Work Text:
Austin, Texas
Spring 2003
Lively piano notes drifted out of the bistro and spilled onto the still-warm patio tiles, nearly lost to the waves of chatter and clinking glasses. Each time a waiter swept past with a stack of dishes, a new spark of scent popped into the air. Garlic, warm bread, and sizzling butter still lingered, laced with a trace of honeysuckle drifting in from the street.
Tommy shifted in his chair, boots scuffing against the stone, and tugged his blue shirt straight. Paired with crisp dark jeans and the new belt buckle, it seemed like a safe bet.
Until Carol.
Across the table, she sliced a piece of smoked salmon with her knife and took a tiny, elegant bite. Everything she did fell into the same polished category: controlled gestures, round words, and stenciled smiles, each one a perfect copy of the last. A real estate agent in the making, even out here in the wild.
“Take her out, Tommy, have a few laughs. You never know.” Lacy had buttered him up last week, painting a picture of a perfect girl—sweet, funny, pretty.
Same refrain, different name.
The pretty part proved more than accurate, though. Carol was a stunner: full lips, a blond bob, a deep green wrap dress that hugged her frame just right. But the only laughs so far belonged to the waiter, who found his pun about the bread roll pretty funny. Carol, well, Carol offered another one of her identical smiles and asked seventeen questions about the salmon and its extended family.
Why Lacy thought they’d hit it off remained a mystery. Maybe she was just that desperate for him to join the happy couples club. Ever since Nacho finally popped the question, and they made an offer on a nice two-story in the suburbs, Lacy made it her life mission to set Tommy up too. As if everyone needed a wife, a kid and a white picket fence.
“How’s your salad?” he asked with a smile.
“Fresh.” She set her fork down, took a tiny, elegant sip of red wine, and picked it up again. “Yours?”
“Um. Good.” He poked at the tequila-lime chicken with his fork, as if it could offer a less painful line of conversation. “You want some?”
She glanced up, alarmed, lips drawing into a small pout. “No, thank you.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He lifted his glass and took a hearty swig of the sticky-sweet iced tea. He offered to share food, not to summon the Lake Travis monster, for crying out loud.
“This plate’s nice,” she said, a soft note warming up her voice.
“Yeah, seemed pretty chill." He smiled, some of the will to live returning to him. "Nice place, good food, and I’ve heard their dessert cart is—”
“Plate,” she said slowly, nodding toward the table.
“Hm?” He stared at the white, nondescript dish in front of him, heat creeping up his neck. “Yeah, very… round.”
A small, content smile curled her lips, as if their star signs finally aligned perfectly, and she took another tiny bite. Jesus Christ. He sighed, shoving a piece of tequila-lime chicken into his mouth, the rich, zesty flavors blooming on his tongue. At least the food lived up to it.
The candle between them burned with a steady orange flame. Must’ve been good wax, maybe even beeswax.
Or soy.
Carol smoothed her napkin over her lap, her gaze drifting around the restaurant and landing back on him. “So Lacy said you run your own construction company. How’s that going?”
The knife slipped from his hand and scratched against the perfectly round plate. If the belt buckle hadn’t sunk his chances already, the major oversell probably did.
Goddamn it, Lacy.
“She did, didn’t she?” A crooked grin stretched across his lips. “That’s so like her, always adding a little bit of glitter to everything.”
Carol arched her elegantly sculpted brow, confusion flickering through her expression.
“The company’s the dream… but I’m not quite there yet. I work construction for now, houses, stores that kinda thing.”
“Oh.” A perfect smile clicked into place, and she took a small sip of wine. “It’s good to have goals, right?”
“Sure.”
“So, are you from around here?” She asked, nudging a piece of lettuce around her plate.
“Yeah. Born and raised. You?”
“Moved for work.”
“The realtor gig?”
“No, the other job. Before I started…”
His phone buzzed against his hip. He glanced down. Unknown 512 number?
“Sorry, do you mind if I take this?” He tapped the screen with two fingers. “My niece is at her first real teenage party, and I think they might’ve run out of ice cream or something.”
Carol’s expression froze for a second, and another perfect smile settled neatly on lips. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” He pushed back his chair, stepped aside, and hit the green button. “Hello?”
“Uncle Tommy?”
“Last I checked,” he chuckled, making way for the waitress, a delicious cloud of roasted beef and caramelized onions drifting past him. “Are you calling to brag about your rager, kiddo?”
Scattered laughter and the clinking of bottles bled through the line, but Sarah stayed quiet.
He frowned, stepping out of the patio and into the buzzing main room. “Sarah, baby, what’s wrong?”
“Everyone’s drinking beer.”
“What? Who brought beer?”
He ducked into a tiny nook between the booths and pressed a finger to his ear as if that could block out the piano or the chatter.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice small and panicked. “Some boy with pretty hair and sparkly brown eyes.”
Great. Exactly what he needed. Those were always the worst.
“And they’re about to play Seven Days in Heaven.”
“Whoa, seven days?” He cried out, startling a bread roll out of some guy’s hands. He nodded a sorry and sneaked into a corridor leading to the bathroom. “Seven days? The hell are they hoping to do? Create a new world?”
“I don’t want to be here anymore.” Sarah’s voice ghosted across the line, small and muffled, so unlike the fierce, grown-up tone she’d used on Joel to argue she was “definitely, completely, absolutely” ready for the party.
“I’ll be right there.”
“No! If I leave now, everyone will think I’m a complete loser.”
“Stay put.” He marched back onto the patio. “I’m coming to get you.”
“But—”
“Sarah, honey, don’t worry. I’ll figure it out, okay? Just steer clear of any closets.”
“Okay, hurry.”
He hit the red button and stole a glance at Carol. She sat at their table, back ramrod straight, dissecting another piece of salmon.
Nothing could salvage this one.
He walked up to her. “I really hate to do this, but I have to run.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. Teen emergency.”
She tilted her head, pressing her lips to her glass, gaze drifting across the patio. “I bet.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look… we both know this wasn’t exactly going anywhere, right?”
She paused as if taken aback, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
“Just promise I’m not going on your Worst Dates list?”
“Oh, you’re on there.” She crossed her arms, her smile finally nudging past the stenciled lines. “But way at the bottom. Competition’s brutal.”
“All publicity is good publicity, right?” He winked and tucked a few twenties under the bread basket, enough for dinner, the tip, and maybe dessert if she felt like sweetening the evening. “Nice meeting you.”
“You too. Good luck with your teen drama.”
“Thanks.” He shot her a mock salute. “Something tells me I’m gonna need it.”
*
A droning R&B baseline rumbled from the gray two-story at the end of the cul-de-sac and trembled across the truck’s windows. Great start. He slammed the door, lights flashing orange, and crossed the lawn, littered with empty red Solo cups and greasy napkins. A gaggle of girls in low-rise jeans and crop tops, dusted head to toe in glitter, leaned against the porch railing, passing a joint between them.
Not exactly the innocent teen hangout Sarah had gotten a green light for.
He jogged up the steps, and a girl with Kelly Clarkson-style highlights crossed his path.
“Password,” she said, brushing another layer of strawberry-scented glittery lip gloss across her pursed lips.
A lopsided smile curled his own. “Password?”
A ripple of girlish giggles, in different ear-splitting pitches, bounced across the porch, rhinestones shimmering across their jeans, tops, headbands and purses.
Good.
With all this reflective gear, no car in the world could run them over.
“Oh my God, you’re, like, so cute.” The girl flashed him a sparkly smile and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You should totally hang out with us!”
“Right, right, right,” the others chirped, waving him over.
“Yeah, no.” He swerved around the girl and pushed the front door open, followed by a wave of ohs and ahs. “Next time.”
He stepped inside and almost doubled over, smacked in the face by the toxic fumes of beer, sweat and Axe body spray. He dragged a hand across his jaw. No cologne he’d stolen from Joel as a kid had ever smelled this bad.
Or so he hoped.
The corridor buzzed, pulsed, throbbed, each distorted note vibrating in his chest as if he’d stumbled onto a concert. Good times. The Christmas lights, turned to the trippiest tempo, blinked along the stair banister perfectly timed with a chorus of “Chug! Chug! Chug!” ringing from somewhere deep inside the house. The scent of beer, pizza grease and Doritos intensified with every step. Even better times.
Where the hell was Sarah?
A living room lingered in the shadows to his left. He stepped inside and flipped the switch on. The lights blazed bright across the beige walls, the beige curtains, and a pair of not-so-beige teenagers flopping across the couch, limbs tangled, lips locked in an octopus kiss.
He kicked the guy’s boot. “Hey—the party?”
Their faces popped apart with a smooch, smack, and smush. The guy looked up at him, eyes half-lidded. “Basement, bro.”
Tommy nodded toward the girl. “You okay in there?”
“Yeah,” she giggled, twirling her hair.
“Good.”
He turned on his heel, slapped the light off, and paused in the doorway.
What the fuck am I doing?
He flipped the switch back on, looking over his shoulder. “And leave some room for Jesus.”
He marched back into the hallway, followed by more giggles and a huffed-out, “Who the fuck was that?” and yanked open the basement door. A twiggy guy with frosted spiky hair and not one, not two, but three puka shell necklaces stumbled up the steps and crashed into him, arms clamping around Tommy in a bear hug.
“Hey, I know you,” the kid slurred, breath hot with beer. “You’re that guy from that movie. Sign my face, man, sign it!”
Sharpie dicks and hairy balls covered every inch of the guy’s cheeks, some disturbingly anatomically accurate.
A kingdom for friends like that.
“Get me some beer first, yeah?” Tommy huffed, shoving him back.
“I got you, bro.” The kid thumped his chest like a gorilla, eyes shining. “I got you.”
He zigzagged toward the kitchen at the end of the hallway and barreled through a beaded curtain, the strands rattling. “Guys! Guys! I just met that guy from that movie! He wants beer!”
“Jesus Christ,” Tommy muttered.
Either he was getting old, or teenage parties had always been overrated.
The second, definitely the second.
He pushed through a haze of incense and trotted down the stairs, lured in by Beyoncé’s sweet coos. He jumped the last two steps into the shadowy basement and smacked the light on. The couples tangled in a slow dance in the middle of the room didn’t even bother to spare him a look. The boombox sat on a narrow dresser in the corner, flanked by two half-filled bowls of popcorn. He tossed a few kernels into his mouth and yanked the plug out of the wall.
The kids stilled, blinking around like a band of confused meerkats.
“Sarah Miller, where you at?” He propped his hands on his hips, channeling his inner Joel, eyebrows pulled into a proper asshole frown. “I know you’re in here, so you can either come out or I’ll drag you out.”
“Uncle Tommy?”
Sarah stepped out of the gaggle of girls, gaze darting around. Her shoulders sagged inward, the hem of her sleeve fraying under her restless fingers.
His heart sank. He should’ve driven faster.
“Damn right,” he growled. “You thought you could leave a decoy in bed, hot-wire my truck, and crash the party I said no to without me finding out? Think again.”
Her eyes went wide, mouth a perfect O. He tugged at the top button of his jacket—their poker shorthand for play along.
Sarah’s mouth snapped shut, and she tugged her right earlobe, her lips curling into a defiant pout.
He stifled a grin.
Yeah, you got this, baby.
She crossed her arms, chin lifting high. “Well, it’s the first time you’ve noticed. I’ve been doing it for months.”
A ripple of low hums, murmurs and whistles swept through the room. He almost laughed. Good thing they only ever bet M&Ms, because the kid bluffed harder than all the men he’d played cards with combined.
“You’re in serious trouble, young lady.”
“I’m not a baby anymore, Uncle Tommy.” She stomped her foot. “I’m almost fourteen.”
“And grounded till you’re forty.”
“This stinks. Just when it was my turn to play the game.”
“One more word and you’ll retire before you see another party.”
“Whatever!” She threw her arms up and stomped over, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Jess wants to go home too.”
He snapped back, scanning the room. “Jessica Amanda Wheeler, that you?”
“Yes?”
“Your mama know you’re here?”
“Y—”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Get your stuff, you’re coming with us.”
“Oh, man. This is so unfair… I can’t even,” Jess chirped, trotting across the room. She wrapped her hand around Sarah’s and huffed out, “Thank you so much, Mr. Miller.”
“Be cool. You’re blowing our cover, kid,” he whispered, flicking the light off.
He took two steps up behind the girls—and froze.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He stomped back down, smacked the switch on again. “And it’s seven minutes, not seven days. Get a grip!”
*
“…and then Sally—she’s Doreen’s half-sister from her mom’s third marriage—called Veronica’s friend’s second cousin, Travis. He’s in high school. It was part of the bet,” Jess babbled out in one breath from the backseat, munching on Doritos she’d stashed in her tiny rhinestone-covered purse. “He said our party is lame and that he knows a guy who can get us a keg. We didn’t want to, but then he called Sam the L-word and the R-word, so she said yes. And before we knew it, all his high school friends showed up and started standing on their hands over the keg. It was wild.”
“Wait, Sam T. or Sam H.?” he asked, rolling to a stop in front of Jess’s house.
“Sam H.”
“Didn’t she move to Australia?”
“Oh no,” Jess giggled. “That was Sam J., Carrie’s older sister. She’s a model.”
“Right,” he chuckled, turning the engine off.
As if on cue, the girls squealed in unison and crashed into a hug, clinging like they were parting ways forever.
“Call me tomorrow.”
“And then you’ll call me?”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
Jess lifted her pinky, and Sarah hooked hers through it. “Promise.”
One more winding hug, a secret handshake, three promises to call, and two loud smooches later, Jess pushed the door open. “Thank you so much, Mr. Miller.”
“We’ve been over this, Jess.” He plucked a Dorito from her purse, tossed it into his mouth, and raised his hand. “Mr. Miller is my brother.”
“Okay.” She slapped a high-five into his palm, braces flashing in a wide grin. “Night, Tommy.”
“Be good.”
The door smacked shut, and Jess bolted across the lawn like her ass was on fire. The porch light flicked to life, and Andy stepped out, pulling her blue robe tighter around herself. She shot him a grin—an exact copy of her daughter’s, minus the braces—and they both disappeared inside.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Switching places, Miss Daisy, or what?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean… yeah.”
Sarah leaned in between the seats and flopped into the passenger side in a tangle of limbs and loose curls. The seatbelt clicked into place. White trainers tapped against the floor mat. The sullen teenager melted back, gaze glued to the window, arms folded across her chest.
Behold another percentile crossed.
He bit back a smile, turning the key, and eased onto the street. At least she hadn’t ended up butt naked in Chris Loren’s backyard, mooning his grandma, his Uncle Bertie, and their two chihuahuas.
Yet.
She was bound to tumble into some trouble, she was a Miller after all.
“Uh huh, life’s like this, uh huh, uh huh, that’s the way it is,” Avril Lavigne launched into her biggest hit from the radio, the soft electric guitar riffs humming, the drums tapping to the measured beat.
He turned up the volume.
Sarah let out a dramatic sigh and leaned in, reaching for the dial. He smacked her hand away. “Driver’s pick, remember?”
“It’s so lame.”
“Since when do we think Avril's lame?”
She folded back into her seat, lips pulling into a pout. “Since now.”
No way in hell, he already had all the merch.
“Chill out, what ya yellin’ for?” he sang along with Avril, rolling his head from side to side and wiggling his eyebrows at Sarah. “Lay back, it’s all been done before.”
“Oh, my God.” She flipped her hood over her head and pulled the strings tight, leaving only a tiny gap for her eyes. “Now you’re lame too.”
“And if, you could only let it be, you will see, I like you the way you are.” He pointed at Sarah. She shot him a murder look, tightening the strings. “When we’re driving in your car, And you’re talking to me one on one, but you become.”
He reached his hand out as if it was a mic, and Sarah rolled her eyes. “Somebody else, ‘Round everyone else,” she sang softly, easing the hood off her head, curls bouncing. “You’re watching your back, Like you can’t relax, You try to be cool, You look like a fool to me, Tell me.”
“Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?” They belted out in stereo, drowning out the radio. Their eyes met, and they rolled into a laugh, barreling through the lyrics, the truck windows rattling.
Line by line, they glided through the entire song with custom solos, never-before-performed dance moves, air drums and imaginary guitar riffs, the city gleaming past them.
“Honesty, and promise me, I’m never gonna find you fake it,” he sang, breathless and laughing as they pulled to a stop at a red light.
“No, no, no,” Sarah sang in her sweetest voice, and he echoed her note for note until the song fizzled out and the radio station tumbled into a commercial break.
Sarah’s smile wavered. She leaned back against her seat, fingers fiddling with the hem of her hoodie, her gaze flickering to him. “Milkshakes and fries?”
The light jumped from red to green again, the road ahead wide open.
“Milkshakes and fries,” he said with a smile, easing forward, the radio humming another song.
*
He unsnapped the latches on both sides, and the tailgate swung down with a tired squeak. A service visit to the truck place loomed closer with every groan of the hinges. He’d call them next week. Maybe. Or the week after that. He gave the blanket a good shake, folded it into four, and draped it over Sarah’s side.
Ahead, Austin shimmered in Town Lake’s reflection, the distant skyscrapers small enough to cover with his thumb. Every hit and every miss shrunk too, nothing more than a flicker of color until the fragrant, late spring breeze picked it up like a speck of dust and blew it off the sky, making way for the stars.
A familiar melody rumbled out of the cab.
He grinned, turning. “Well, well, well.”
Sarah shrugged and jumped out, trainers smacking the concrete. “I called milkshakes, so my pick, right?”
“Sure, I just thought Avril was lame.”
“I guess you reignited my love for her.”
“Really?” he asked, leaning into the backseat. “A concert sort of love?”
“Maybe.”
“Dallas ‘04, here we come, baby!” he hooted and walked to the back of the truck, balancing the brown cardboard carrier and the bag of fries tucked under his arm.
“You’re such a dork,” Sarah giggled, unfolding the blanket so there was space for him too.
Biting back a grin, he settled into his spot, the truck bed creaking beneath him.
Every single time.
“Yeah, well, takes one to know one.”
He popped open the bag of fries and set it between them, the scent of crisp potatoes and grease wafting into the air.
He handed Sarah the cup signed Barbie, and picked up the one marked Stacie. “Ready?”
“Born ready.”
“Okay, three, two, one!”
They lifted the milkshakes to their lips for the grand reveal, like so many times before, and he drew a quick sip, the sticky sweetness pooling on his tongue.
“Hey!” they called out in unison, pointing fingers at each other.
He pressed his hand to his mouth. “You got me butterscotch?”
“You got me vanilla?”
“You called milkshakes, so I got you a favorite, but why did you get me the nursing home flavor?”
She shrugged. “Because you’re old enough to like it.”
He drilled his eyes into her, eyebrows pulling in a frown. “Take. That. Back.”
“Nope.” A shit-eating grin stretches across her face. “But we can switch if you want.”
“No way.” He drew an exaggerated slurp. “I think it’s growing on me.”
“Like those gray—”
“Hey! If you jinx my hair—”
“Don’t worry, they’re still protected by all my princess spells.” She patted his head in a there-there kinda way and drew a long sip of his milkshake. “Nothing can touch them.”
“You sure?”
“Dead sure. The world will crush and burn before even one of your curls falls out of place.”
“Phew!” He ruffled his hair, making sure each lock got equal attention. “One less thing to worry about.”
He dipped a fry into his milkshake and tossed it into his mouth. They were too salty, too greasy and almost cold. Perfect. He leaned back on his palms, staring at the clear sky, swinging his legs over the edge.
Sarah knocked her trainer against his boot. “So… are you gonna tell Dad? About the beer and all?”
“You know the rules, kid. We don’t keep the serious stuff from the Big Bad Miller.”
She dipped a fry in her milkshake and nibbled on a piece. “He’ll kill me.”
“Nah, he never killed me, and I gave him every reason to.”
“You were doing all the keg stand things, huh?”
“Baby, I invented it.”
She hummed, but her smile faded into the shadows.
He nudged his shoulder against hers. “Why do you wanna keep it from him?”
“He won’t let me go to another party ever again.”
“I call…” He curled his hands around his mouth. “Bullshit!”
“You can’t call bullshit on this.”
“Sure can. Bullshit’s bullshit.”
She tugged her sleeves over her hands, the cuffs flopping down, like she used to when she was little, and she lifted her cup to her lips, condensation seeping into the fabric.
“Fine.” She shifted in her seat, shoulders curling inward. “I don’t want him to be disappointed in me, okay? He already thought I wasn’t ready for it, and I promised him it would be fine, and it turned out he was right…”
For the past few weeks, the party took center stage at the Miller house—outfit planning, purse and shoes matching, testing how many glittery butterflies could be clipped around her space buns. All professional enough, the Vogue editors should take close notes. On the big day, giggles and squeals rang from behind Sarah’s closed bedroom door the whole afternoon, but the excitement, just like the dizzying nail polish fumes, refused to stay contained.
At six on the dot, both girls tumbled into the living room, giggling and ready to go—on time enough to be fashionably late.
Now Sarah’s hair flew loose around her face, blown by the wind, the one last shiny butterfly clip hanging for dear life at the very end of a curl. He leaned in, brushed it free, and pinned it back into place, her hair a delicate flutter against his skin.
“The fact that you called me shows you were more than ready, kiddo.”
She looked up at him, her eyes soft and attentive.
“It’s so easy to go with the flow, you know? Do what everyone else is doing, give in to the pressure. But you didn’t. You saw something you didn’t like, and you walked away. That takes courage, maturity, and integrity even adults struggle with, yours truly included.”
He bumped his shoulder against hers, and she bumped him right back, corners of her lips spiking up.
“You didn’t sign up for a party with older kids and booze. You just wanted to hang out with your friends. That’s okay. It’s not your fault it went sideways. What matters is the fact that you called me when it did and you got yourself out.”
A tiny smile tiptoed back onto her face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You did good, kid.”
“You think the other Miller will see it that way?”
“Probably not at first.” He dipped a fry into his milkshake and tossed it into his mouth. “He'll huff and puff and pace around. Then huff some more. He might even turn into Abuela Marisol for a while and sigh a few Dios mios! into the universe. But eventually he’ll count his blessing and be grateful that he didn’t wake up snuggled up with a chicken this time.”
Sarah shot up, eyes sparkling. “You stole a chicken?”
“Who said anything about stealing?” He clicked his tongue, wagging his finger. “That little lady really wanted to see the world, so I invited her on the adventure of a lifetime. And she was so grateful for the ride, she even laid an egg on Joel’s pillow.
“No!” She clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. “What did you do?”
He shrugged. “An omelet.”
Their eyes met, and they broke into a laugh, the bed of the track joining in with a creak, boots scuffing against the tailgate.
“Dad should feel really lucky to have a kid like me, after the likes of you.”
“He is, trust me.” He leaned in and tapped his cup against hers. “We both are.”
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty great.”
“Best thing since sliced bread.”
He tossed a fry her way, and she caught it with her mouth.
“With an omelet.”
Another wave of laughter rolled through the bed of the truck, bouncing off the metal and spilling across the flickering water of the lake.
She scooched closer and dipped her fry into his milkshake. “I’m sorry I’ve ruined your date.”
“Why do you think I was on a date?”
“You’re wearing the shirt.”
He puffed out his chest. “I own more than one nice shirt, kid.”
She gave him a painfully slow once-over. “Do you?”
“Eat your food.”
Giggling, she shoved five fries into her mouth and smiled with her face full.
“Charming,” he chuckled, watching her munch like a chipmunk, legs swinging.
She drew a sip of her milkshake. “So… the love of your life?”
“God, no,” he huffed. “She didn’t laugh at any of my jokes.”
“That’s because they’re not funny.”
He pressed his hand to the front of his only good shirt. “Low blow, Miller, a very low blow.”
“Okay, some of them are funny, but only the ones you stole from me.”
“Yeah, fair I guess. We need to freshen up my material then.”
A truck thundered past somewhere far away, leaving behind a rattling baseline. The lake rippled in response, the city lights dancing across the dark water.
“You'll find it someday, you know?” Sarah said.
“What?”
“Your soulmate.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing, baby.” He chuckled, brushing his hands against his jeans. “At least not for me.”
He dropped his gaze, staring at his boots. For all his trying, he should’ve found it already. Instead, the hand always slipped from his, the gaze wavered, and what could’ve been froze into what never was.
Maybe not everyone needed the wife-and-kid combo. Hell, maybe it wasn’t really for him. But deep down… maybe he wanted to find out, anyway.
“I do,” Sarah said, drawing a sip of her milkshake. “There is a girl out there who will find your jokes funny.”
“All of them?”
“We’re not talking about miracles here, okay? So work hard on that new material.”
“Got it.”
“And don’t think she’ll just fall in line. She’ll bust your butt if you mess up.”
“Figures.” He leaned in, batting his eyelashes, hands clasped under his chin. “But I’ll forgive anything if she has pretty hair and sparkly brown eyes.”
“Oh my God, you’re so corny!” She shoved him to the side, curls bouncing around her smiling face. “And dumb. Good thing she’ll be smarter than you.”
“That ain’t hard,” he chuckled.
“You’re smart too. In your own special way.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“And she'll think so too. And when things get hard, she’ll make everything feel better.”
He let out a short whistle. “Damn, I hope I’ll find her soon. She sounds pretty great.”
“She is, you’ll see. And then when you ask her to marry you, I’ll be your flower girl.”
He snorted. “You’re a bit too old for that, sugar.”
“Your best man, then.”
“Best woman.” He pushed his sleeve up his forearm and tapped the scratched beads of the first friendship bracelet she’d made for him all those years ago. “Best friend.”
“Yeah.”
He frowned. “Hey, you gotta say it back, or it doesn’t count.”
“I can’t,” she said, switching her empty cup for his and taking the last sip.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because Jess is my best friend.”
He clapped both hands to his chest as if struck by an arrow and leaned over the side of the truck with a long whine. “Is it open season on guys with perfect hair tonight or something?”
Giggling, she tugged him right back up, sneaked her arms around his elbow and smooshed her cheek again his bicep. “But you’re my Uncle Tommy.”
“Damn right I am.”
He leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to the crown of her head, closing his eyes. Her curls carried that faint floral scent of the Bath & Body mist she’d requested for Christmas, so distant from his memories.
No one warned him about the change. No one marked the date on his calendar. Strawberry shampoo just vanished from the shelves in the bathroom one day, replaced by new neon bottles. Barbies tumbled under her bed, gathering dust. Crayon marks disappeared under smears of sparky nail polish.
One by one, the marks of Sarah’s childhood stilled into old photographs.
She wasn’t an adult yet, not by any stretch, but she’d get there faster than either of them was ready for. How many more milkshakes would they share before she grew all the way up and left them both behind, chasing her own dreams?
Her grip loosened around his elbow, and she looked up at him. “Are you going to be there when I talk to Dad?”
“I’m always going to be there for you, Sarah.” He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, still baby round, baby soft, and she smiled, swinging her trainers in rhythm to his boots. “Always.”
She leaned back against him with a soft sigh. “I’m grounded, huh?”
“You sort of gotta be. We already announced it to all your friends.”
“I guess you have to teach me how to hot-wire a car too, or I’ll lose my street cred.”
“Yeah, we’re overdue on that one, anyway.”
She giggled, nuzzling closer to him. “Way overdue.”
No matter how many days, how many lasts, he’d be there, collecting each one, paving the path ahead so when she was ready to spread her wings, she’d soar high. And higher still.
But for now they still sat on the same tailgate, shared the same milkshake, same joke.
Same life.
Best life.
He planted another kiss on the top of her head, breathing her in.
The very best.