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I stare at the message longer than necessary. Handsome. She’s called me that a few times now, but it still does something to me. Maybe because it never feels casual from her.

Ollie: How’s the Hamptons?

A photo comes through a few seconds later. Soph is standing ankle-deep in the ocean with both hands raised. Jax is behind her, pretending he isn’t smiling while Haisley tries to splash him. Rose sits under a striped umbrella in the background, oversized sunglasses covering half her face.

Peyton: Very difficult. I’m suffering.

Ollie: Looks terrible

Peyton: The worst. There’s sunshine. Saltwater. Snacks. Attractive people. Truly tragic.

Ollie: Stay strong

Peyton: I’ll try. Wish you were here, though.

I wish I were there, too. Not instead of being here. No. That's the strange part. I want both. I want this day with my siblings and Tilly, but I also want Peyton beside me, her hand brushing mine as we walk, her laugh mixing with Livia's while they tell Chase embarrassing stories about me.

Ollie: Wish you were here too

Peyton: *heart emoji*

When I slide the phone back into my pocket, Chase is watching me, his grin too smug for his own good.

“What?” I ask him with a glare.

“You smiled.”

“What are you talking about? I smile all the time.”

“Not like you’re one romantic thought away from writing poetry again,” Chase points out.

I groan, thinking back to middle school. “You weren’t supposed to remember that.”

“You wrote a poem about a girl in eighth grade and rhymed blue with true three times. I’m pretty sure everyone remembers that,” Livia says.

Chase doubles over laughing, and Livia joins him. I let myself watch and memorize the moment. Their faces. The ridiculous headband. The easy teasing. I want to hold on to every detail, because I already know this is a memory I’ll come back to later.

We head back to the apartment once the late afternoon heat catches up with us. Tilly is the first one to give in, fast asleep before I manage to get her out of the stroller. Livia disappears into the guest room for a nap, while Chase curls up on the couch beneath one of the throw blankets.

I should probably do the same. Instead, I sit in the armchair with Tilly asleep on my chest, listening to the steady rhythm of everyone's breathing. By the time my family wakes up, the worst of the heat has given way to a warm summer evening. We order pizza, eat together and spend another hour bickering over silly things.

As the sun sinks lower, I clip the baby carrier around my shoulders and bundle Tilly in, fitting a pair of baby headphones over her ears. Chase grabs the diaper bag before I can reach for it, and Livia slips on the oversized hoodie she borrowed from me earlier. Together, we head back outside toward Brooklyn Bridge Park.

The closer we get to the waterfront, the busier the sidewalks become. Adults carry folding chairs beneath their arms while kids dart between them with glow sticks and sparklers they shouldn't be holding. Somewhere down the street, Bruce Springsteen is blasting for half of Brooklyn to hear, earning an exaggerated groan from Livia.

“I swear they play the same songs every Fourth of July,” she says.

“It's the law, haven’t you heard? Pretty sure New Jersey passed it just last year,” Chase jokes, making our sister roll her eyes for the hundredth time today. “Remember that one foster dad who hated his music and insisted fireworks were a government conspiracy? What was his name again?”

I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself. “Mr. Henderson?”

“That's it! Good ol' Mr. Henderson and his crazy-ass theories about everything except the stuff that actually mattered.”

Livia wrinkles her nose. “He said fireworks were a part of the government's mind control division or something.”

“He also thought pigeons were spying on him,” I remind them with a snort. “You meet all kinds of people bouncing through foster homes. Some teach you how to bake cookies. Some teach you how to pick a lock with a bobby pin. And some teach you to never trust a bird.”

“To be fair, they do look suspicious.”