Summer’s playlist isn’t awful but that doesn’t mean it’s good. Too much indie, too many male singers with raw, grating voices that pop culture had begrudgingly branded as “unique” instead of untrained. Not that it matters, because Summer and Malcolm start talking the second he gets in the car. On the freeway, over the bridge, through the toll booths, past the winding hills and dirt-paved roads—the whole time, as if they’re the only two people in the car.

Not once does Malcolm look up into the rearview mirror to invite Joy to join their conversation. She might as well not even be there.

Which is the obvious point, Joy thinks sadly. Being forgotten hurts worse than being ignored, like an accidental kick in the teeth. If she points it out, they’ll make an effort, but they don’t want to. She knows they don’t. Instead, Joy busies herself on her phone by texting Grace, checking her hundreds of backlogged mentions, and replying to comments until her cell service drops out.

Four

Still en route to Malcolm’s Cabin of Dreams, Joy rolls down the window, angling her phone toward the sky. “Don’t leave me, civilization. I need you.” The last bar of service disappears, and a giant red X takes its place.

“You’ll be fine.” Malcolm glances at her through the rearview mirror.

“Oh?” Joy pretends to be surprised. “Are you talking to me now? I was sure you forgot about me and Fox Van Winkle back here.”

“His last name is Monahan,” Summer says.

“That was a joke.” Malcolm smiles at her. “You know, like Rip Van Winkle.”

“Who’s that?”

Joy mutters, “Oh lord,” at the same time Malcolm explains the short story. Nothing kills a good pun faster than it having to be explained.

“Oooh.” Summer begins typing on her phone. “I should tell that story to my kids.”

“Kids?” Joy’s voice cracks.

“My students,” Summer clarifies. “I’m an elementary school teacher. Currently third grade.”

Oh lord. For a super-hot second, Joy’s brain flashes to imagining Summer with kids, plural, and their new stepdad Malcolm. His new family moving into his empty house. Him asking Joy to give her key back because it makes Summer uncomfortable . . . “Teacher.” Joy has to clear her throat before she can continue. “I can see that.”

“I’ve always wanted to be one. It’s super rewarding but it’s harder than I thought it’d be. It’s also good practice for later.” Summer and Malcolm exchange the kind of grin born from sharing secrets. She breaks eye contact with him to look at Joy. “I want to homeschool my kids. My actual kids. When I have them, I mean.”

Joy’s stomach flips with unease. This is bad. Really bad. She balls her hands into fists at her side to ground herself. That wasn’t a coincidental, by the way aside. Summer wanted Joy to know that.