Page 11 of Five Summer Wishes

JUNE

I ris used to say the best place to think was the shore by the old chapel. Not the tourist part, not the big overlook. The quiet one, tucked behind a weathered row of sea grass, where the sand stayed cool and the wind always came in sideways.

So that’s where I took Lily the next morning.

I packed a lunch. Some paper and crayons. Water bottles. It felt like something my mother would’ve done if she’d been the kind of woman who packed lunches and sat still.

Lily skipped ahead on the path like she owned it.

“She used to bring me here too,” she said without looking back.

I blinked. “Iris?”

Lily nodded. “She said the ocean was loud enough to hold secrets.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

So I just followed.

We sat on a flat stretch of sand beneath a crooked tree that looked like it had been holding on longer than it should’ve. Lily drew a picture of a jellyfish in a tutu. I watched the tide roll in and out like breath.

I should’ve been thinking about the next steps. The next card in Iris’s box. The next thing to manage.

Instead, I let myself be still.

The silence didn’t ache the way it usually did. It softened.

Grant showed up sometime after noon.

I wasn’t surprised.

He didn’t ask if he could join us. Just dropped onto the sand with a grunt, set down a bag of oranges and crackers, and offered Lily a juice pouch like he’d been doing this forever.

She took it without hesitation.

I watched them for a minute, how easy they were together. How he didn’t talk to her like she was fragile or precious. Just real .

It made something in my chest pull tight.

Eventually, Lily wandered off to collect shells, and Grant turned toward me.

“You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Today’s a good day.”

“You say that like most days aren’t.”

I looked out at the water. “They’re just… full.”

“Of what?”

“Everything. Responsibilities. Expectations. The weight of being the one who never drops the ball.”

Grant didn’t speak right away. He reached down and picked up a small, flat stone, rolling it between his fingers. “You ever wonder what would happen if you dropped it?”

“The ball?”

He nodded.

“All the time.”

“And?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid the people I love would stop needing me.”

“Is that the worst thing that could happen?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure it was. But I wasn’t sure it wasn’t, either.

He didn’t push. Just sat with me while I stared at the water and tried to remember the last time someone had listened without trying to fix me.

Eventually, I said, “You’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“Staying.”

Grant smiled. “You make it easier than you think.”

I let that sit between us.

Because I didn’t want to ruin it by needing it too much.

Lily eventually curled up on a beach towel and fell asleep, arms wrapped around her plastic shell bucket like it was a pillow. Her breathing evened out quickly. She always slept hard after mornings like this—outside, salt in the air, sand in her hair, surrounded by people who made her feel safe.

I pulled a blanket over her and sank back into the sand beside Grant, my knees pulled up, arms wrapped tight around them.

“I think I used to dream about this,” I said.

Grant didn’t turn his head. “What part?”

“This. The quiet. The freedom. The fact that I can sit here and not be anyone but myself.”

“You say that like you haven’t been allowed to.”

“I haven’t. Not really.”

He nodded like he understood. And I believed he did.

“I went straight from being someone’s daughter to being someone’s girlfriend to being someone’s mother,” I said. “There was never any space to just… be a person.”

I didn’t usually say things like that out loud. Even to myself.

But with him, it didn’t feel like confession; it just felt like the truth.

“And now?” he asked.

“Now I’m still trying to figure out who that person is.”

I glanced over.

His expression was steady. Gentle.

Like he wasn’t afraid of the mess I was letting him see.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

He nodded.

“Why haven’t you asked me out?”

He laughed, quiet and a little surprised. “I thought I already had.”

“You’ve brought me donuts. Fixed my swing. Sat with me in silence. But you’ve never actually said, ‘June, I’d like to take you out sometime.’”

“Maybe I figured you’d say no.”

“I might’ve,” I admitted. “But I’m not sure I would now.”

His eyes found mine, and there was nothing casual in the way he looked at me.

“I didn’t want to ask you for something when you’re still figuring out how to be asked.”

The words sat on my skin like warm sun.

And I couldn’t argue with them.

I didn’t want to.

After a while, he stood, dusted sand from his jeans, and stretched.

“I’ve got to check on something at the shop,” he said. “You good here?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll walk back when Lily wakes up.”

He nodded. Hesitated. Then he walked to where I was sitting and leaned down—not close enough to touch, but close enough that his presence wrapped around me like a quiet promise.

“When you’re ready,” he said, “I’ll still be here.”

And then he was gone.

I sat there long after the sound of his truck faded down the road. Lily slept peacefully beside me, tangled in a towel, one hand clinging to a spiral shell.

I thought about what it meant, that someone like Grant could show up and stay, and not ask for anything I couldn’t give. I thought about all the times I’d told myself I had to be strong, or perfect, or useful in order to be loved.

And I thought about how, for the first time in years, I didn’t want to be any of those things.

I just wanted to be seen.

I didn’t tell anyone about the beach when we got back. Not Harper. Not Willa.

But I saw something shift in both of them that night over dinner.

Harper set her phone aside before dessert. Willa didn’t make a single joke during clean-up. Lily hummed softly to herself while she colored at the table, completely at ease.

And I realized something.

We were still a little broken. Still figuring it out.

But we were doing it together .

And that mattered more than I’d ever let myself believe.

Later, I sat on my bed with Iris’s journal in my lap. I hadn’t written in days. Hadn’t had the energy. Or the clarity.

But now…

Now I felt something different.

Not a sense of direction, but a pull toward honesty.

Dear Iris,

I think you’d like him.

He doesn’t flinch when I’m quiet. Doesn’t need me to be shiny or certain. He just listens. And stays.

You always said love wasn’t a lightning bolt. It was a house you build slowly, board by board, even when the weather’s bad.

I used to think I’d never even find the lumber.

But maybe I was just too busy holding everyone else’s roof together to notice someone was offering me shelter.

I’m not sure where this goes.

But I’m not running from it.

And that feels like enough.