Page 34 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

She recalled, as kids, how the sunset came too fast, signaling it was time to go home. As teenagers, nights on the roof were never long enough—there had been as little time to talk and laugh as friends, and as lovers, there was never enough time for the number of Beau’s kisses and touches that Sienna needed to get her through to morning.

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. It was nasty. I’ve got a lot on my plate, and you kind of caught me on an off day. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

Standing on her toes, Sienna peeked over Beau’s shoulder, seeing what looked like the living room couch turned on its side. “So, you’re really getting it ready to sell?”

“Yeah.” Beau ran a hand down the back of his head. “I’ve got a little downtime this week. Need to keep busy. The realtor wants to stage it. I’ll donate what I can, send things to my parents. Family stuff, Greg’s room. I haven’t dealt with that yet.”

Sienna’s eyes flew to the porch.Greg, she said to herself, thinking of Beau’s brother, who was almost imaginary more than anything else. She remembered a few things like his shiny red bike, his light hair—a far contrast from Beau’s. But mostly, she remembered annoying and teasing him with Beau and Greg’s heavy footsteps as he chased them out of his room. His voice was a distant, faint memory. But Beau’s laughter beside her as they sprinted into the backyard wasn’t.

A pit brewed in her stomach. Sienna shifted, feeling guilty for leaving someone alone, who once meant so much, to face the burden of packing up his dead brother’s room, which he hadn’t been able to step into in over twenty years.

It was a fear she always held in the back of her mind—what it might be like to pack away Grace’s room after she was gone.

Panic seized her, and she swayed.

“You alright?” Beau steadied her arm. “Come and have more water.”

Letting Beau lead her into the kitchen, Sienna left the book at the bottom of the stairs. She plopped down into a chair before reaching for the glass he had refilled, desperate to flush the anxious heat that had crept through her body.

“Do you need to eat something?”

Sienna focused on a loose thread dangling from her sweatshirt. “You know, I thought about your mom when Grace was sick. When she wasreallysick. She got pneumonia before her stem cell transplant and was intubated and... ” Sienna couldn’t say more.

I thought I would be her one day, walking into my dead child’s room, stripping the bed, loading the wash, like she was just at a sleepover at a friend’s house.Letting go of the thread, Sienna rubbed her arm at the vicious chill of sad, desperate memories swarming her.

“We didn’t get it when we were younger, you and me. When Grace almost died, all I could think about was what would happen to her stuff. Clothes, toys she still played with, the most random, half-broken gizmo from a Happy Meal. It’s all these little things. And they fit in boxes or in bags. But it’s those things that make up who they are.” Sienna took a deep breath. “I remember looking at her while she was intubated and wondered how someone that tiny could really besobig, you know? And to just pack it all away into a few boxes, it’s not right. There’s nothing right about burying your kid. I would’ve been like your mom. I would’ve clung toeverything.”

With her head still down, Sienna hadn’t realized Beau had moved across the kitchen and squatted in front of her, until he reached for her hand. If it had been moments earlier, Sienna would have jumped or startled. But when the language of loss couldn’t be spoken, it could be felt, and Beau felt like he did when he climbed up on the rooftop with her for the first time—understanding and safe.

“I stopped giving away things, like old ratty pajamas, shoes she grew out of. Broken barrettes. Toys with missing parts. I thought, well, one day she might not be here, and maybe I’ll forget about something. Like this glittery headband with cat ears she thought made her invisible.”

Sienna wanted to laugh at the memory of Grace wearing the headband, creeping around the kitchen with a bag of Skittles she had swiped, believing no one could see her. But the laugh got caught in the back of her throat, because the thought only made Sienna remember how scared she felt, thinking there might be a cap on the number of memories she had with Grace—limited instead of limitless, more sad than happy.

“They said it would take a miracle. She wassosick when they first found it.”

“And she beat it. Maybe she was your walking miracle. You just didn’t know it.” With his free hand, Beau wiped a tear from her face. “I’m sorry. I hate I wasn’t there for you.”

I hate that I wished you were so many times. I hate that back then, I talked to you about my dead mom, and now I’m talking to you about my dying daughter. The thought brought a twitch of pain to her chest, and she remembered. Grace was at school, healthy, on minimal medication. But the fear was so real, in Sienna’s mind, nothing had changed.

“Don’t be.” Sienna sniffled, turning her cheek into his palm—large and warm. She grew enough courage to look into his eyes. “Besides, you knew me as someone else. I used to be fun, outgoing. And now, after everything, I’mdifferent. Be happy you got the old Sienna,” she tried to joke, pulling back from Beau’s hand.

“She’s still in there though.”

Sienna smiled sadly. “How do you know?”

“I’d recognize the girl I fell in love with when I was five years old, even if a hundred years passed and I went blind and deaf.”

Just for a day, she thought,I want to go back just for a day.

Sienna wanted to return to the first time Beau had re-entered her life, back when he made her laugh when she wanted to cry, when he sat with her in silence when talking was too much. When he reminded her there could be small pockets of joy even while hurting, that you can make plans even when you don’t know where you’re going.

Sienna wanted to go back, for a day, to the moment Beau told her he loved her before he said goodbye.

I want to be the one he came back for instead of the one he left behind.

And not for a day, but for a moment there in his parents’ kitchen, Sienna was that girl, staring at Beau, mesmerized by how his dark eyes, framed by thick, full lashes, glowed with golden flecks when the light hit them. How his hands, strong and broken-in, could feel impossibly soft and smooth. It was as if Beau’s breath wove a spell into her, and suddenly, at thirty-three, in an outdated kitchen, she was really seventeen, blissfully unaware—buthappy. The feeling was so strong it made her sway in her seat. But Beau’s hand returning to her face held her steady.

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