Page 23 of The Comeback Summer

He pulls out his phone and swipes to a picture of himself between Drew and a little dark-haired girl.

“She’s adorable. And he’s so grown up,” I say, struck by how much time has passed.

Eight years ago, I went with Josh to the hospital when Drew was born. We brought a blue teddy bear for him and tulips for Suzanne. At Drew’s first birthday party, we gave him a set of wooden blocks, and Josh and I spent an hour building towers for him to knock down.

In the picture, Drew is holding a present. “Was this at his birthday party?” I ask Josh, desperate to shift my mind away from those memories.

He nods. “I made him anamigurumimonkey,” he says, swiping to the next picture. Drew is holding a purple monkey that looks like it was made out of a chunky sweater.

“Awhat?”

“Amigurumi.A crocheted stuffed animal,” he explains, like it’s a perfectly normal thing for a twenty-seven-year-old man with an advanced degree to make. “When you’re out on a research ship for weeks, there’s a lot of downtime. Our cook taught me. Oh! That reminds me—I have something for you.”

He reaches into a messenger bag draped over his chair, pulls something out, and sets it on the table between us.

My entire body stills.

“It’s a meerkat,” he says.

A crocheted meerkat, standing up on its hind legs in that peculiar stance they take when watching for predators.

But that’s not all.

“He’s wearing a suit,” I say, my throat tightening. “And he has a briefcase.”

Josh grins, his eyes sparking with delight. For a moment, he looks exactly like his teenage self. “Yeah, because of that time we went to the zoo and saw all the meerkats standing up together, facing the same direction. You said they looked like—”

“—a group of businessmen waiting for the train,” I finish, my voice faint.

I pick up the meerkat, taking in the details. The little red tie. The briefcase with two gold knots for clasps.

“Josh, this is amazing. Thank you so much.”

I mean it; it’s a generous and thoughtful gift, and it must have taken hours to make. Hours in which he was thinking, specifically, about me. About a moment we shared a decade ago.Why?

When I look up, he’s smiling fondly. “I’m glad you like it.” He glances at his watch. “Crap, I need to get going. I promised Suzanne I’d watch the kids so she and Eric can go to the Cubs game.”

This is also classic Josh, bouncing from one thing to the next like a pinball. We stand, and he pulls me into another hug. Again, that overwhelming, familiar smell. That sense of security and comfort andhome. My eyes water, and I take a step back.

“It was good to see you,” I say.

“You, too.”

He hesitates, looking down at me. There’s a question in his blue eyes. The air feels oddly intimate, the noise of the crowd fading away. All that exists is Josh, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his lips parting like he’s about to speak—

Then he rocks back on his heels, and the moment is over.

“Let me know if you want to meet up to train for the Down & Dirty,” he says.

I give myself a small shake. “Yes. I will.”

Josh grabs a napkin and scribbles something on it, then hands it to me.

“In case you forgot,” he says.

It’s his phone number.

Which I still have memorized.

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