I bite my straw thoughtfully.
“Besides, you’ve already taken the first step,” she says, reaching past me to grab the pen Judy left on our table. She holds it out to me, spinning my mom’s list around to face me, my eyes landing on number nine.
Buy a book in another language.
My first list item.
I feel a swell of happiness as I take the pen from her hand, carefully putting a small blue check mark next to the line.
The first step. One item checked off my mom’s bucket list.
10
The drive to Blake’s house sends us into the winding back roads of Huckabee, the fading sunlight carefully cutting through the trees as we drive. Remnants of the earlier rainstorm cling to the branches and the road, making them sparkle.
I shift in my seat, my jeans finally dry after our milkshakes at Hank’s. We pass the development Matt lives in, and I crane my neck, my eyes searching for and finding his black Honda Civic in the driveway.
Fridays were always our day. Just for us. No Kiera, or Jake, or Ryan, or Olivia. We used to go out to the historic movie theater in the center of town, or just stay in, watching Netflix on his basement couch and making peanut butter cookies using the recipe we perfected together. Matt was always really into filmmaking, and my favorite part of the night was listening to him talk about every little behind-the-scenes detail, from how they did certain special effects to the accolades of the director. It always made the movies we watched more fun.
I wonder how he’s spending his Fridays without me. If he misses hanging out with me, like I miss hanging out with him.
Or if this radio silence means he doesn’t anymore.
An unsteady feeling swims through me, and I look down at the road underneath us, watching as the unbroken yellow line turns into a dotted one.
How can I possibly fix this when I don’t even know why I can’t get it right?
I feel like things were so easy for my parents. That all the romantic stuff just… happened naturally. They didn’t break up once. Why can’t things be as easy for us?
We keep driving, heading onward toward the big houses on the edge of Huckabee, just on the border of Cherryfield, the next town over. Each of the houses in this neck of the woods is surrounded by acres of trees, its nearest neighbor nowhere to be seen.
I know some people think that would be peaceful, all that space, but there are times late at night when there is nothing but darkness. A scary, overwhelming darkness, everything past the headlights disappearing into nothingness. I always hated it when Matt would drive us through here.
I see lights peeking out from between the trees as Blake slows at a mailbox and then carefully turns onto a long driveway, turn signal flashing.
“I’d hate to have to take the trash all the way down there on trash day,” I say to her.
She nods in agreement, then gives me a mischievous grin. “I conveniently forgot yesterday and my dad had to do it. To be honest, I’m not sure how my grandma did it at all before we got here.”
I open my mouth to say something, but stop short when I see the house we’re pulling up to.
I stare at the modern design in awe, the entire structure sleek and carefully constructed. Floor-to-ceiling windows take up the entire first and second floors of the house, giving way to sharp metallic angles. On the second floor, a deck extends out, carefully enclosed by trees on either side of it. All browns and silvers and grays, everything uniform in a beautiful way.
“This house is insane,” I say, my eyes wide. I knew the Carters’ refused to sell their farm until Johnny Carter Sr. couldn’t work anymore, making their plot of land the final puzzle piece in a massive development plan the real estate developers had been trying to build for years, but I had no idea their payout was enough for this.
“It’s my grandpa’s dream house,” Blake says as we pull slowly up the driveway. “He designed it entirely by himself.”
“He designed this?” I ask, completely in awe.
“Yep,” Blake says, peeling her eyes away from the driveway to admire the house. “Architecture was his passion, even though he didn’t get an education in it.” Her gaze is almost reverent. “He didn’t live to see the Architectural Digest article about it, but he’d have loved it.”
I wonder what that must have been like. Having enough money to build something like this. Or, just enough money to stay in the house you grew up in, where your parents built a life together, and where your mom’s garden sits out front, and where your favorite memories of cake decorating and closet conversations with her feel etched into the very foundation.
I try to shake off the move vibes. “Those are some windows,” I say with a whistle.
“Yeah, the views are beautiful. Zero privacy, though!” she says with a laugh. “It’s a good thing we live in the middle of nowhere. The whole neighborhood would have seen my butt by now.”
We reach the top of the long driveway and see my dad’s truck already parked in front of the spaceship-size two-car garage. Blake pulls up alongside it and reaches up to press a button. The right door of the garage slowly opens, but unlike our garage at home, there’s no clutter to be seen. Just Johnny’s car, and four surfboards hung in ascending size order on the wall.
I’m surprised when she puts her car in park instead of pulling inside.
“You’re not pulling into the garage?” I ask.
She shakes her head as she turns the key in the ignition, the truck noisily cutting out. “My dad won’t let me park it in there. He got upset with my grandma
