Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“You okay?” Darian asks, appearing at my elbow with another beer.
“Yeah,” I say, and mean it.
The party winds down slowly, the way good parties do. Nobody wants to be the first to leave, to break whatever spell has been cast by food and music and family. Lily’s fully asleep now, drooling slightly on my shoulder. The music has shifted to quieter songs, the ones you play when the night’s getting deep and everyone’s a little drunk on contentment.
“We should go,” I finally say when I realize it’s past ten. “Lily’s got swimming lessons in the morning.”
“On Sunday?” Zara asks.
“It was the only slot available.”
“Next time just stay over,” Helen says, like it’s already decided. “We’ve got plenty of room here. Zara and Levi have that whole guest wing.”
“Mom, you can’t just volunteer their house,” Darian says.
“I’m not volunteering anything. I’m stating facts. They have room.”
“She’s right,” Zara says. “You guys should stay next time. The girls would love it.”
Next time. The assumption that there will be a next time, many next times, settles over me. Helen’s already planning future visits. Paul’s already treating Lily like another grandkid. They’ve accepted us without question, just because Darian loves us.
“We really should go,” I say again, though part of me doesn’t want to leave.
Helen walks us to the car, her arm linked through mine while Paul carries a sleeping Lily.
“I’m so glad we finally got to meet you,” she says quietly. “I haven’t seen him this happy in years.”
“I haven’t been this happy in years,” I admit.
She squeezes my arm. “Good. That’s how it should be. Both people, equally happy. That’s how you know it’s right.”
Paul settles Lily carefully in the backseat, tucking her seatbelt around her with practiced grandfather movements. When he closes the door, he turns to me.
“Thank you,” he says simply.
“For what?”
“For bringing him back to himself. He was lost for a while there. Now he’s not.”
Before I can respond, he’s heading back to the house, Helen’s hand finding his as they walk.
Zara gives me a quick hug. “Fourth of July,” she says. “Mom’s already planning it. Don’t even think about saying no.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good. She likes you. They both do. That’s huge.”
The drive home happens in that perfect quiet that comes after good days. Lily dozes in the backseat, occasionally mumbling about horses and fireflies. Darian drives with one hand, the other resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns through my jeans. The radio plays low, some old country song about roads and home.
“Your mom’s intense,” I say.
“She liked you.”
“How could you tell?”
“She didn’t offer to set you up with her dentist’s son.”
“She does that?”
“Did. Past tense. Until you.”
I think about that, about being the reason Helen stops trying to matchmaker her son. About being the answer to a question I didn’t know was being asked.
“Thank you,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m thanking him for. This day. This life. The way he made space for us in his family.
He glances over at me, his face lit by the dashboard lights. “For what?”
“I want this,” I whisper. “All of this.”
He doesn’t answer right away, just squeezes my thigh gently. When we stop at a red light, he turns to look at me fully.
“It’s yours,” he says simply. “It’s ours.”
The light turns green, and we drive on. Lily sleeps in the back, her face peaceful in the passing streetlights. I think about Zara’s laugh and Levi’s terrible jokes and the way Willow and Stormy folded Lily into their games. I think about Helen’s knowing looks and Paul’s quiet acceptance. I think about a family that chooses you.
Home isn’t the venue I’ve been hiding in for three years. It’s not even the house where Lily and I have built our careful life. Home is this car, driving through the Tennessee night. It’s Sunday cookouts and guitar harmonies and children’s laughter across summer grass. It’s Darian’s hand on my thigh and Lily’s soft snores and the promise of swimming lessons in the morning.
Home is the people who won’t let you stand on the outside.
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says, and then, softer, “I love you too. Both of you.”
In the backseat, Lily shifts, mumbling something about horses and corn hole and can we go back next weekend. Darian catches my eye, and we both smile. Next weekend. Next month. Next year.
We pull into the driveway of our house. The porch light is on, the one I forgot to turn off this morning in our rush to leave. It looks welcoming now, waiting for us to come back.
We sit in the car for an extra moment, nobody moving. Darian’s hand finds mine across the console. Lily sighs in her sleep.
“Home,” I say.
“Home,” he agrees.
We gather our things, our daughter, our love, and head inside. The door closes behind us with a soft click, sealing us into our life. Our family. Our home.