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Anyway. The restlessness leading me now to be freezing my butt off while carrying a box of apple cider donuts is just the way I’m wired. I need to go, to move, to try new things. My theme song is U2’s “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” But it’s hard to find a thing when you don’t know what thethingis.

The one constant in my life is the consistent, persistent ache for new, different, andmore, which sometimes explodes into a crescendo of discontent I have to act on.

And then there’s Liam.

As a person who’s supposed to be a stable, functional member of society, my restlessness is inconvenient at best. Being a single mom? It’s an irreconcilable difference without having a divorce. Two unlike things forced to coexist: my need for frequent change and my son who needs some semblance of stability.

Sometimes I wonder if having a kid so young is what caused the restlessness, but I don’t like that train of thought. Sounds too much like blaming Liam for my issues.

In this particular instance, with the biggest move of my life, I know a good portion of the restlessness stems from what happened with Camden. It hasn’t been easy the past few years watching everyone around me fall in love while remaining the lone singleton on the island.

For half a second last summer, I thought I might be joining the falling-in-love club. And it actually sounded like a club I finally wanted to be part of.

But then I panicked, broke up with Camden, and after months of regret and hurt and rehashing this in my mind, I accidentally took a job where he lives.

In order to pull off the lie that it’s not a big deal, this move to my ex’s town, I’ve had to pretend I’m still stoked about this whole misadventure instead of terrified. My well-meaning family and friends—not just Eloise—would sayI told yousobut quickly follow it up with offers to help me move home. Frankly, the offers would be tempting.

“Where are you right now?” Eloise asks. “It sounds like you’re inside of a wind tunnel.”

Itfeelslike I’m inside a wind tunnel. I’m hustling to my car, cheeks wet with cold-induced tears. “I’m picking up donuts and coffee. It’s freezing here. Disgustingly cold. But … refreshing,” I say, once again feeling the need to sell this whole thing.

“Ew,” Eloise says. “It’s a little colder than when you left, but the sun is out, and it feels amazing. I just got back from a walk on the beach.”

I’d like to kick her in the shins with my pointiest shoes.

I get my car door open and throw myself inside, immediately jamming the key into the ignition to blast the heat. “Stop gloating. You think me moving is a mistake, blah blah. I can outlast the cold,” I say. In all honesty not sure I can.

Eloise hums. Even her stupid hum is happy. “But you don’tlikethe cold. Or your job. You don’t need to stick this out as a way to pass some test no one gave you.”

I take an angry bite of donut to keep me from snapping at Eloise and almost moan at the taste. That woman inside is definitely going to be my new donut dealer. This town is onto something with these apple cider donuts.

“How do you know how to read me so well?” I demand. Eloise has only been in our lives a few years. A permanent fixture now, being married to my brother. But still. It’s a little scary how she can hear my lies even through the phone.

“Jake gave me a Naomi decoder ring for Christmas.” She pauses, like this is some kind ofgotchamoment. Honestly, a Naomi decoder ring sounds great. I’d like one myself. “Just kidding! Obviously. I justknowyou. Remember—I grew up with two older sisters. It’s impossible to survive without picking up some mad observational skills. This just so happens to be one of mine.”

True. Especially true thinking about Merritt and Sadie. Mer, the oldest Markham sister, has chilled a lot since moving to Oakley and taking Hunter, the island's hottest single commodity, off the market. But she is one of those hyper successful, driven, type-A kind of women. I can only imagine growing up with her as top dog.

Then there’s Sadie—every bit as headstrong and opinionated as Merritt, only usually running in the opposite direction. It’s practically a nuclear combination. I’ve witnessed Lo smoothing things over between her older sisters almost effortlessly, heading off budding arguments and steering them toward a greener pasture where everyone gets along.

Eloise is every bit as strong as her sisters, just in a different way. Less combative and more sneakily coercive.

I lick my sticky fingers clean and put the car into gear. It’s almost time to pick up Liam from the Summit. “Ugh. Your logic is impeccable, per the usual. What was your degree in, again—psychology?”

“Literature. How’s Sir Liam?”

I could not be more grateful for the conversational switch. Eloise has been calling Liam that ever since he had to dress like a knight for a school thing. I mean, sure, he was adorable. But Eloise said he really looked like hewasa knight. Look—I’m biased toward my kid. Trust me. But I don’t know what she was seeing. The chain mail I found in a costume shop was missing whole chunks, like it belonged to a knight who definitely didn’t make it through the battle or was fired by a dragon. Not to mention that it was an adult size, which meant it came down to Liam’s knees.

Still—Eloise persists with Sir Liam.

“School is good so far. I mean, it’s only been two weeks, but he’s doing well academically—no surprise there. And I think he’s made a few friends already.”

This is a huge relief to me. Liam’s tendency to hyperfixate on topics, not understanding why no one else cares, can be like his own scarlet letter, setting him apart in negative ways. Through no fault of his own, he spent a lot of his early years around adults. He didn’t ever speak like a kid or relate to kids. But he can sit through a conversation about inflation or work-life balance and totally track. He’s kind and loyal and fun, but he doesn’t color in the lines or always act like the other kids.

In the last year or so, he finally started to make more friends outside of Izzy, Hunter’s daughter. I wasn’t sure how his fledgling social skills would translate off the island though, and I was more nervous about this than running into Camden. Even last week coming out of the Summit, a few kids waved and one boy who looked a little older gave him a friendly looking slap on the back.

I swear, I got teary-eyed watching it and had to work really hard to recalibrate my face by the time Liam reached the car.

Just as hard? Not asking if Camden was there. But that would be the kind of news I’m not sure he could have kept to himself. I think I would have seen it in his face or body, a sense of sadness weighing him down like a heavy cloak.