Page 31

CHAPTER 31

MAMI MERNEITH

The sun is warm on my knees. That’s nice. I don’t always notice warmth. Some days it feels like my skin belongs to someone else.

The boys are sitting nearby. I call them boys even though they’re all grown up and taller than my memory says they should be. Pharo, my son. He’s got that line between his eyebrows again. He tries to hide it, but I can always tell when he’s worrying. His heart is a loud thing.

And the other one. The soldier with the clever hands. Jax. He’s got eyes like shadows and summer all tangled up together. I liked him the moment he showed up, grumbling about dietary restrictions and trying to sneak me extra cookies. I liked him even more when he came back to visit, even after my son returned home.

They think I don’t remember.

Sometimes I don’t.

But I remember what love feels like.

I remember Pharo sitting on the floor in his pajamas, playing with plastic planes and mumbling to himself about velocity and lift.

I remember the way he used to come home scraped up and grinning, full of fire and impossible ideas.

I remember the heartbreak in his voice the first time he said goodbye to someone he loved—and the way that voice has softened, now, with someone who came back.

They’re not touching, not right now. But they’re orbiting each other like moons. I can feel it. The way Pharo’s foot taps in rhythm to Jax’s fingers drumming on the armrest. The way they steal glances, like teenagers trying to be cool. Lord, they’re terrible at hiding it.

“You took your sweet time,” I mutter under my breath. Don’t know if I mean it for Jax or for time itself.

Jax leans over, all quiet warmth. “What was that?”

I blink at him. He’s got kind eyes, this one. A little tired, but kind.

“You make him smile,” I say. “Even when he’s trying not to.”

His expression softens. “Yeah, well. He makes it hard to do anything else.”

I laugh. A sharp, barking thing. Then, softer, I whisper, “Promise me you’ll be there. Even on the hard days.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t hesitate. “I already promised.”

I nod, satisfied. My fingers find the hem of the quilt in my lap. It’s soft. Familiar.

A warm hand covers mine. My son’s. He doesn’t say anything, just holds on like he’s anchoring us both.

And for a little while, the world stills. My mind quiets. I don’t feel like I’m floating away.

Just here. With them.

Exactly where I want to be.