Page 7 of Five Summer Wishes

HARPER

I made a spreadsheet.

Of course I did.

It was the only way I knew how to manage something that felt this… unmanageable.

Each line item was color-coded; tasks, contacts, deadlines, supplies.

I’d already emailed the town hall to ask about permits for using the public park in case our backyard proved too feral.

I texted the mayor’s assistant, who I hadn’t spoken to since graduation, and pretended I didn’t feel the sting of returning to a town where everyone still thought of me as Iris Alden’s eldest granddaughter.

Some people wore legacy like a crown.

I wore it like a tailored straitjacket.

Willa wandered into the kitchen mid-morning wearing a tank top with a cartoon crab and the words emotionally sideways printed across the front.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, peering over my shoulder.

“Saving this event from becoming a glitter-coated bonfire.”

“Bold of you to assume glitter’s not part of the plan.”

I didn’t respond. I just typed.

“Okay, but real talk,” she continued. “Can we hang fairy lights in the backyard trees? Like, a curtain of them? I have a vision.”

“You always have a vision.”

“And you always need a project. Look at us. Thriving in our own dysfunction.”

She kissed the top of my head and disappeared.

I hated that she wasn’t wrong.

Around noon, I walked down to the harbor to clear my head.

The sun was out. Breezy, but not oppressive. The kind of weather that made you forget anything bad had ever happened here.

I passed the bookstore, the café, the post office, places that had once made me itch with how small they felt. Now they just looked… familiar. Weathered. Honest.

I spotted Nate before he saw me.

He was leaning against a stack of dock crates, clipboard in hand, talking to someone with grease on his shirt and a red bandana tucked in his pocket. His voice was calm, hands moving as he spoke; measured, not rushed. The way he’d always been when the rest of us were spinning.

When he spotted me, his whole face shifted. That open, unguarded smile.

“Hey,” he said, walking over. “Back so soon?”

“I needed air.”

“Or to escape your sisters?”

I gave him a look. “Why not both?”

He gestured toward the marina. “Want to walk?”

We fell into step without another word and didn’t talk much. Just the occasional comment about the boats, the town, the upcoming potluck. He asked if I needed help setting up tables. I said I’d let him know. He didn’t press.

And that, more than anything, made me want to say yes.

We reached the edge of the dock. The wind picked up, tossing my hair into my face. Nate reached over—without thinking, without hesitation—and gently tucked it behind my ear.

I froze.

He didn’t.

He just looked at me, not expectant, not smug. Just steady.

I cleared my throat. “You’re still good at that.”

“What?”

“Reading the room.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re easier to read when you’re not pretending to be okay.”

I didn’t answer.

We stood at the edge of the dock, side by side, watching the water slap gently against the posts. A small fishing boat rumbled in the distance, leaving a trail of foam behind it.

“I used to think coming back here would feel like failure,” I said. “Like I’d wasted all the years I spent trying to leave.”

Nate didn’t look at me. Just nodded slowly. “And now?”

“Now I don’t know.”

That was the truth. No rehearsed version. No clever deflection.

Just that: I didn’t know.

“I thought I was supposed to have a plan,” I added. “A marriage, a job that looked good on paper, a condo that was clean and modern and full of things I didn’t have time to use. I thought if I checked all the right boxes, it would mean something.”

“It doesn’t?”

I looked at him then. Really looked.

“No. Not anymore.”

He didn’t say I told you so . Didn’t offer platitudes about fresh starts or silver linings. Just gave me a slow nod, like he understood more than he let on.

“You don’t have to prove anything here,” he said again, softer this time. “You just have to be here.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You don’t have to know. You just have to stay long enough to figure it out.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Do you want help with the event?” he asked after a beat.

“Yes,” I said. “But not yet.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t push. Just stood there, letting the quiet settle between us like it belonged.

And maybe it did.

Back at the house, the front door was wide open and music was playing. Fleetwood Mac echoing off the hardwood like a heartbeat.

Willa was in the backyard, arms deep in potting soil, hair tied up in a bandana like she was doing a mid-century housewife cosplay. A half-painted sign leaned against the porch railing. It read:

Potluck on the Porch

Food, laughter, feelings optional

I didn’t ask what she meant by “feelings optional,” but I did clock the glitter pen still tucked behind her ear.

Inside, June was at the table, phone pressed to her shoulder, typing on her laptop with one hand while simultaneously fielding questions from Lily, who had a popsicle melting down her arm.

I stood in the doorway and watched for a second. Just long enough to feel the friction of it. The exhaustion humming just beneath June’s skin. The effort in every move she made.

I crossed to the freezer, grabbed a paper towel, and gently wiped Lily’s arm.

“Thanks,” June mouthed as she hung up the call.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She blinked, too fast. “Just trying to keep the wheels on.”

I didn’t say you don’t have to do it all alone . I didn’t offer advice. I just picked up a second popsicle and handed it to her.

She gave me a tired smile.

And something shifted in my chest.

For the first time since I got here, I wasn’t planning an exit.

I didn’t know how long I’d stay.

But I knew I wasn’t done.

Not yet.