Love You More(41)

“Definitely,” I say, envious of the ordinary time he’s had with her over the years.

She stares at me for a long beat, then says, “Mom said you and Mick used to be boyfriend-girlfriend.”

“Yes. But that was a long time ago.”

“Why’d you break up?”

I glance toward the house. Through the window, Mick is bent over a cutting board, chopping.

“Distance,” I say, swallowing. “I moved to New York for medical school and my residency—”

“What’s a residency?”

“It comes after med school. It’s like on-the-job training to become a doctor.”

She nods, her brow furrowed. “Mom said you should never have broken up.”

“Your mom was a wonderful friend to both of us.”

Phoebe takes a shaky breath, her eyes overflowing.

“Oh, honey. C’mere,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her.

Within seconds she’s clinging to me, sobbing: I want my mom. I want my mom.

I look up and see Mick hurrying toward us with a platter of burger patties. He sets it on the table and takes over, holding her in his arms. I step back, mumbling that I’ll be back.

Inside, I find the powder room. I lock the door and grip the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection. I give myself a minute, then take a deep breath and smooth my hair.

When I return to the kitchen, I look out the window. Phoebe and Mick stand side by side, flipping burgers. She looks up at him, talking a mile a minute, their rhythm restored.

I open the fridge, looking for something stronger than water. I spot a six-pack of Miller Lite and grab a bottle, twisting off the top. The first sip tastes like college—day-drinking at Badger tailgates, late nights on the Terrace, always with Mick.

The front door opens. A tall, slim woman steps in. She’s wearing flared jeans, a camel pea coat, and sleek black boots. It has to be Mick’s girlfriend.

My chest tightens—an old instinct.

“Hello,” I say, my voice a shade too high.

She jumps, hand to chest.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice light and gracious. “You must be Billie?”

I nod and force a smile.

“I’m Lena,” she says, smiling back at me. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I had to miss the service—I had a work thing.”

I nod, wondering if she knew Erin—and why Erin never mentioned her. “Mick and Phoebe are in the backyard making burgers,” I say, gesturing toward the window.

She glances outside. “I’ve got to run. Could you just give him this prescription?” she says, pulling a small bag from her purse and setting it on the counter.

“Sure,” I say, relieved she isn’t staying for dinner.

“Thank you, Billie.” She gives me a final smile, then turns and sails out the front door.





Chapter 24


A moment later, Mick and Phoebe return to the kitchen with burgers, potatoes, and asparagus. Their cheeks and noses are red with cold.

I clear my throat and gesture toward the bag I’ve set on the counter. “Lena stopped by with your prescription.”

“You met?”

“Yes. She’s very nice.”

He nods, giving me a half-smile.

I smile back, wondering if there’s a world in which Dean and I could be friends with them. I picture a double date, then decide that’s going a bit too far.



* * *



— After dinner, Mick makes hot chocolate. We bundle back into our jackets and step outside. The sun is low, slanting through the trees. Phoebe and I sit at the picnic table and talk, our hands wrapped around the warm mugs while Mick tosses a tennis ball to Cash.

At one point, I catch Phoebe staring at my engagement ring.

“Can I try on your ring?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say, slipping it off and passing it to her.

She slides it onto her middle finger.

“It’s a little big on you,” I say, smiling.

“When are you getting married?” she asks, handing it back to me.

“Next summer,” I say, putting it back on. “Your mom was going to be my maid of honor.”

She nods, a reverent look on her face.

“I’d love it if you took her place as my bridesmaid.”

She stares at me with wide eyes. “Am I old enough?”

“You are,” I say, smiling through the ache in my chest.

She nods. “Then yes,” she says, sitting up straight, shoulders back. “I will.”

A few minutes later, we head back inside.

Phoebe asks if we can watch a movie.

“We should get back to your grandmother,” Mick says. “We can watch one tomorrow.”

She reluctantly nods, then stifles a yawn.



* * *



— By the time we pull into Joan’s driveway, Phoebe is asleep in the back of the truck, her head tipped against the window.

I open the back door and rouse her. “Sweetie, we’re home,” I say, unfastening her seatbelt.