Page 46 of Tides That Bind

“Harper.” Riley sighs. “If you want to come, you have ten seconds to get in this car.”

I only needed eight to run into the house and grab my bag.

Riley makes a left out of the driveway. “It’s a lot easier if you go the other way,” I tell him. “If you go down to Palm Drive then—”

“Thanks, backseat driver. I’m aware. But I need coffee.”

I whip my head to him. “I just offered you coffee. You could’ve helped yourself.”

You always do, I think to myself.

Riley remains quiet.

“What?”

“You make terrible coffee,” he says before adding, “No offense.”

I furrow my eyebrow. “You never had a problem helping yourselfbefore.” I’ve seen Riley walk out of my kitchen with more of my mugs than I care to count.

“Maybe Nate used to dump your sludge down the drain and remake it.”

“He did not.”

“Did too. Ask him.”

I see Riley’s chest swell with air, how it stays risen as he holds it in like he’s afraid of the next breath.

I know that breath. I’ve held that breath.

It’s the last one you take when your heart refuses to accept loss but your brain has already reminded you. And worse, I know how painful the exhale is, how it feels to be slapped with that loss over and over again.

The fingers on my left hand twitch, fighting to reach out, to just touch his shoulder, to let him know,I get it. But like Riley, my brain tells me something different than my heart.

It tells me,don’t.

“He hated your coffee,” he admits in a soft voice.

Maybe I should be saddened by this, that after nearly a decade together, my husband never had the balls to tell me I make awful coffee.

Instead, laughter breaks from me and flows freely out the roof of Riley’s open-air Jeep and I smile, because that’s how sweet Nate was. He would’ve probably sipped whatever sludge I brewed up until we grew old and grey just because he hated to hurt anyone’s feelings, especially mine.

At the drive-thru, Riley orders coffee for himself, and without asking, one for me too. I accept it without even thinking about the jitters that will follow but I’m too preoccupied thinking about how he knows exactly how I take it, with just a splash of cream.

Tides doesn’t let me focus on that for too long. He juts his head between us.

“Oh, a pup cup for your friend.”

The barista extends her arm, holding a small cup. Riley can barely grab a hold of it before Tides covers his snout with whipped cream.

“Come on, man, you’re making a mess of yourself. It’s almost show time.”

I take the now empty cup and reach into my bag, pulling out a packet of wipes.

“Of course you clean him like he’s a baby.”

Forget all the elephants in the room I’ve yet to address with Riley. I haven’t acknowledged the dog in the car accompanying us to Career Day when Riley is a surf instructor.

“Why did you bring him?”

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