Page 12

CHAPTER 12

Naomi

“Mom, chill,” my son tells me twenty minutes later, his words infused with all the wisdom of his ten years. “It’s just a hangout, right? Like you have with Aunt Eloise and Aunt Merritt and Aunt Sadie.”

Oh, sweet, innocent Liam. To think that entertaining hockey-related women ranging from never-met to barely-know is anything like having the Markham sisters over.

Not to mention the way my entire nervous system is still trying to reboot after Camden’s kisses. I honestly expected Liam to take one look at me and know.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “I’ll try to chill. Careful with the knife.”

He’s cutting a pan of my s’mores brownies, the only food I really excel at making, and doing a much better job than I would right now. My hands are too shaky. Because despite telling Liam I’ll try, zero chill exists in my body right now.

Liam rolls his eyes, then cuts with a much more exaggerated slowness. “It’s a butter knife, Mom.”

I swear, he’s sounding more and more like an almost teenager every day. Still sweet. Goofy. Fun. And, thankfully, a big fan of his mom, but I’m starting to see glimpses of what’s ahead. I am … not enthused.

“Ow!” Liam exclaims, pulling back his hand. I almost leap across the kitchen to grab his hand, so certain I'll see blood that sweat prickles at my hairline and my stomach dips.

Instead, I get a smirky little grin as he wiggles perfectly unmarred fingers. “Kidding. I know how to use a butter knife without cutting myself.”

“Too soon, Liam. Too soon.”

I tap the skin near his stitched-up arm. It's healing nicely, but it's still nasty, and makes my stomach lurch when I look at it for too long.

“Sorry,” he says. His face tells me that he is absolutely not sorry.

“You’re pushing your luck, kid.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in luck, adult .”

I groan. “Can you just … maybe not throw my words back at me?”

“What is it Grandpa Ned always says—don’t dish it out if you can’t take it?”

“That’s it!” I grab Liam, and before he can wiggle away, I wrap my arms around him. I swear, he gets a little taller every week. “You’re getting a hug.”

“Ew. No hugging.” He half-heartedly tries to fight me off, but I smile because I can tell he doesn’t mean it.

When I release him, he tilts up the pan of brownies for my inspection. “I’m all done.”

At least one thing tonight will be excellent. My recipe is foolproof and famous—Oakley Island famous, that is—and Liam has cut them into perfectly even squares. I couldn’t have done this well with a ruler.

“Now can I go eat and watch YouTube?”

He says this with all the exhaustion of a boy who’s been forced into child labor down in a mine when the only two tasks asked of him were to cut these brownies and to make sure there wasn’t pee on his toilet seat. And since I don’t trust a ten-year-old boy to have my standards of cleanliness, I even went in after him with cleaning spray.

“Just put the brownies on here and then you can go.”

Liam frowns down at the plate I shoved his way. “Did you buy new dishes?”

“No. Fine. Yes. Just a few.”

“Do …” Liam trails off. He’s staring at me like I’m an alien. “Do adults get nervous about making friends, too?”

I don’t laugh at his question, but only because he’s being completely sincere. Apparently one more rite of passage Liam’s going through is realizing that adults are people too.

“Yes,” I say simply. “Adults tend to feel a whole lot of the same feelings and have the same worries as kids. Only now we get to have more worries and bigger ones added to the mix. On the plus side, we’ve got better coping mechanisms than kids do, and we’ve got experience, so we know that we’ll probably make it through just fine.”

I lost him, probably somewhere in the first sentence. But I tried.

With a sigh, I tap the plate. “Brownies here. Then you can go watch YouTube and eat.”

Despite his meticulous cutting, Liam carelessly dumps the pan on the plate, snagging a brownie and his to-go container of ribs before darting down the hall. Though I don’t usually allow Liam to have the iPad or food in his room—especially the kind of food that requires wet wipes after eating—the ladies will be here any minute and I need some time alone.

It was hard enough walking through the front door and facing Liam, trying not to look like I just made out with Camden in a hallway outside a restaurant bathroom. Not that the location of the kiss matters. I would have struggled with my facial expression if I kissed Camden on a mountaintop or next to a flowing stream or even at the Summit up on the catwalk.

The important part isn’t where. It’s what. And who .

And what next?

The last question is the one that made my voice modulate weirdly when I said hello walking back inside the house. Liam didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, but I need to make sure I’ve got it together before Parker and company arrive.

I was already freaking out about having them over. Because, as I told Liam, it isn’t easy making friends as an adult. Especially when you’re an adult who comes with a ready-made sidekick who happens to be your kid.

At the time Liam was born, all my high school friends were either in college or working while doing the kinds of things nineteen-year-olds do. Partying. Going out. Not worrying about how to care for an infant or how many jobs it takes to afford rent.

This led to a very long, very friendless drought before Eloise crashed into my brother’s life and, by extension, mine. Her sisters followed her to Oakley not long after, so it was like I got a ready-made friend group of sorts. Happy birthday to me!

But the women coming over tonight are hockey WAGs, even if Parker doesn’t like that term. Wives and girlfriends and fiancés and one sister of the players. Leaving me on the outside as an ex, though as Parker projected, maybe not for long.

I catch myself smiling again, but it’s hard not to when I remember the kiss. Or Camden’s words. Last summer, we talked very little about our future plans, so his directness today was surprising. But I like it. Feels very adult in a way none of my relationships have been.

I never would have wanted them to be. Though I may never admit this to him, my brother is right about me picking losers.

Until now.

A watch somewhere in the house beeps, telling me I’m almost out of time. I should pop back into my bedroom and freshen up. Or at least consider taking my hair out of its loose braid. Maybe add a coat of mascara. But Parker promised me this would be casual, and I want to take her at her word.

But is casual for a WAG something a little nicer than jeans with holes at the knees?

The doorbell rings, and I rush around, lighting a candle and moving every plate of food at least half an inch on the dining room table. Though I have a tendency toward chaos and disorder, my house is still neat right now. Partly because I did a great purge before leaving Oakley and brought very little. And partly because I haven’t done much to make the house feel lived in. Yet.

I ignore the bare walls and rugless hardwoods as I scurry to the front door and throw it open before I can second, third, or fourth guess this evening.

I've hardly opened the door when a small group led by Parker barrel inside with hugs and greetings and plates of food. And gifts. I forgot that Parker suggested a housewarming kind of affair. I definitely would have vetoed it if she mentioned it again.

“Let me do introductions!” Parker says, raising her voice and clapping her hands.

We’re all standing around the dining table, whose chairs have been pulled back, allowing access to the table crowded with food. The s'mores brownies, buffalo dip, and various appetizers from the barbecue place have now been joined by cookies, chips and salsa, plus more dips and snacks than we could eat in a week, a few bottles of wine, and some fancy cans of seltzer water.

“You already know Greyson,” Parker says. Grey, with a mouth full of brownie already, waves.

“These are amazing,” she says, chocolate on her front teeth.

“I cut them!” Liam calls from somewhere much closer than his room.

I sigh. “Might as well come out and do introductions, kid. Since you're eavesdropping.”

“I ain’t dropping no eaves,” Liam says in a terrible British accent as he walks cautiously into the dining room.

“That’s from Lord of the Rings !” one of the women says excitedly. Her hair is a few shades darker brown than mine and a lot longer, though she has it pulled back in a loose braid like me.

Liam grins. “It’s my favorite book and my favorite movie. Well, favorite set of trilogies, if we’re being technical.”

Personally, I’ve only watched the movies because Liam made me. While I can recognize their greatness—especially any parts including Aragorn—I fell asleep in all three.

It’s not my fault they’re so long!

“Mine too,” she says, smiling as she looks between Liam and me. “I’m Bailey.”

Parker finishes the rest of the introductions, with Liam staying just long enough to make me proud by looking everyone in the eyes as he shakes their hands. Then, he grabs a plate with more goodies and disappears once again to his room.

“He’s a good kid,” Parker says. “Which means you’re doing a good job, mama.”

“He is a good kid, but oh man—the mistakes I’ve made. Am still making,” I add, thinking about Camden and hoping that this time, I’m not about to make another one.

* * *

Turns out, I didn’t need to be worried about feeling out of place with this group. Though every woman in this room is gorgeous, they’re all unique and no one is snotty. Each woman has a different style, a different personality, and a different take on makeup from full face to fresh faced.

In short, it’s the kind of group where the women seem comfortable in their own skins without any of the competitive edge that sometimes comes standard with female friendships. What’s more, they genuinely seem to like each other.

And they brought housewarming gifts! Nothing over-the-top expensive, but thoughtful and fun gifts. A set of really fun coffee mugs, a print of Harvest Hollow in fall that honestly got me pumped for actually experiencing that season for the first time, two bright turquoise throw pillows that warm up the beige couch that came with the house, and the softest blanket ever that will be perfect for cozying up while bingeing Netflix.

I had to actively work to hide how choked up I was when I thanked them, and they all acted like it was no big deal. Which made it an even bigger deal to me.

Parker, despite not being the oldest of the bunch, definitely steers the ship, but without being bossy or overbearing. Well, not too bossy. Her brand of bossy is more like adorably strong persuasion. She naturally exudes the kind of influence people naturally sway toward following.

And if they don’t … she finds a way to make them want to anyway.

Greyson was the newest member of the group until I arrived, and she’s also the youngest. Grey’s personality is as bright as her hair, and her laugh is infectious. She has two older sisters in addition to her brother, Van, which made me miss Eloise, Sadie, and Merritt. But in a good way.

Then there’s Bailey, casual and friendly and getting bonus points for sharing the Lord of the Rings moment with Liam. She hardly said a word after that but managed somehow to fully participate in the group. If I needed a good listener, I think she’d be my go-to.

Gracie was the most intimidating to me at first because she seemed the most formal in her black slacks and tailored black blouse. But she apparently came from a performance of the middle school where she teaches orchestra. Five minutes into being on the couch, she’d shaken out her long brown hair and taken off the blouse in favor of the tank top underneath. Two brownies in, and she unbuttoned her pants.

In short, these women seem grounded and comfortable in their own skin and with each other. Oh, and the subject of hockey didn’t even come up for the first hour. I don’t know if any of these women know about my history with Camden, but no one has mentioned him, either. I’m honestly relieved.

Not that I’m not dying to process what happened earlier, but I also need a minute to process it myself. Plus, not talking about him made me feel like I was being included tonight for me, not just because of him.

Whatever I imagined a WAG hangout to be—and I’ll admit my understanding came straight from social media—this is not it. I got sucked into a whole series on WAG playoff jackets, which was fascinating. But it also looked expensive to have custom jackets made every year a team is in the playoffs. I’m also not sure a custom leather jacket is something I could pull off.

The hockey WAGs online all look like they stepped out of a hair commercial and had spent two hours contouring after getting lash extensions and lip fillers. That’s a choice, and it’s fine if it’s the choice women want to make. But I couldn’t handle a whole group of women with such uniform perfection, where everyone looked the same.

But this? It feels like I could just be me and who I am is enough.

A few hours in, conversations have split into smaller groups. Liam is in bed, the iPad pried from his sleepy fingers. Gracie headed out a bit ago, and though Parker and Grey keep saying they should go, they’ve been chatting with Bailey for forty-five minutes.

Me? I’m getting my baby fix. If Evie lets me hold Juno any longer, I might catch a serious case of baby fever.

“Who’s the cutest baby in the world, and why is it you?” I coo to Juno, who honestly is the cutest baby in the world.

Liam was adorable because he was mine , but he definitely got cuter as he got older. In any photograph from his first year, his face looks sort of smushed and lopsided with a smattering of baby acne, which I didn’t know was a thing. I still had breakouts sometimes at nineteen, so we were a matching set. Juno, with her dark hair, perfect skin, and big eyes, could be a baby model.

She and her mom, Evie, arrived late due to a last-minute blowout. From the baby, not Evie’s car. This made me chuckle because it still feels like just yesterday I was dealing with poop-up-the-back situations with Liam. It makes me weirdly nostalgic. Not for the actual gross moments (and there were many that first year) but just for when he was my little baby buddy.

Juno gurgles happily, then grabs the end of my nose and gives it a twist. I laugh as Evie manages to pry her baby’s surprisingly strong fingers from my nose with an apologetic look.

“Juno! What did we say about noses! Sorry! I can take her back if you want.”

“Nope! I mean, unless you want her. We’re kind of having a moment here. It feels like Liam was just this small and also like it was a lifetime ago. How is that?”

“I don’t know,” Evie says. “But it’s like babies have a way of bending time. This has been both the longest and the quickest year of my life.”

“You said she’s eight months now?”

“Yes. And I’m absolutely unprepared for her first birthday. Or for her to start walking.”

I saw Juno crawling earlier, and it made me glad I required Liam to keep all his Legos in his room. Juno is fast and puts everything in her mouth. Including my knuckles right now as she uses the same strong grip to drag them toward her open lips.

“Is this okay?” I ask Evie, nodding down at Juno gnawing on me. I can feel teeth, but she’s mostly just gumming me lightly. “I don’t mind being a chew toy, but I haven’t washed this hand since before y’all got here.”

Evie shrugs and sinks deeper onto the couch next to me, her eyes fluttering closed. “I had to stop worrying so much about germs. It’s impossible. Your hand is probably cleaner than half the things she stuffed in her mouth today before I could stop her.” She pauses for a long yawn that makes me yawn too. “We should go. Usually, I have her in bed before now, but I didn’t want to miss this.”

Evie has the look of a woman who needs a good nap or a full night of sleep. And probably more than anyone else in this room, I get it.

Apparently, Evie’s been raising Juno on her own. She also moved alone with Juno to Harvest Hollow a few months back, which makes me feel like we’re following parallel paths. Now, though, she has Alec, the newly retired team captain, whom she says is absolutely smitten with Juno.

And, I’d imagine, with Evie too, who is striking with her dark hair offsetting her blue eyes.

I almost work up the nerve to ask how it is dating a hockey player when you have a kid, but it seems a little nosy when we just met. Plus, Alec just retired last month, so she wasn’t dating him for long while he was actively playing. He watches Juno now while Evie works, which is honestly pretty awesome.

Younger me would have loved that kind of help, though younger me wouldn’t have been open to the relationship part. Just the help with Liam.

I try to stop myself from imagining what our lives might be like with Camden in that way, or if he’d be around at all during the season. It’s too soon to go down that particular rabbit hole. One thing at a time.

First, I need to get through our date where we actually talk about things. And maybe do some more kissing—not in a hallway by a bathroom.

The kissing sounds way more fun than the talking. I’ve never really had a serious

“Does it get easier?” Evie asks, startling me out of the memory of Camden’s lips.

My cheeks feel warm. “What?”

Cracking open her eyes a slit, Evie smiles at Juno. She lost interest in my hand a few minutes ago and is now playing with the necklace I forgot I was wearing. Her eyes are starting to flutter closed as well, and she snuggles into me with a yawn and glassy eyes. I dust off a long-retired mama move and gently bounce her until her eyes are closed, lashes resting on her chubby cheeks.

“Being a mom,” Evie says. “Don’t get me wrong; it’s amazing. But I’m just so tired all the time.”

“Yes and no? I mean, this stage was arguably the most taxing for me. Just having this tiny person tethered to you. Adjusting to some new development and stage every few weeks. Panic over everything. Days where you can’t manage to eat or take a shower or even pee because there’s a tiny person getting a tooth or having an earache. No sleep.”

Evie raises a hand without opening her eyes. “Yes. So much all of that.”

“When they get older, it’s like …” I trail off, running a hand over Juno’s soft hair while I try to find words to sum up so many years with Liam. “You get more breaks and a little more space to breathe. But the worries get bigger, or at least different. You’re not as afraid of bookshelves falling on them and more concerned with the kid at school who tells your son he’s weird.”

Evie’s eyes pop open at this, and she sits up so fast I bet she saw stars. “Did someone call Liam weird?”

Her declaration is so strong, Juno whimpers in my arms and the other conversation stops.

“Who called Liam what? ” Parker looks just as fierce, and even Grey has her eyes narrowed. It’s a nice feeling, knowing these women I don’t know well are ready to close protective ranks around me and my kid.

I laugh softly, careful of the baby snoozing on my chest. “No one … here. That I know of. But Liam hasn’t always fit in very well with kids his age.”

“He’s very bright,” Bailey says with a kind smile. “That can be difficult.”

I nod, then glance down at Juno’s wispy dark hair that’s just starting to curl at the ends. “And it may not have helped with me being on my own. I think I talked to him and treated him too much like he was older. He could carry on a conversation better with an adult than with kids.”

“Is that why you were so upset when I mentioned the kid who wasn’t nice at hockey?” Parker asks.

“Yeah. I know it’s not like he’ll never experience mean kids, but I’d like to think we moved past some of the hardest stuff in the past year or so.”

“As I said before, I think you’re doing great,” Parker says. “I may not have my own kids, but I see a lot when I help out with hockey stuff. Trust me, you’re raising a good one. Also, hockey will help with the social stuff. I mean, if he stays in. Being part of a team forces it on you, but not in a bad way.”

“Do you think Liam will continue with hockey?” Greyson asks. “I mean, after the classes end.”

“I don’t know. If he wants to, I guess so. Do I need to know what I’m getting into first?”

“Uh,” Parker says with a grimace, “maybe it’s better to not know.”

“Liam tends to get fixated on a particular thing, and then it passes, and he moves on. It’s been hockey since?—”

I stop myself from saying last summer. I don’t want to talk about Camden now when I’ve made it this far without having to discuss what happened between us. Or what’s happening now.

“He’s been into hockey for a while now,” I finish. “So, I’m not sure if he’ll stick with it or find a new thing to obsess over in a week.”

“Selfishly, I hope he sticks with hockey,” Parker says, getting to her feet and stretching with a yawn. This starts a chain reaction, with everyone starting to shift into time-to-go mode. “But even if not, you still have to hang out with us. I mean, if you want.”

“Is that even a question?” I ask.

“We can be a lot,” she says. “I mean, you didn’t even get to meet Amelia or Summer.”

“And we also didn’t make her answer any questions about Camden, though we all have questions,” Grey adds with a wicked grin.

Parker gives her a light shove. “Hey! We agreed not to mention the C-word.”

“It’s been soooo hard not to,” Evie whines, shrugging when I give her an et tu brute look.

“You all did great,” Parker admonishes. “But for the record, Naomi, he’s been so pitiful this year,” Parker says, pressing a hand to her chest. “All lovelorn and dramatically sad while completely denying it.”

I shouldn’t feel happy thinking about Camden being sad, but it does give me a little giddy thrill. I guess it’s just nice to know I wasn’t the only one miserable since the summer. Especially since I totally thought Camden didn’t care as much as I did.

Evie gathers her things, and I hold a still-sleeping Juno while she puts them in the car. The women made quick work of straightening up, and my little house looks as good as it did before they arrived.

I follow them all to the porch, calling soft goodbyes so as not to bother the neighbors. It’s after ten on a weekday so I don’t want to tick anyone off.

Parker turns and walks back up to the top step. “One more thing. I really wanted this night to be about you, which is why I told everyone not to bring up Camden. But I will say that his game has suffered this year.” She reaches out and pats my shoulder. “So, the faster you can make that man happy, the better his game will be. For what it’s worth, I highly suggest kissing.”

I’m sure my face looks guilty, but she doesn’t seem to notice and bounds down the steps, only turning back at her car to call, “The guys are on the road later this week, but Sunday, we have a home game. You and Liam are coming. Bye!”

And then, leaving no room for argument, she slams her car door and takes off like the perfect picture of innocence.