Page 99 of The Sun and the Moon
“No, they can’t be here already.”
She spins the phone around to reveal our parents standing out on the porch, each with a large glass of wine in hand.
“I see they opened the wine without me.” I grunt, turning onto the highway. “Lovely.”
“They brought their own bottle from the Hamptons, along with cheese curds from Wisconsin,” she says. “Both of which have a story, and you’re not here to help me rate them on a bullshit meter.”
I chortle. We created the bullshit meter as a coping mechanism for dealing with Rick and Moira’s tall tales about their RV travels around the US. We’ve yet to hear a tale that isn’t a solid six, though most, we guess, are at least eights. For the most part, it’s harmless, and we call them on it more often than not.
“Five minutes, babe,” I say.
Her eyes soften. “They parked the RV in front of the driveway even though they said they’d be staying at the RV park. The driveway is not built for an RV.”
“Remember to breathe,” I say, and her expression immediately calms.
“You always know what to say,” she says, air-kissing me repeatedly before hanging up.
We’re trying, all of us, to do this family thing. It’s nice to have a friend in it with me.
Cadence decided not to look for her dad, even though Moira gave her his name and location. That door was closed, sealed shut, no need to open it again.
Closure found us in other ways, too.
Dad’s debt—thanks to the sale of Kismet—is all but nonexistent now.
I quit my commercial piloting job and applied to fly tour planes at a company in Bar Harbor so I could be closer to Cadence. It took us all of a month to move in together—we’ve never looked back. It’s been fun getting to know her coworkers—especially Nika and her wife and kids.
Joe got his job in Beverly Hills just in time for me to tell him I was moving. Saved by the grace of the universe from a tantrum I fully expected would come when I told him I was leaving.
“You found your person,” he said through tears and chardonnay breath.
I did. A reality I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to.
I turn onto our street just before dusk and have to laugh at the sight of the giant RV blocking my space in the driveway beside our town house. They went for the biggest one, with the most luxurious bathtub and a king-size bed.
When I reach our front doorway, I can hear Cadence laugh. Something she does a lot, all the time, even when she knows it’s what Moira wants her to do. It is my favorite sound in the whole world.
“What did I miss?” I say as I step into the living room. Dad has a top hat out, his cape over his shoulders. “There better not be a bunny in there.”
Cadence puts a glass of wine in my hand, plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Just a stuffed one,” she says, winking. She’s carrying a gray-bearded Chicken in her free arm, and I don’t even try to separate them. He’s obsessed with her. I can’t blame him.
“Where’s Moira?” I ask her, blowing a kiss to Dad. Cadence’s eyes shift to the patio, where Moira stands, taking in the view of the harbor. We’ve fallen into a sort of rhythm with them when they visit. Cadence and Dad pair off, him showing her the latest trick he’s very nearly mastered, her telling him about the wildlife she’s seen on the trails as they cook, setting the scene for our time together. Moira and I are happy to let them take the lead; if you had told me a year ago that would happen, I would have called you a liar.
It’s funny how much you can change when you aren’t in fight-or-flight mode.
I step out onto the patio that’s lit with the glow of the setting sun, backed by the sounds of the marina. I love this view of the water and boats. I love the way the town feels old and rooted in history, but the people here are diverse, full of stories and backgrounds and warmth. I love the winter, cold and curled up beside Cadence on the couch, watching some trash reality TV or some nature doc. I love this life I’m building with her. One day at a time, with no one trying to predict what the future holds except us.
Moira leans against the railing, her hair lightly blowing in the wind. There are a few streaks of silver in it now, more lines on her face. She’s settled into her golden years.
“Smells good in there,” I say, leaning my elbows on the railing right next to hers.
“They argued over how much garlic, and Rick won.”
“Great. Tomorrow morning’s tour willlovethat.” She laughs, throaty and deep. “One year. How do you feel?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
