Page 44 of On the Line

Graham has his boots and coat off in what has to be record time, and he and the girls run to the living room with a bag of books he dumps on the new rug for them to look at together.

“It looks amazing in here,” Paige says, looking around at the finished space. We had to move back into her place for two days earlier this week so the downstairs floors could get refinished, but now that that’s done and the countertops went in and I got a dining table and some living room furniture, this house is truly starting to feel like home.

“I’m giving Jules and Audrey one hundred percent of the credit,” I say. “They designed it and did the work.”

“It was a team effort,” Audrey says, and I know she’s also thinking about her brother’s involvement. I haven’t talked to him much this week because he’s been traveling for work. He was at a game in Dallas a few days ago, and then I think he was in Nashville. I saw him briefly at Graham’s hockey practice this morning, but then Iris had a total meltdown, so we ended up leaving early and I didn’t get a chance to talk to him.

I’m still trying to come to terms with how utterly different he seems now—though I guess what I’m seeing is the side of him that he started to show me that night at dinner five years ago, before everything went sideways the next night.

It’s been hard not to dwell on his proclamation that I’m “not ready” for anything to happen between us ... mostly because he’s right. I haven’t quite let go of Josh yet. Every day I spend in this house makes me realize two things: I’m happier here than I ever was in Park City with him, and in many ways, I owe this new life to him because he bought me this house.

We head back to the kitchen. Jules sets some sort of amazing smelling casserole into the warm oven, and Morgan and Paige unload a few bottles of wine onto the counter. As I pull wineglasses out of the glass-front cabinets between the sink and the dining area, Morgan tells me she grabbed my mail on the way in.

“Can you set it over there?” I point toward the countertop on the opposite side of the kitchen, closest to the entryway, where I have a bowl for keys and a tray for mail.

“Sure. You got more mail for Sophia.”

For some reason, the previous owner’s mail hasn’t all been forwarded. It’s always house-related stuff and I don’t receive it often, so when I do, I writeWrong address—return to senderon the envelopes and stick them back in the mailbox.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”

I pour my friends some wine, and Audrey asks, “Hey, how’s it going with Tammy?”

This past week was the girls’ first week with her. “Iris and Ivy seem to love her. I only worked half days this past week so we could ease in, but everything went really well. I’m moving up to full-time already next week. It’s been more seamless than I thought it would be.”

In fact, my girls are thriving. I was so worried about how they’d do with me working, since they’d only ever known a world in which I was around almost every minute. But what they say about kids is true: they are highly adaptable.

“She really is amazing with little kids,” Audrey says. “I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

“You’ve done great with him,” Jules says, nudging Audrey’s shoulder with her own. I get the sense Audrey is constantly worried that, being the only parent Graham has, she’s not enough. And I love the ways I’ve seen both Jules and Jameson lift her up.

“He’s really the sweetest little kid,” I say as I nod my chin toward where we can see the kids through the new opening between the kitchen and living room. Graham can be a little wild sometimes, but right now he’s sitting on the rug with his back against the couch, and the girls are sitting on each side of him. He’s “reading” them a story, but by the sounds of it, he’s telling them what’s happening in the pictures. It’s freaking adorable.

Audrey gives a little smile and says, “I worry sometimes that he’s too sweet.”

“Is there such a thing?” Morgan asks before tilting her wineglass back for a sip.

“I think maybe if you’re a boy there is,” Audrey says. “I don’t want him to get picked on next year in kindergarten.”

“He’s going to be just fine,” Jules says. “He’s a Flynn.”

They share a look I can’t interpret, and Paige distracts us with the sound of her rumbling stomach and a groan. “Oh my God, I’m starving.”

“Let’s eat then,” I suggest and turn to pull two different salads—a kale quinoa salad and a spinach salad with candied nuts, berries, and feta cheese—from my new refrigerator so I can dress them.

My friends ooh and ahh, and I laugh. “Salads are about the only thing I don’t hate to make. Probably because there’s rarely much cooking involved in them.”

“Do your kids eat salad?” Audrey asks, a little awe in her voice.

“Yeah, with a generous side of chicken nuggets or grilled cheese or something.”

“Maybe Graham will eat something green if your girls are,” she says hopefully.

We set the food out on the table, and call the kids over, and as we sit down to eat my first real meal in my brand new kitchen, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude that this is my life now.

* * *

We’re just finishing dessert when there’s a loud knock on the door. I lean back in my seat and glance down the entryway in surprise, and when I look back at the table, everyone is staring at me.

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