Page 35 of Off the Beaten Path

Her finger sweeps along the exposed rough edge of the counter. “Are you going now?”

“I’ll probably finish installing the baseboards first and then go.”

When her gaze meets mine again, her cornflower blue eyes are hopeful, the dark blue ring around the edges looking even more prominent in the fading afternoon light slanting through the window above where the sink will go.

“I could stay and help and then go with you to the hardware store.” Even though it’s a statement, she phrases it like a question, hope clinging to the edges of her words like dew on morning grass.

We’re back at a crossroads. If I say yes now, she’ll be back as often as her schedule allows, putting in the work on this place right beside me. A few weeks ago, just the thought of that would have made a headache begin to form at the base of my skull, but now my skin hums with an awareness I’m finding hard to ignore.

“Yeah, Wren, you can stay.”

Finley is at my mom’s when I arrive to pick up June. The three of them are in the kitchen, aprons on, and June is licking brownie batter from a whisk, chocolate smeared across her face. There’s even a little on the ends of her hair, which should be really fun to try to wash out tonight.

“Making brownies, huh?” I ask, walking into the kitchen. They all look surprised to see me, caught up in something they were laughing at, and my heart swells a little in my chest. Sometimes I think June is missing out by not having her mom here, but other times, I see that she has my mom and Finley filling in the gaps the best they can, and I think maybe everything will be okay.

June smiles up at me from where she’s sitting on the countertop next to a mostly empty mixing bowl. “Brownie batter is good.”

“And has a risk of salmonella,” I say, swiping it from her hand and taking a lick for myself before handing it back. It’s too sweet, but the look of pure delight on her face that I would indulge in something usually off-limits makes it worth it.

“I’d like to have brownie batter for dinner tonight,” she says, and a laugh rumbles in my chest.

Ruffling her messy hair, I say, “I’m sure you would, June Bug, but we’re going to have to pass on that.”

“We can have brownie batter for dinner on Friday,” Finley says. I raise my brows in her direction, but she just shrugs, tucking a lock of smooth blond hair behind her ear. “I thought me and Junie could have a girls’ night.”

“Can I, Daddy?” June asks, flashing me her best puppy dog eyes. For a moment, they almost remind me of Wren’s, with the pale blue and the darker ring around the iris.

I ruffle her hair. “Sure, June Bug, you can have a girls’ night. As long as you eat real food,” I say, attempting to sound stern.

She nods enthusiastically, but I don’t miss the wink she tries to give Finley when she thinks I’m not looking.

Finley’s mouth tips in a smile. “Now you can have a free night off to spend with your girlfriend.”

I feel warmth creeping up my neck. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Mom’s head snaps up, her knobby knuckles still covered in a faint dusting of flour. “She’s not?”

Finley looks between us, a pleased expression coloring her features, and the warmth in my neck slips higher, suffusing my cheeks.

“No, she’s not,” Finley finally says. “Wren told me.”

Mom’s face wars with confusion and shock, and maybe even a little disappointment. Finley has been after me to start dating for years, but even though Mom is more subtle, she wants to see me happily married again more than she lets on.

“Wren told you what?” June asks, her eyes darting between the three of us, all standing stock still in the middle of the kitchen.

Lifting June from the counter, I take the whisk she managed to snatch again from her little sticky hands and gently nudge her toward the hallway. “Go wash your hands, June Bug. When you come back out, we need to get home for dinner.”

After she scampers down the hall, leaving a chocolatey handprint on the corner of the wall, I turn around to face my mom and sister. They’ve both got their arms crossed, and they look so similar standing there that I almost want to laugh. Finley is the spitting image of Mom, in looks if not in personality. Where Mom is loud and chaotic and always on the go, Finley tends to be more reserved like me, her humor leaning toward dry and sarcastic, unlike Mom’s easy charm. I can tell Mom’s nature wears on Finley sometimes too, although we love her for it.

Right now, though, they are mirror images of one another, and I swallow, trying and failing to stand my ground.

“What do you mean Wren told you we aren’t actually together?”

I hadn’t really made a conscious decision not to tell Mom and Finley the truth about Wren and me. It just wasn’t a conversation I really wanted to have, and if it got them off my back about finding a soulmate and mother to my future children, great. So I wasn’t hiding it from them, but I am a little shocked that Wren would tell Finley the truth when she told my mom the opposite.

“She came into the shop to work on arrangements for the Galentine’s Auction, and I asked her about it,” Finley says, her shoulders lifting in a shrug.

“But she told me they’re together,” Mom interjects.

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