“Have you ever wished you did something different?”

Jemmalyn craned her neck to look at Alex, but he was staring at the ceiling, or maybe through the ceiling, and through the trees, as though the stars were mere feet from his face. She settled back and narrowed her eyes, trying to see what he saw.

“What do you mean? Like, anything? Or something specific?”

“I don’t know,” Alex shrugged after a minute. He sighed and shook his head and Jemmalyn laughed. He always got so philosophical when he drank or smoked, even if he didn’t drink or smoke much at all. She just got giggly and obnoxious, she knew, and she knew it grated on his nerves. She tried to be serious. It was hard, though. Zane grabbed her foot and she yelped, but he was only moving in his sleep. She gave a sharp kick to free her foot and he rolled over.

Everyone was passed out except Jemmalyn and Alex, who had opted to drink little and stay up late and smoke some, which put them in just the mood to lay back and talk. “We don’t talk enough,” Alex had said, and Jemmalyn wondered if he really meant, “We don’t smoke enough.”

“Well, like, sometimes I wish I didn’t do something. Like . . . like eat something that makes me sick,” Jemmalyn offered. She was really trying, but Jemmalyn was never really up for conversations while soaring high.

Alex shook his head, “No, not like that. I mean, like . . . well, like, remember you and Zane met because I knocked him out when we were playing soccer. Maybe if I hadn’t knocked him out, you never would have met.”

“Well that’s terrible! You wish that?” Jemmalyn demanded, giving him a weak shove. “If we hadn’t met, we would never have dated!”

“Do you have sex?”

The question caught her off guard, but she was in no mood for some elaborate reaction, so she simply gasped, “What?”

Alex hesitated but his inhibitions had fled long ago and he repeated the question, “You and Zane. Have you had sex? Do you a lot?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“It’s just a question,” he retorted. “Does that mean yes?”

Jemmalyn sighed and rolled onto her stomach, pressing herself into Alex’s side, and laughed into his ear, “You know me, Alex. You know me. What do you think?”

“I think . . .” he mused, laughing and twisting so that the tips of their noses were touching. “I think . . .” She smiled into his eyes, her own eyes crossing because of the closeness. She laughed, rolled onto her back, then turned yet again to nestle into his side, his arm wrapped loosely around her body. “I think I wish I had never knocked Zane out in soccer.”

After a long moment dragging on until Alex thought she had fallen asleep, Jemmalyn giggled into his ribs, “That is a terrible thing to wish because then I would not be dating him.”

“Exactly.”

“Just because I’m not having sex with him doesn’t mean I would have sex with you,” she snorted. It didn’t make total sense, yet Alex somehow understand what she meant. Still, she added for clarity, “If I wasn’t dating him, I mean. That doesn’t mean you’d be getting any.”

“Well shit,” he laughed, bringing his other hand around to prop his head up. He went back to looking at the stars while Jemmalyn fell asleep.

Connie was in the kitchen before I was the next morning, carefully leaping back and forth between a skillet on the stove and a heavily marked cookbook. I couldn’t tell what she was making, but didn’t much care because there was fresh coffee in the pot and sun streaming through the window. I poured myself a cup and settled down at the table, not at all bothered by the silence of the kitchen except for the crackling and popping of what smelled like bacon in the skillet.

My eyes were focused on the swingset out back, at the swings rocking in the light wind, when Connie suddenly turned and asked, “Do Lily and Aiden like bacon?”

“Aiden does.”

“Good,” she smiled. “I thought I would make breakfast. What does Lily like?”

“Eggs.”

“I think I can do that.” I watched her brow furrow as she peered down into the skillet as close as she dared get for the popping grease. She was looking back and forth at a picture, trying to determine when the bacon was done. Satisfied they still needed a bit longer, she turned again and asked, “What do you like?”

“Coffee,” I answered, holding the cup up. I meant it as a thank you for brewing it and hoped she understand. She smiled. “And eggs. Not bacon, though.”

“Well I like bacon, not eggs, so it looks like we’re pretty evenly divided,” she mused with a cheerful laugh. A loud pop had her turning her attention back to the skillet. “Oh, by the way, your friend Timothy came by this morning. He just said to tell you he got roped into helping some old people out or something and won’t be by until later today but that he’ll be here.”

Was this how we were going to handle all our arguments, then? Silently agree after both parties had calmed down to just glaze over them, pretend they had never happened? With the alternative options being spend every minute under the same roof fighting or actually apologize, I supposed the unspoken agreement worked for me.

Once the bacon was finished, she carefully moved it to a plate and asked me if I thought it “looked right.” I thought it was fine and knew Aiden wasn’t picky. I didn’t say the last part, and she beamed at me like a proud five-year-old, then scurried back to her book to find the chapter on eggs. She couldn’t find it.

Here was my chance to step outside of myself and be the bigger, mature adult once again. I was in a strange mood, though, that had nothing to do with dreaming about the past. Something about the coffee and the beautiful weather and the knowledge that Tim would be by later to play with the kids and me –I was in an oddly good mood.

So, standing, I offered, “Here, I’ll teach you.”

Her head jerked up and I’m sure she stared hard, trying to find my ulterior motives as I pulled the carton of eggs from the fridge and carried them over, “Really?”

“Give a man a fish, feed him for a day. Teach your mom to make eggs and you can con her into making breakfast for your kids the next time you want to sleep in,” I joked.

She laughed and insisted, “I’ll do it! Next time you want to sleep in. I won’t mind at all. I can help them get dressed and everything.” I wanted to ask why she had never been so excited about taking care of her own children, but whatever. I wasn’t going to ruin an otherwise pleasant morning.

I showed her how to gently crack the shell on the edge of the counter, and it took her a couple tries to get it right. Then it was another step of emptying the contents without letting any shell fall in, and keeping the yolks in tact depending on what eggs were being made. We opted for scrambled, since it was easier, and I watched as she stirred, and explained how Lily and I liked our eggs dryer than most people in the world.

“You sure know a lot about this,” she commented as I settled back to lean against the counter. “Your dad taught you a lot, huh?” By the way she glanced at me from the corner of her eye, I knew she was testing the waters, seeing if it was an alright subject to broach.

“Yes. And Grandma did, and Aunt Carol, and trial and error. I like cooking.”

“I’m terrible at it,” she admitted with a small laugh. “I tried making a birthday cake once when . . . I think it was for your fifth birthday. I forgot milk, though. It was terrible. It tasted like sawdust.”

I didn’t remember her ever making a birthday cake, but I didn’t think she was lying, either. My negative memories of her, I knew, overshadowed any little positive ones. It’s easier to remember the bad –I was at least willing to concede that much.

Before I could ask for more details, Lily was in the kitchen, saying, “Mommy, it smells good!”

To my surprise, Aiden was only seconds behind her, loudly declaring, “I smell bacon! I know it!”

“Connie made breakfast for us,” I explained before she could say anything. She glanced uncertainly at me and, when I offered the smallest of smiles, beamed proudly. I could play nice when I chose to. “Go sit down. Milk for everyone, unless you want coffee.”

“EW!”

“That’s what I thought,” I laughed. “More for me.”

Connie didn’t have to go into work until later in the morning and was back a short while before Tim came over, hopping up the steps and walking in as though he owned the place. Such was the etiquette code of Hideaway, though.

He found all of us settled in Grandma’s room, playing a game of cards. It was difficult, however, because though Grandma was particularly lucid, she still struggled to remember the rules, and Lily and Aiden kept changing them anyways. I finally forfeited because I simply couldn’t keep up with what game we were playing.

“Well look at this cozy little group,” Tim commented, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He sent me a loaded look, as though insisting, See how pleasant things can be when you’re nice to Connie? Not so bad here, huh?

“I’m winning, Uncle Tim!” Aiden insisted.

Grandma retorted, “Well not if you’re going to go flashing your cards at me. I know what you have now . . . but does that matter? What game are we playing, anyway?”

“I’m not sure any of us really know, Mom,” Connie laughed as Lily insisted that Aiden was lying, she was winning.

“Well, if we’re finished, I think a nap is in order. You two little critters have worn me out with your card games,” Grandma insisted, tapping Aiden on the nose and giving Lily a hug. I was surprised at how quickly the two of them felt comfortable around her. As a child, I remembered being terrified of most of the elderly, and I couldn’t fathom being comfortable around a bed-ridden old woman. I wasn’t sure if it was an age or maybe just a personality-specific thing.

“All right, Grandma. Come on, kids, let’s let Grandma sleep,” I encouraged, pulling Lily up while Aiden clambered off. I kissed Grandma’s forehead and left Connie to get Grandma her skittles.

As we walked down the stairs, Tim asked casually, “So what are y’all’s plans for this afternoon?”

“Nothing yet. Why?” I shrugged, setting Lily down once we’d reached the living room.

“Well, seeing as it’s such a great day outside, I thought it might be fun to go for a walk. The harbor isn’t far and I bet they’ve never seen a harbor before, huh?”

“What is a harbor?” Lily asked him seriously. Aiden launched himself onto the couch beside her and she rolled her eyes at his antics; she could be such a teenager sometimes.

Uncle Tim seemed happy to explain, “It’s where all the boats live.”

“Boats aren’t alive!”

“Well it’s where they live still,” he argued.

Lily looked skeptical, but Aiden insisted, “Mommy, I want to see where the boats live!”

“We can run off some of this energy, huh?” I teased, poking my son in the side. “Sold! Get your shoes on and we’ll go.”

I courteously told Connie where we were going, and she thankfully didn’t invite herself, instead saying she was going to try and make dinner and if it was bad we could order pizza. Not that we hadn’t had a pleasant day, but I had really worked at it and needed a break from biting my poor tongue. The four of us set off, Lily and Aiden alternately running ahead and falling behind as we admired the small battered houses and old beat up cars. The breeze was just enough to keep the early evening pleasant, and the smattering of clouds provided an interesting ceiling to our casual conversation as we strolled the twenty minutes to the “big harbor” of Hideaway.

“Remember when we used to sneak onto boats out here?” Tim asked with a shake of his head.

I snorted, “Remember when we stole a boat and took it out and almost crashed it?”

“We were terrible,” he laughed. Lily and Aiden were too busy admiring the tall poles and looming hulls of fishing boats to listen to our nostalgia. They had tons of questions, and I wished I knew any of the fishermen leaping from pier to poop deck well enough to ask for a tour. They were fascinated by the heavy nets and though Lily scrunched her nose up at the smell, Aiden didn’t seem bothered at all. They laughed at the dozens of seagulls tramping around like a swarm of gnats and spent several long minutes jumping along the wooden planks of the walk, staring at the water through the slits.

“Watch this, kids,” I offered, picking a piece of excess fish off of a wash stand and tossing it a few feet away. The seagulls descended with enough shrieking and flapping that Lilly grabbed my legs and even Aiden looked a bit taken aback. He soon laughed, though, and begged to toss some scraps to them.

“Mommy, can I please do that too? Please can I feed them?” he begged, tugging on my hand as though afraid I wouldn’t hear him. Because fishermen were supposed to clean up after themselves, though, there were no more guts lying around and I didn’t much feel like asking any of the swarthy old fishermen pacing the docks for a donation. Once upon a time, I would have been shadowing them, bubbling over with questions and comments for men that I didn’t know and wasn’t bothered by, but I wasn’t an inquisitive little ten-year-old anymore.

“Sorry, baby, I don’t have any more. If we find some fish guts, you can, okay?”

“EW! They eat fish guts?” Lily gasped, staring at the birds with an even greater hatred. “That is so gross.”

“They eat fish, too,” Tim explained. “Whatever they can find. They’re pretty obnoxious.”

“I think they’re cool,” Aiden argued, jumping at one. It leapt away before he got too close. “Mommy, look, that one has one foot!”

I nodded, remember how concerned I had been with the problem as a child, explaining, “A lot of seagulls are missing legs. They get their feet caught in the nets of ships and–“

”It pulls their legs off!” Lily cried.

“COOL!” Aiden laughed, clapping his hands. I rolled my eyes. If I hadn’t grown up around boys, I probably would have been anxious. But the boys I knew had been just as amused and they turned out . . . well . . . Timothy turned out normal enough.

We strolled along the docks, Lily trying to read the names of the boats while Aiden asked questions about the fishermen. Before we reached the far end of one long pier, he had already decided he wanted to be a fisherman when he grew up and spend all day catching fish and feeding their guts to maimed seagulls. It was sort of a charitable dream; I mean, maimed seagulls specifically, that had to count as a charity, right?

We made another pass and this time Lily and Aiden amused themselves by waving at the grungy men, often earning waves back. The men occasionally grinned obnoxiously down at me but cut their catcalls short with Tim by my side. It was amusing nonetheless and Tim pointed it out with a gloating pride.

“I am pretty tough looking, you know,” he mused, stretching his arms over his head. Aiden flexed his own minuscule muscles and seemed truly offended when Lily giggled.

Before any feelings could really be hurt, though, a man walked past us from behind, tossing something into Tim’s hands. A small bag of excess fish parts. What a charming gift. Aiden saw it, though, and cheered,

“Yay! Mommy, can I feed them now? Please?”

Tim laughed and called at the man’s retreating back, “Hey, thanks buddy. Sort of makes up for you scrimping on my birthday present last year.”

I had already recognized the man. Something about the way he walked, about the build of his shoulders. His shirt was faded and his cropped sweatpants and bandana only made him look even more like a poor rugged fisherman. For all I knew, that’s what he had become; I hadn’t heard any differently. My heart rate sped up, though, and my breath spun circles into my head when he glanced over his shoulders just long enough to pop his gum and smirk at Tim. His face didn’t change as he caught my eye, but as though afraid it would, or maybe afraid I would start trying to analyze the confidence in his appearance, Alex never stopped walking. Didn’t say hello, didn’t wave, didn’t stop to chat, and I was sort of glad. My face was burning just at seeing him, for any number of reasons. I didn’t know what to say or do and the only thing I could decide on was to pretend it had never happened.

No, that hadn’t been Alex. Not at all. Just some random fisherman friend of Tim’s who had heard we were in the market for some free fish guts. It was a kind gesture from a stranger.

“Come on, baby. Feed them over here so they –right, over there,” I suggested, taking Aiden’s hand somewhat roughly and tugging him further onto land and away from the boats.

Tim sent me a concerned look, jumping to keep up with my sudden action, and catching my eye, pressed, “Hey, you okay?”

My wild-eyed look must have faintly resembled the deer I felt like –you know, the deer right before it gets plowed down by some $40,000 SUV– as I assured him breathlessly, “Yeah, sure, why?”

“You just . . .” and then maybe he got it. He realized how momentous that casual exchange could be if I decided to accept that it had actually happened. He frowned and offered sincerely, “Sorry.” I wasn’t positive what he was apologizing for, but shrugged it off nonetheless.

“Don’t worry about it,” I insisted. “It was noth– No, Aiden, you really have to throw it, okay?” Lily shrieked as a seagull dove a bit too close to us. Tim laughed and crouched down to help Aiden launch the scraps of fish meat further away from us. Lily finally had enough and demanded I pick her up, and I appreciated the distraction.

“You know what I think, Mommy?”

“What do you think, Lily?”

“I think that I don’t like harbors if they have lots of seagulls in them,” she sighed dramatically. “Can we go to the beach instead?”

“There will still be seagulls at the beach.”

“Are there seagulls everywhere?”

I nodded, “Pretty much.”

“Well,” she frowned, letting her tired head drop onto my shoulder. She stared out at the sun making its way down over the water, streaking the boats with pinks and oranges and reds. It was truly mesmerizing, and I turned to admire it with her as the wind danced with her wispy blond ponytail. I had forgotten how beautiful the sunsets were. Wisconsin had nothing to even closely resemble the evening sky of Hideaway. “Well I don’t like them at all but the clouds are pretty.”

I kissed her cheek and brushed her hair back, glad to be her mother, and murmured, “Wait until you see the stars.”

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