But it also represents her lonely past, and it’s time to move on—a message I tenderly keep pushing. Last week, with my encouragement, she moved all three cats in (one at a time to ensure gentle transitions). Hershey’s still unsure about the dogs, but Sunkist and Triscuit love curling up against Blackbeard’s belly for their many catnaps. And Blackbeard, the least pirate-y dog ever, adores the attention. Merging our lives has gone incredibly well, though awfully slowly.

Now, we’re one week away from Memorial Day weekend, the fate of her job, and her move-out date. And for the first time since I’ve known her, Marina is stressed.

Not about her Mom. Leonie and Tilly moved into the double-wide at The Marshes the same week she handed the payment to Wade. We barely had to lift a finger to move her in. Wade, Christie, and Roy did most of the heavy labor, even helping her score extra furniture. Whether any of them scored romantic points with her remains to be seen.

Leonie has made commendable efforts to reconnect with Marina. From shopping trips to long park walks, Leonie is always ready to spend time with her girls. Marina says she doesn’t just have her mom back; she has the mom she’s always wanted. Tilly has easily warmed up to her big sister, as I knew she would. Marina has spent a lot of one-on-one time getting to know her, and Tilly adores the attention.

She’s not stressed about the G&G, either. Business has steadily picked up. Roy’s delivery idea has paid off; he’s on the road more than he’s at the store now. The old pier has been replaced with a wider one with a railing and bench seats for gator observation. The billboards are up. The Canteen is fully operational. And locals are loving it. Marina posts progress on Instagram daily, quadrupling her followers. Wade complained recently that he barely has time for smoke breaks anymore—that’s how busy it is.

If it’s enough to afford Marina going forward, that’s another story.

I don’t think Marina is stressed about us, either. We are as happy and desperate for each other as we were that first night, with zero signs of change.

But that’s the problem, I think. Change. Everything fell apart the last time she was on the cusp of leaving her place, and the family she thought she could count on abandoned her. If I can show her that’s not happening this time, she’ll relax into our new living situation once and for all.

So, tonight, I have a plan.

She doesn’t arrive with the boxes I hoped for but a single blanket—the quilt of many colors off her bed. “It’s my only family heirloom,” she explains, hardly setting it down.

“No, it isn’t. What about our chessboard?”

She smirks. “You know what I mean.”