Page 64 of Golden Hour

First, my mom knocked on my door, delivering a thermos of hot coffee, straight from her French press (“it’s the best way to drink coffee, Jackson. I should’ve gotten you one for Christmas”) and my beloved Danish from Gold Roast. I took it and invited her in, which resulted in her staring at me for ten minutes as I ate. She asked me if I was doing okay no less than eight times and finally left after getting a three-minute-long hug.

Reid called, while Cameron texted. Cameron is currently my favorite sibling.

Emily has always been confrontational, so an in-person visit it is. I can ignore phone calls, but she figured out I will always open my door.

“Where’s Olive?”

“With Mom.” Emily walks in without an invitation. She crosses her arms and turns, looking me up and down. “So.”

“So,” I say, my head pounding. I sip some water to get rid of this hangover, but it’s not helping. Yet.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Emily asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, although I know what I’m planning. It’s been ten years, today, and I hope going back to the spot where I lost her would help. Maybe the lake can tell me something, what to do about Shiloh.

I can’t stop thinking about her. I also can’t stop feeling guilty about it.

When I kissed her cheek at the Christmas party, I downplayed it, pretending like it didn’t faze me. I wanted to kiss her for real. Take her in my arms and lift her to my lips, sink my fingers into her hair.

As Shiloh and I’ve gotten closer over the last few months, my feelings have only intensified. Fantasies of taking her to bed, spreading her out on my comforter and devouring her body—her lips, in between her legs, her breasts. Since Amy died, I have had zero desire to be with another woman.

Until a sober, sunny pixie who loves dogs came into my life. Forced me to be her friend.

Now I can’t imagine life without her.

The way I’m feeling today reaffirms why it was a good idea not to pursue something. Shiloh is a beautiful and pure woman. I will fuck her up. After everything that has happened to me, I can’t drag her down with me.

“I don’t want you alone tonight. I don’t think it would be healthy. I think you should call Shiloh.”

“It’s been ten years. I’m fine.”

My sister tilts her head. She’s always been able to see through my bullshit.

“Honest question: have you dated? Since Amy?”

I shake my head no. I rub my beard and run my fingers through my hair.

“Follow-up question,” Emily says, and I tense. “Have you kissed anyone since Amy?”

I swallow and avert my gaze, shaking my head.

Emily covers her mouth. “I’m so sorry. We made you do that…”

“Shiloh is a good friend. I’ve kissed her on the head before.”

My sister glares at me, and I don’t know why. “Have you talked about Amy with her?”

“She only knows that I was married and that my wife passed away.” No matter how many times I utter that phrase out loud, it still feels like a twist to the heart.

“Why don’t you talk about her?”

“It’s hard.” My voice cracks and I grumble.

“You can’t move on if you don’t process it, Jackson.” My sister means well, but my shoulders still hunch, and I can feel my rational mind shutting down. Emily continues, although I’m fighting my anger like a fire-breathing demon in my chest.

“I think Shiloh likes you. Like really likes you.”

That can’t be right. We’re just friends. I run my fingers through my hair again. “I care about her.”

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