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My first thought when I wake is that I wish I wasn’t alone. My second thought is a little more complex. I want my husband and I want Holt. I wish they were both here. Wish I could talk to them both.

Yeah, complex is an understatement. It’s also so not a thought I have the mental headspace to sift through.

Therefore, I threw off my covers, did my workout, had my shower, and slipped into a peach-colored sundress that was pretty and flowy with just enough of a slit to show some leg. It was one of Tate’s favorites.

I leave my hair down and do my makeup light. I’m enjoying my coffee on the front porch—I donned a slouchy knit cardigan because although it’s sunny it’s still a bit brisk in the morning—when I see my parent’s front door open and all three of them spill out. Mabel is in her nightgown with her favorite princess on it. Tatiana.

I bring my brew to my lips to hide my smile as Mabel waddles across the street. Under one arm, she clings to the rainbow caterpillar she sleeps with every night. Her hair is wild, and I already know taming it will be a workout in itself.

Dad points to my front door. “You got more of that in there?”

I lift my mug to my lips again. “A whole pot.”

He nods once and trudges inside. Mom takes the seat next to me while Mabel walks herself to the other side of the porch and climbs onto the porch swing. She curls up with her caterpillar and yawns but doesn’t close her eyes.

“Holt left earlier than I thought he’d leave last night.”

My eyes move from my daughter to my mother. “What?”

Mom shrugs innocently. “I just thought he’d stay a while.”

“He was here for hours. We had dinner.”

Mom’s brow rises. “Is that all you had?” I frown. Mom prompts, “No dessert?”

I groan. “Mom.”

Dad reappears from inside with two steaming mugs and a blanket tossed over one arm. He hands a mug to Mom and makes his way to Mabel. Balancing his mug on the porch railing, he tucks the blanket around her before he plants himself on the swing next to her. He starts to sway the swing. Mabel yawns again.

“Looks like someone had a late night.”

“She was up round three this morning.” Dad slurps, clearly needing energy from the cup. “You forget what it’s like when you get old like us.”

“Speak for yourself!” Mom harrumphs. “I’m in my prime.”

My fingertips touch my chest in a gesture of mock offense. “I was an excellent sleeper.”

Dad throws a look at Mabel. “This is true. Consider us wholly unprepared for the realities of Mabel.”

I snicker. Dad takes another slurp, but he’s eyeing me with more curiosity than a sleep-deprived man would, so I don’t feel too bad.

“Owen make it home last night?”

“He did.”

“Before or after Holt left?”

“After.” I give nothing more to my nosey parents. “He’s still sleeping.”

“Teenage boys need their sleep.” Mom bobs her head, casting a look at my empty flowerpots. They were empty last summer, too. She touches a finger to the rim of one. “Tell me you’re going to fill these this year. I miss seeing the pretty spill of color from my porch.”

“You could plant your own flowers, you know.”

“I plant flowers!”

“Two pots, Mom. That’s not flowers.”

“I save the ‘going all out’ for you,” she harrumphs. “Besides, it’s too much work.”