
* * *
Dinner was easy tonight. The kind of quiet, comfortable chaos that doesn’t ask for anything except that you show up.
We passed plates, shared stories from the lake, and let the laughter fill in the empty spaces.
Riley was all sunshine and spark, retelling every moment like it was the best day of her life.
Mindy stirred the pot with her usual teasing, and Dad didn’t even try to hide how happy he was just watching us all.
For a while, it didn’t feel like anything was missing.
Like the hard stuff—the grief, the questions, the weight—could sit on the sidelines for a little while.
Once Mindy left, Dad decided to stay the night. We’ve always kept a spare bedroom ready for him—it’s sort of an unspoken thing. He stays over often enough that it just makes sense.
After we say our good nights, I wander down the hallway and pause at Riley’s door. The soft glow of her nightlight spills out beneath the frame, and something in my chest tightens. I push the door open quietly.
“Mommy?” she whispers before I even step inside.
I peek in. She’s curled up in bed, her stuffed bunny tucked beneath her chin, those glow-in-the-dark stars we stuck to the ceiling casting a soft constellation above her head. The same ones I had when I was little.
“Yeah, honey?” I whisper, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.
She looks small tonight. Smaller than usual. Sad too. Her big brown eyes are glassy, her nose a little pink.
I sit on the edge of the bed and gently run my fingers through her curls. “What’s wrong?”
She hugs her bunny tighter and whispers, “I miss Daddy.”
Just like that, my heart fractures. Riley rarely says it out loud. She’s always laughing, always full of light—but grief is tricky like that. It sneaks up on you in the quiet.
“I miss him too,” I whisper, reaching for the necklace around my neck-the one with Trevor’s ring hanging off it.
I pause. “What made you think of him tonight?”
She sniffles, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “Today. With the horses and the lake.”
Oh, sweetheart.
It hits me all at once—that maybe being around Miles, around that kind of joy, that kind of day, reminded her of what she lost. That somewhere in her little heart, she might think I’m replacing Trevor. That I’m moving on too fast. That maybe she’s afraid we’ll forget.
But I don’t say any of that. I just listen.
“Daddy would’ve loved having the best day ever with us,” she says softly, and a single tear slips down her cheek. “But he’s…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Just trails off like the words are too heavy.
“Oh, baby,” I murmur, pulling her into my arms, cradling her close. “I know. It’s okay to feel sad. I feel that way too sometimes.”
I rock her gently, her soft breaths warming my collarbone.
“Did something happen today that made you think of him?” I ask, bracing for whatever might come next.
But then she leans back and looks up at me, wide-eyed and sincere. “No…it’s because it was the best day ever.”
That’s when the tears sting my own eyes.
Because even in missing him, she still found joy. She still let herself be happy.
I kiss her forehead, my voice thick with emotion. “He would’ve been so proud of you today. So proud.”
She glances toward the photo on her bedside table.
A picture of the three of us, taken a few months before the accident—back when the world still felt whole.
We’re in Trevor’s parents’ backyard, swinging two-year-old Riley between us, one on each hand.
All laughing. Sun-drenched and unbothered. Just happy.
I reach over and pick up the frame, pressing a kiss to the glass like I’ve done a hundred times before. Then I pass it to her so she can do the same.
“Night, Daddy,” she whispers, brushing her lips to the photo, eyes fluttering shut as she hands it back to me.
She smiles as she settles deeper into her blankets, that soft, sleepy kind of smile that hits right in the chest.
“Night, night, Mommy,” she mumbles.
“Night, baby,” I whisper back.
I sit there for a while, just holding her tiny hand in mine, letting the quiet settle. Above us, the glow-in-the-dark stars flicker faintly-like soft, steady reminders of the light we’ve lost… and the love we still carry.
“Mommy,” she whispers, her voice small in the quiet room.
I glance down at her, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. “Yeah, Ri?”
She fidgets with my hand, tracing little circles on my skin with her tiny finger. “I like when you smile,” she says, her eyes half-lidded. “You have a pretty smile…when you smile, it makes me smile too.”
My heart pulls tight in my chest.
This little girl—my girl—she has no idea how much she’s kept me going. How many times I’ve held it together because of her.
Eventually, I ease my hand away and rise from the edge of her bed, careful not to wake her. I move to the door, open it slowly, and—pause—take one last look before slipping into the hallway, letting the soft click of the door mark the end of another day I’m lucky to have with her.
“You okay, bean?” my dad whispers at the end of the hallway.
I wipe a tear. “Yeah. Dad…” I reply.
“Why don’t you come downstairs?” He gestures toward the stairs. “I’ll make us some hot cocoa just how you liked it when you were little.” He smiles.
I nod, smiling, and follow him down the stairs full of our family pictures from when I was little with my mom and dad, to my and Trevor’s wedding, Riley when she was a baby.
We reach the kitchen, and I sink into one of the chairs, elbows on the table, chin resting in my hands as I watch my dad move around like he’s done it a hundred times.
Maybe he has. Quiet movements, muscle memory.
He pulls ingredients from the fridge and lines them up like he already knows exactly what comes next.
I study him for a long moment, something shifting in my chest.