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“So, Erika,”—Daisy dropped back down in her seat—“What time did you say you’re meeting Carson and the boys for dinner?”

Oh no.

As fast as humanly possible, I raced through the front door of Lasagna Lagoon with clammy palms, a generous helping of boob sweat, and a plan.

We’d been here a thousand times over the years. This was just one more totally normal time. We’d have a multi-layered dining experience, where the cheese flowed like an orange lazy river.

Everything was fine, even if my brain struggled to convince my body that was true. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I focused on not crashing into anything.

I bypassed the hostess and paused by the entrance to the patio where we always used to sit.

String lights zigzagged across the overhead canopy and cast golden light over red-checkered tablecloths.

Silverware clinked against plates. A grumpy toddler whimpered as his mother attempted to distract him with a crayon.

Lively conversations crashed together like cymbals.

The air carried a thick mixture of garlic, basil, and one patron’s particularly pungent cologne.

Sandwiched between broods with flailing small children was a relatively tranquil trio— my family.

All that I could make out of Carson was the back of his head, but I could see both of our boys clearly. They were slumped side by side, with their attention set below the table, likely on their phones.

Micah’s hair was getting a little too shaggy. I would cut it if he’d still let me. He picked his lip the way he did when he was nervous. Adam looked more at ease, a mini-copy of his father, even though he’d outgrown Carson by an inch over the winter.

I ignored the gymnastics my stomach was doing, smoothed my hands over my skirt, and approached.

I slipped into the only empty seat at the booth, right next to Carson.

His t-shirt was one I didn’t recognize—fire engine red with a hashtag symbol and the words Stay Sharp written across his chest. An unpleasant pang filled my chest, like I had a right to be sad about not knowing when he’d purchased a new piece of clothing.

His face was freshly shaved, his gaze soft and gentle. “Hi. We’re glad you’re here.”

The boys didn’t say anything.

“Thanks, me, too,” I said, my attention stuck on the other side of the table. Were they simply being teenagers or were they upset with me? “How are you guys doing?”

Nothing.

“Micah had a field trip at camp yesterday,” Carson offered.

“Right, to the science center.” I remembered the family calendar notice Carson had put in about the trip last week. “How was it?”

Micah lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I dunno.”

“I was there recently to cover the new Super Reality exhibit. Did you enjoy that one?”

Micah slumped lower in his seat. “Sure.”

Carson let out a small sigh. His fingers brushed mine on the bench between us.

I wanted to pull away. I wanted to grab his hand.

Adam pushed his breadstick to the side and leaned forward. “Dad says when we talk about hedgehogs you won’t white out anymore. Is that really true?”

“I didn't promise—” Carson started.

At the same time I said, “I…don’t?—”

We shared a small smile.

Carson gestured for me to go ahead.

“I can’t say for sure,” I said. “I don’t know why it was happening, so I don’t know that it won’t happen again.”

“It’s not happening right now.” Micah stayed so far down on the seat his knees rested in my leg room, but his eyes were sharp, and set on me. “You don’t look frozen.”

Is that how I usually looked to them when I had a white-out? Frozen?

The waiter arrived and took our orders.

After he left, I said, “I’m so sorry for not being here for you. I’ve wanted to your whole lives. I know it’ll be hard to build that trust, but I’m going to put in the work.”

“You’re here now,” Adam said.

“Does that mean you guys are getting back together?” Micah asked. “You’re moving back home?”

It was what I wanted, what I’d wanted ever since I’d left. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t make promises that I didn’t know if I could keep.

Carson placed his hand over mine. “We’ll take things one step at a time.”

This was a big first step. A leap.

They were trusting me to be better. I wanted so hard to be better for them.

“I hate the apartment,” Micah said.

I leaned in and whispered like I had a secret to share. “Me too.”

Micah opened his mouth and dropped his head back against the seat.

Carson’s lips quirked up ever so slightly, a secret smile just for me. His hazel eyes, along with the lift of his brows, seemed intent on telling me everything’s going great.

My cheeks heated. I asked Micah, “Any luck finding your retainer?”

He shook his head.

“I scheduled an appointment with the orthodontist to get a new one,” Carson said.

“That’s good.” I wished I could find it, but I’d scoured the apartment and I had no idea where else to look.

“Not for me,” Micah said under his breath.

This conversation needed a new, more positive direction. I told Carson, “I like your shirt.”

“Early Father’s Day gift from Adam,” Carson said. “It’s great, right?”

“Really great,” I agreed.

“He told me I needed it for tonight in case I dribbled sauce on my shirt,” Carson said.

Just like my meatball skirt.

Adam said, “Old people drool.”

Micah snorted.

“We drool on purpose to embarrass our children,” Carson flashed me a conspiratorial grin.

“Forty is the new thirty,” I said.

“Forty is the new eighty,” Adam countered.

The food arrived.

“The Super Reality exhibit was the best part,” Micah said softly.

He was actually answering my question from earlier about the museum. I could hardly believe it. My chest felt light. I said, “I liked feeling the materials that could actually be used to make a super suit. Which part did you like the best?”

“What are we talking about?” Adam asked, looking back and forth between us.

Micah sat up straighter. “There was this whole thing at the museum about if superheroes were actually real.”

“How come I didn’t get to do a field trip like that?” Adam pursed his lips like he’d tasted something sour.

“It’s a traveling exhibit,” I said. “So it wasn’t around when you were in his grade.”

“That’s dumb,” Adam said.

Micah cracked a smile. “I liked the invisibility thing.”

“Where you step between mirrors that bend light and it looks like you’re not there?”

He nodded.

“I liked that one, too,” I said.

Carson squeezed my hand on the bench.

We went on like that, having a normal conversation, like a real family. I ate up every second of it. Then I suggested dessert just as an excuse to make it last a little longer.

Eventually though, I ran out of excuses. Micah yawned repeatedly. And Carson mentioned Adam needing to get back for homework.

As I walked with them to Carson’s SUV, elation of how well dinner went warred in my gut with the sadness of knowing I had to go back to my apartment tonight.

Alone.

When I hugged Adam, he squeezed me back. When I hugged Micah, he held on tight to me, like he didn’t want to let go.

My heart filled so full it burst. I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t cry.

The boys piled into the SUV.

And it was just me and Carson left in the dark parking lot, our kids watching through the glass.

I had no idea what to say. I felt frozen, floating in an icy purgatory, wishing the night would never end. I clung to the warmth I saw in Carson’s eyes. That warmth was my home.

He was my home.

“We should do this again soon,” Carson said.

“I’d like that.” Actually, I’d love that. My voice sounded breathy in my ears, desperate, but I was too invested to care.

“I’m free tomorrow evening if you want to grab a coffee and talk things over some more.”

“Yes,” I answered without thinking, then disappointingly, I recalled my calendar. “Actually, I can’t. I have to work.”

The animal shelter segment would air. I had to be available for the live piece after.

“All right, we’ll work out a time later. I’ll text you. Goodnight, Erika.” He reached for the door instead of for me.

That was fine. It was good. The boys were watching, and pretending we were further along the road of reconciliation than we were would help no one.

Everything had gone so well tonight. I’d cling to that.

“Goodnight, Carson.”

He let go of the handle and leaned toward me.

His large hand smoothed over the small of my back. His lips brushed my cheek in a tiny peck. My skin flushed with heat at the contact. I felt like a spring-drunk bear freshly woken from hibernation.

Carson pulled away. It was over as quickly as it happened.

I wasn’t sad that the night had ended. I couldn’t be. I was too hopeful for what our future would bring next—the four of us, back together, the way we were meant to be. I was a convert to the inspirational quotes from Daisy’s positivity Pinterest board.

I left Lasagna Lagoon with a skip in my step and a lightness in my chest. After a block of walking, I realized I’d also left with a noodle stuck to my shirt. Turns out black and red don’t hide farfalle. I should have gone for the meatballs. I laughed.

I turned the corner down a side street toward my car.

One step, hard cracked concrete met the sole of my slip-on shoes. The next, my foot sank into something soft.

My first instinct, I looked down to check for dog poo.

Instead, I found mossy earth.

A thick blanket of confusion padded my brain. The smells of cars and asphalt snapped away, replaced by something sweet and bright I recognized all too well.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

No. No no no no.

I stood in the forest of my dreams.

Vibrant colors surrounded me. The leaves whispered secrets I couldn’t hear.

The door appeared, dark and ancient. My stomach twisted in knots.

“No.” My voice cracked. I shook my head so hard it made me dizzy. “No. This is supposed to be over now.”

The forest breathed around me, slow and deep, completely unaffected by the panic rising in my chest.

A voice came from nowhere—dark, low, so close it felt like it was being whispered inside my ear. “Open it.”

A shiver snapped up my spine. My arms prickled.

Invisible fingers curled around my biceps. The hands were not gentle or friendly. The grasp could only be described as possessive.

I screamed—sharp, raw, a feral sound torn from somewhere low in my gut—and wrenched backward.

The hands didn’t tighten.

They didn’t drag me deeper into the forest, and force me to the door.

They released me.

The alleyway flashed back into focus—the real world. The blessed, trash-scented, gray alleyway.

My heart hammered in my chest so violently I was afraid my ribs would crack. Part of me was tempted to drop down and kiss the cement, to celebrate my escape. The other part was afraid it wasn’t over.

I whipped around, searching the shadows.

The alley was empty. There was no forest, no door, no ghost hands. Instead—the buzz of a flickering streetlight and the faint hum of traffic.

Relief didn’t come.

Panic clawed up my throat, hot and feral. My muscles moved before I could actively decide to run.

I didn’t look back.