It only took a minute for her eyes to settle on a sight that gave her pause: in front of her, on patchwork quilts and towels, were so many familiar faces. Jeanie was pulling food out of a wicker picnic basket and handing it to Helen. Pop was in a camping chair, his feet propped on a beach bag. Her mother was next to Jeanie, fluffing her sundress over her knees, her sandals kicked onto the grass beside her, a glass of wine in her hand. Emily was scattering toys over one of the towels while Ryan had Charlotte on his shoulders, running around them all, making airplane noises. Mabel had stopped to chat with Pop, her hand above her eyes to shield the sun as she looked for her own family, presumably. Jeanie, wearing a white visor and American-flag dangle earrings, was the first to notice Libby and Pete, raising her hand and waving wildly at them. It made Libby smile so wide that it was almost a laugh.
Pete handed her the bottle and glasses and set down the straw bag once they reached their family. He pulled out the two beach towels. With a snap, he laid one of the giant towels next to Jeanie’s quilt. “Pop, you doing all right?” he asked over the heads of the others.
“Great, thanks. Enjoying the warmth out here. You keep the air so cold inside…”
“Yep. Clearly fine,” he smiled, giving Libby a conspiratorial glance. The old Pop would have stopped at ‘Great, thanks,’ and she knew his slight irritability was due to his dementia. For some reason, after seeing Pete’s response, she wasn’t worried. When Pop was having a good moment, like he was right then, Pete seemed to just enjoy him. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that way of thinking was probably the right way of thinking.
Pete spread the second towel onto the ground. As Libby sat down closest to Jeanie, she handed Pete the wine bottle and set the two glasses on a small camping table beside Jeanie’s basket.
“Missed ya, honey,” Jeanie said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “You doin’ okay?”
“Yep,” she said. Pete handed her a glass of wine.
Libby took it and thanked him before leaning over to her mother. “Hey, Mom. Glad you’re here,” she said, scooting closer to her.
Celia tipped her head so their temples were touching, the setting sun on their faces. “Me too.”
Charlotte, who had started running around the group of them, giving her daddy a break, stopped next to Libby. “Hi, Miss Libby,” she said, waving a tiny hand with bright pink fingernails.
“Hi, Charlotte! Did your mommy help you paint those pretty fingernails?”
“Yes. I wanted to look fancy,” she said with a grin that produced a dimple on each cheek. She wiggled her fingers in the air and then plopped down next to Libby, her little legs crisscrossed under her dress. “You have pretty hair,” she said, fiddling with Libby’s tresses.
“Thank you.” Even though she looked like her mother, Charlotte’s resemblance to Ryan and Pete was clear, and for an instant—only an instant because she pushed the thought away as quickly as possible—she wondered what Pete’s little girl would look like, their little girl. She wouldn’t allow that thought for very long because it was too painful. It would never happen.
She couldn’t help but think again how badly she’d ruined things between them. For her entire adult life, she’d thought about only herself—what she wanted—and when she’d finally realized what she’d done, it was too late. She tried to clear her mind and focused on Charlotte’s sweet face instead. The little girl was still playing with Libby’s hair, her tiny fingers twirling the strands. She noticed Charlotte’s long eyelashes, her little, pink pout, her milky skin.
“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Pete said. It wasn’t until Libby looked up to agree that she realized he wasn’t speaking to her but to Charlotte. Charlotte nodded, still playing with Libby’s hair. Libby looked down at her wine quickly and took a sip, not wanting to meet Pete’s gaze. She couldn’t think about what she felt for Pete tonight, or it would consume her, and she just wanted to enjoy the moment. It had been a very nice comment from Pete, and she could tell that he was trying to lighten the mood between them, but for Libby, it was a reminder of the relationship they couldn’t have. She could feel the muscles in her shoulders tighten and she wanted to rub the knots out of them.
This was supposed to be a night of celebration, but instead she felt like she could cry at any moment. She was on edge, upset. Having him there beside her was too hard, and she didn’t know if she could get through the rest of the night. Being just friends was complicated. She couldn’t do it. But she had to, because that was all Pete was offering.