Page 128 of Every Beautiful Mile

***

In the middle of August, I drive up to the market in Homestead, a place I’d avoided since Travis died.

I stand at the entrance and freeze. The last steps—the ones that will take me into the bustling scene—feel almost impossible.

Somehow, I take them. I take them and don’t bother to hide the way I, a forty-one-year-old woman, have tears running down her cheeks while smiling proudly because she’s standing in the middle of a crowded market.

The sounds, smells, and tastes are all the same, like nineteen months haven’t passed. Like it’s just been standing here waiting for me to come back all along.

As much as I’m standing here in the middle of the crowd with bags of produce, I miss Ethan. I think of our date at the night market and the way he slipped his fingers through mine. With my eyes closed in the scorching heat in the middle of the crowd outside of Miami, I can almost taste the wine in the plastic cup and hear the bluesy music playing in the cool Maine air.

Without giving myself time to change my mind, I pull my phone out.

Me: Hi.

I bite my lip in the seconds that feel like an eternity it takes for him to respond.

Ethan: Hi.

I smile and snap a picture of one of the tables covered in peaches, then send it to him.

Me: Peaches are in season.

Ethan: What are you going to do with them?

Me: Something with rum.

Ethan: You went to a market.

Me: I went to a market.

My thumbs buzz to type more, but I don’t.

I slide my phone back into my pocket right before I buy a bag of peaches.

That night, after several experiments, the peach mojito becomes the specialty drink for the rest of August. Pride swells as I write it in big loopy letters on the board with colorful chalk.

Proof that I had more living left to do.

Forty-nine

Finn spends the first weekend of September fishing and surprises Marin and me with a full spread of fish tacos and homemade Pico de Gallo for dinner.

“Finn. This is amazing. What’s this recipe?”

Every spicy and sweet flavor he used compliments the other perfectly.

“Derek sent it to me.”

“Derek?” I choke mid-swallow. “I didn’t know you kept in touch,” I pause. “How are they? Him? He?”

Marin laughs. “Mom, you’re so obvious. Why don’t you just call Ethan? People have long-distance relationships all the time. It’s not impossible. And July in Maine is a lot better than July in this hot inferno.”

I scoff. “That’s dramatic.” I turn to Finn. “Either way, it’s great. Tell Derek it’s a winner.”

How’s Ethan? The question sits in my mouth until it dissolves.

I change the subject. “My first consulting gig is tomorrow. I’m helping a bar down near Key West revamp their drink menu.”

---