I’ve been here before.
Many times.
Not in this house, but this place, watching her and her family from the outside.
I’ve been “Uncle Dax” for the last ten years.
And while I love that I’m a big part of their lives, there’s been a large void in mine.
“Are you going to drink all that wine by yourself, or may I have a glass?”
I shake in my spot, not having heard her come out. Glancing down, I realize I’m still holding her glass and hand it to her. “No, no. This one’s for you. You know I’m not much of a drinker to begin with, but I especially won’t drink this.”
“This isn’t even that sweet.” An amused grin spreads across her face—the most beautiful sight. Like the sun rising in the morning, brushing away the darkness. “About Harry Potter…”
“I cannot believe you gave me so much shit about being a fan, and now, here we are.”
“I never gave you shit.”
“You did.” I toss my free hand up with mock exasperation, loving this playful side of her. I want to bottle it up and open it every time I see her tears form. “Then you’d drag me to Friends trivia nights whenever I came to visit under the pretense that we were going to Harry Potter.”
She covers her face with one hand as the wine swishes in the glass in her other. “You fell for it every time.”
I smile, not wanting to tell her why I “fell for it every time.” That it was her I fell for every time, even though Mitch usually sat on the other side of her during trivia nights.
“Now that we’re getting things out in the open, I never really liked Friends that much.” I sip my wine and almost spit it back out when she smacks my head. “Ow! What the hell? I could’ve chipped a tooth.”
“Take it back right now. It’s the best show ever.” She holds a finger up when I try to interrupt. “Not just the best show on TV now, but the best show of all time. Say it.”
I shake my head, and her eyes widen.
“You say it right now, or I’ll smear a tub of ice cream on your face and watch you crumble.”
“My skin isn’t allergic to it. I won’t break out in hives if I take a dairy bath.”
“Then I’ll shove it down your throat.”
“Shit, why so violent?” Her nose scrunches up like it does when I don’t let her have the aisle seat at the movies. “People really do change, I guess.” I tsk.
She takes a sip of her wine, then licks her lips in slow motion.
The small move is purposeful. Sensual.
And I can imagine the taste of wine on those thin lips of hers.
I shift in my seat, looking at the fireplace. “I can get a fire started, if you want.”
“No, you don’t need to.” She runs her hand through her hair. “I’m probably going to bed soon, anyway. It’s already”—she checks her watch—“ten o’clock. Wow. Way past my bedtime.”
“Pussy.” I roll my eyes, then catch the slight flicker in hers. Before I can make too much of it, she shoves me. “If I spill on your couch, just remember it’s your fault, with your violent ways.”
“Poor little Dax. Want me to grab Jacob’s Power Ranger figures to protect you?”
“Ouch,” I say, dramatically clutching my chest.
She sips her wine, and I catch a wistful twinkle in her eye.
“I’ll get a small fire going.” I get to work, using it as a chance to catch my breath. After a long pause, I talk over my shoulder. “But also, Harry Potter and Power Rangers? Now we’re talking.”
Lighting a match, the fire starts slow, then grows.
I settle back on the couch next to her and think back to all those afternoons when we were kids. I’d sit her down on my bed and tell her about my new Power Rangers toys. Then, I’d beg her to ride our bikes to the bookstore for the new Harry Potter book.
She lightheartedly teased me the whole time but went with me, anyway.
“Mitch was obsessed too. Between him and you constantly talking about them, you instilled them in me, and now I’m subconsciously projecting them onto my son.”
She sets her glass on the coffee table and tears a piece of funnel cake off. Popping it into her mouth, she angles her body toward me. As she does, her cardigan falls off one of her shoulders, dragging her tank top strap with it.
Her shoulder is exposed.
I drag my gaze across her collarbone and up the curve of her neck.
Smooth, velvety skin.
My breath catches in my throat.
“Can I ask you something?” She pulls her strap, along with her cardigan, over her shoulder.
I sigh sarcastically. “If it’s about my childhood interests, you’re not going to get me to budge.”
“No.” Her eyes shine. “I like those things about you.”
“Damn straight. I was fucking cool.” I set my own glass next to hers in front of us, then stretch my arm across the back of the couch. I can almost touch her.
Almost.
“You were back then. Now? Not so much.”
“Again—ouch.”
She hums as she runs both of her hands through her hair. There’s a soft glow from the fireplace on one side of her face. “I’m feeling wild tonight.”
“You are.” My voice almost cracks, thinking how much I wish she was this carefree and happy all the time. Like she used to be. The last few years have been hard on her, and she’s been a distant version of herself ever since Mitch’s illness began.
I get the need to close yourself off from the world better than most. But selfishly, I’ve missed this side of her.
I’ve missed her.
I’ve missed the girl I used to prank. The one who came to my soccer games, sat with my parents, and held up neon posters. The signs were obnoxious and hardly made sense—she didn’t know anything about soccer other than you’re not allowed to use your hands—but I liked
