Page 51 of When Wildflowers Bloom

From the table, Huck shouts, “You won!” at Lucy, and I snort out a laugh as the sound pulls me from the lewd desires dancing in my mind. His smile is a permanent rectangle above his now crooked red bow tie. He’s so damn happy.

“Have you thought about adopting him?” Bo asks.

I set my wineglass on the coffee table, filling my cheeks with air before blowing them out slowly.

“Miss Alice, his foster mom, brought that up. She’s trying to find another home for him—her husband is sick.” I pause, imagining all thewhat ifs. “I don’t know how to be a mom. Look at all you had to do to make dinner for me—” I laugh with a dramatic gesture toward the entire Whole Foods worth of ingredients in his kitchen. “How would I be good at raising someone else?” I pause, morewhat ifsdancing around my brain. “And because of my situation, I wouldn’t do it unless I had someone that I could put in my will to take him when I die.”

I don’t miss the way his breath stills and eyes widen. I’ve spent my life talking about death—my grandma’s, my mom’s, mine—I forget everyone isn’t as blasé about the subject. I don’t want to die, but I’ve also accepted there’s a good chance I will, likely sooner than later.

“Anyway, I don’t have a lot of people in my life. My dad, but he’s in his sixties and I wouldn’t want to put that burden on him…” I drop my head back on the armrest of the couch and stare at the exposed beams that line the ceiling overhead.

He shrugs, not looking away from the kids. “Gran took me in when she wasn’t that much younger. She figured it out.”

The mention of Veda tenses my whole body. I won’t be able to lie to him if he directly asks me how she’s doing—my plan is to avoid talking about her at all costs. The second she told me not to tell Bo about the medication, it started eating away at me like a slow-growing parasite.

“And Libby helped me. A lot.” He turns to look at me, clearly oblivious to my internal struggle, rough palm sliding up and down my shin. “People have a tendency to show up if you let them.”

I consider arguing, reminding him that I don’t have all these people like he does, but looking at him—his genuine sincerity and belief in what he’s saying—I stay silent. Instead, I drag my legs off him and busy my mouth by taking a final sip of my wine. He’ll never understand; he has people, I don’t.

“Either way,” I say, dropping my head side to side. “I don’t know if my dad would want to, and I wouldn’t want to ask anyone else.”

He looks at me—really looks at me—and when he opens his mouth to say something, I stand, guilt over Veda clinging to me like a bad habit.

“Mind if I take a picture of that live edge river top and send it to my dad?” I ask, diverting the direction of the entire conversation.

His eyebrows pinch as he stands slowly. “Live edge river top?” He laughs, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth. “How the hell do you know that phrase?”

Right.

“My dad got into woodworking as a hobby when I was younger.” I shrug. “Guess some of it stuck.”

Staring at my ceiling fan, I replay the best dinner of my life in my head, over and over. I thanked Bo at least a dozen times, but it still doesn’t seem like a big enough word for what he did. When we said goodbye, I was awkward. Like we were leaving something unfinished. Mostly because he stood—casual—toothpick rolling across his slightly smirked lips while I loaded Huck in the minivan.

As the kids yelled back and forth at each other through the closed window, all I wanted to do was touch him. Run my fingers through his beard and let his hands rest on my hips. But he didn’t make a move to get any closer, and neither did I. I opened my door, gave him some kind of rigid wave, and drove away. My stomach flip-flopping in my belly the entire drive.

Grabbing my phone, I send a quick,Thank you. Again.

Bo:You’re welcome. Again.

Me:Are you free Thursday night? I want to take you and Lucy somewhere for dinner.

Bo:Depends. Are you coming with me to church tomorrow morning?

Teeth scraping my bottom lip, I smile at my phone.

Me:Pick me up on the way?

Bo:Always. And I want to tell you something, but I know you’ll just argue if I say it in person…

Three dots appear and disappear and my heart pounds like a jackhammer in the silence.

Bo:If you want to adopt Huck, I’ll take him if anything happens to you. I’m not going to bring it up again, because I don’t plan on letting anything happen to you, I just want you to know. I’ll be here. For you. And him.

I can’t breathe. Every inch of skin on my body shrinks around my bones.

Then, like he’s a damn clairvoyant and knows my brain stopped working with his offer,Night, Birdie, is the last message he sends.

The next morning at church, he doesn’t bring it up. Neither do I.

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