Love You More(65)

She nods.

“How did you feel when he mentioned that?”

“I was happy.”

I’m caught off guard by how simple and sure her answer is.

“So you think that’s something you might want to do?”

“Yes. But what about Gram? She needs help.”

“She does. But the adults will make sure she has it. You don’t have to worry about Gram.”

Her face clears, like a window wiped clean. “Well then, I want to move to New York with you.”

“Can you tell me why?” I ask.

She studies the counter, thinking. “Because it’s fun there. And exciting.” She pauses. “And because you remind me of Mom. You talk to me like she did. And you think the same stuff is funny.” Her voice trembles. “I feel like she’d want me with you.”

A bittersweet ache spreads through my chest.

“You remind me of her, too,” I say. “But we could be together here. Dean and I could move to Wisconsin.”

“Yeah,” she says. “But New York sounds way more fun.”

The thought settles uneasily.

“So can I go with you?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s complicated—and we have to talk it all through with Mick.”

She frowns. “Is he going to be upset with me?”

“No. Nobody’s going to be upset with you.”

She nods, rolling the dough into perfect spheres—worry reshaped into something she can control.

A beat later, the back door swings open.

“Hi, ladies,” Mick says, bright and breathless.

“That was a quick workout!” I smile.

“I forgot my laptop,” he says. “Left it on the porch.”

He steps into the kitchen, his gaze sweeping across the counter. “Making cookies, are we?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re trying to make them as good as yours.”

“You got your work cut out for you,” he says with a laugh.

“Hey, Mick,” Phoebe says. “I might move to New York.”

“Oh, yeah?” He rakes a hand through his hair as his eyes flick to mine.

“We were just talking about it,” I say. “But I told Phoebe we needed to discuss it with you.”

Mick nods, his jaw working once.

Phoebe looks at him, her brow furrowed. “Are you mad?”

“I told her you wouldn’t be,” I say.

“I’m not mad, honey,” Mick says. He meets my eyes. “I just didn’t see that coming.”

As I turn toward the counter, my elbow clips a metal measuring cup, and it clatters to the tile floor. Hank startles, tail tucked. Mick bends to pick it up, setting it carefully back on the counter.

I take a breath. “Why don’t we get these cookies in the oven and sit down and talk about it? The three of us.”

“Sure,” Mick says, his voice low. “I’m going to grab my laptop. Meet you on the porch.”

“We’ll be right out,” I say, trying to sound steadier than I feel.





Chapter 36


It feels like a lifetime since Mick and I sat here after Erin’s funeral two weeks ago, both of us not quite knowing what to say. Somehow, I still don’t.

Phoebe and I settle on the wicker sofa. Mick takes the chair across from us. Hank drops at Phoebe’s feet in a heavy flop. In the yard, the maple scatters dappled light across the freshly cut grass, patches of shadow and green. I know who mowed it.

I turn to Phoebe.

“Okay,” I say. “I want you to know that nobody is going to be upset with you. Mick and I are on the same team. We both just want what’s best for you.”

Phoebe looks down, her fingers twisting in Hank’s fur. “Then why does it feel like you’re mad?” she asks, peering up at Mick.

“I promise I’m not mad. I’m just trying to think through the pros and cons—the way we would with any big decision.”

Phoebe nods, solemn.

“New York is a long way from home and your school and your friends,” he says. “It’s one thing to visit—it’s another to live there. I’m not sure now is the time for another big change for you.”

Mick’s gaze turns to mine—not accusing, just searching. “What do you think, Billie?”

“I agree. I share those concerns,” I say. “It came up at dinner last night—and we discussed it again this morning. We were just talking.”

Mick’s fingers interlace as Phoebe looks out at the yard.

“Why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind, Phoebe? Why does moving to New York feel like something you might want to try?” I ask.

“I don’t know. It just feels heavy here. Everything reminds me that Mom’s gone. And everyone looks at me like I’m a tragedy.”

“You’re not a tragedy. A tragic thing happened to you,” Mick says.

“I know,” she says. “But it feels like people avoid me now. Like I’m just a girl whose mom died.”

“How would you feel about being in a place where nobody knew you?” Mick asks.

“But I wouldn’t be. I’d be with Mom’s best friend.”