Page 18 of Five Summer Wishes

WILLA

T he email came just after breakfast.

Subject: Congratulations – Oaklight Summer Artist Residency

I stared at it for a solid minute before opening it. Then I read the first line three times:

We’re thrilled to offer you a place in this year’s program...

I didn’t smile.

Not right away.

Because this wasn’t the kind of win I was used to.

I was used to praise that didn’t ask for permanence. Applause that faded by morning. Compliments that came with the assumption I wouldn’t be around long enough to need more.

But this? This was a commitment.

A place. A plan. A timeline.

Three months of staying.

Three months of showing up.

Three months of no exits.

And I wanted it.

I really, actually, viscerally wanted it.

Which is probably why it scared the shit out of me.

I didn’t tell anyone right away.

I closed the email, opened a blank page in my sketchbook, and drew instead.

The studio space they’d described—high ceilings, wide windows, shared walls.

I drew it from memory. From hope. From want.

And then I drew myself inside it.

Harper found me on the back steps, barefoot, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending I hadn’t just made a decision that might reroute the rest of my life.

She sat beside me, handed me a piece of toast with strawberry jam, and said nothing for a minute.

Then: “You got in, didn’t you?”

I didn’t ask how she knew. She always knew.

“I did,” I said.

She looked at me. Really looked. “Are you going to say yes?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Then nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I am.”

She smiled. “Good.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s everything.”

Later that day, I walked the neighborhood. I passed the park, the little mural someone painted over the broken retaining wall, the shop windows half-decorated for a summer festival I’d forgotten was coming.

This was a town I’d only ever visited in fragments. In weekends. In memory.

But now… it was mine.

And I was finally ready to claim it.

I found Sawyer in his shop, working on a coffee table that looked like it had been through three hurricanes and still believed in second chances. He looked up when I walked in, and that quiet smile of his bloomed across his face.

“I got in,” I said.

He put down the sander. “Oaklight?”

I nodded.

His smile widened. “That’s incredible, Willa.”

And for a second, I couldn’t speak.

Because I expected part of me to panic. To start plotting an escape hatch. To flinch at the idea of someone being proud of me without strings attached.

But all I felt was this soft, unshakeable rightness.

“I almost didn’t apply,” I said.

“I know.”

“I almost didn’t tell you I got in.”

“I know that too.”

“And I almost convinced myself I wasn’t good enough.”

He stepped closer. “But you didn’t,” he said. “You showed up. You tried. You stayed.”

“I’m still staying.”

His hands found mine.

And it was everything.

That night, we had dinner on the porch. All five of us. Me, Harper, June, Lily, and Sawyer—who was now officially just part of the rhythm.

Harper made roasted vegetables from an old, rustic cookbook. June brought out the good plates, even though I reminded her we were still very much paper napkin people. Lily insisted on lighting candles and called it “the fancy vibes.”

We didn’t toast.

No one made speeches.

But the feeling—God, the feeling—was thick in the air. Like laughter and lemon and the slow, golden echo of people finally stepping into who they were always meant to be.

At one point, Harper looked at us and said, “We’re different.”

We all glanced at each other.

“I think that’s the point,” June said softly.

“No,” Harper clarified. “I mean… we’re good. We’re not just surviving anymore.”

Willa nodded. “We’re choosing.”

And somehow, that was the loudest declaration of all.

After dinner, when the candles had burned low and Lily had fallen asleep with her cheek pressed to June’s shoulder, I stayed behind with Sawyer.

We didn’t say much. Just swayed on the porch swing, his arm around my shoulders, my hand resting against his chest like it belonged there.

“I never thought I’d stay anywhere,” I said quietly.

“You didn’t have to,” he replied. “You just had to stop running from the places that already felt like home.”

I looked at him.

“I’m ready to stay,” I said.

He didn’t smile.

He just leaned in and kissed me, soft and certain.

Like he already knew.