"You packed your toothbrush?"

"Yes, I packed my toothbrush."

"And warm clothes in case it gets cold?"

"I don't think it'll get— yeah, yeah, I packed warm clothes."

My hand has been on the handle of the front door for I-lost-count-how-many minutes, anxiously jiggling the knob while Laura makes sure I haven't forgotten anything for my "camping trip" with my friends. And I mean anything.

"Do you think you could use a compass?" she asks, chewing her lip nervously. "You know, I might have one in a junk drawer somewhere."

And I wondered where I got my anxiety from.

Before she actually goes off to the kitchen to find a compass that probably wouldn't help us in the slightest if we really were planning on venturing off into the woods, I hold up my hands. "No, it's fine. We'll be fine."

"Yeah, we really don't need a compass. But thanks for the offer, Ms. Barry," Raven adds.

Right. Raven is here. Laura wouldn't let me go camping for a few days with friends she'd never met, so I settled on introducing her to Raven, told her the other two were too busy packing and getting the car ready for the trip. We wouldn't want them to forget to bring a tent, or fire starters, or anything people bring when they're not lying about going into the woods for a couple nights. She didn't object to that.

"Alright, alright," Laura says. "So, I guess this is it? You're ready to go?"

"Yeah, we're ready," I tell her, basically bouncing up and down by now, anxious to be out the door. It's all I can do not to roll my eyes at her every unnecessary question. If I knew she'd be so worried— or act so worried so convincingly— I might've just taken off without telling her a thing, dealt with the repercussions later even though I'd regret it. What's life without a few regrets?

She looks like she wants to step forward and hug me, but her feet stay glued to the floor, she clasps her hands together, and smiles. "Alright, then. I'll see you in a few days."

I'm glad she didn't try and hug me because I might've thrown her off me as a natural instinct. I force the corners of my mouth to turn up and give her a little wave. "Yeah, see you then."

Raven smiles a genuine smile, says, "Nice meeting you," out of politeness, and just before they close the door behind us, we hear Laura call, "Please, be safe!"

"We will!" I call back through gritted teeth. When we're down the steps and on the sidewalk, safely out of Laura's view, I exhale deeply and run my fingers through my short hair. Raven gives me a half smile, kind of sympathetic looking, and puts a hand on my shoulder as we walk towards the apartment.

"She wasn't trying to be annoying," they tell me.

"I know, but she was," I say as I pull off my hoodie in the heat. Laura never brought it up again, by the way, for which I'm very thankful.

Raven hesitates, then says quietly, "I guess so."

I decide to change the subject, not wanting to think about Laura anymore. "Hey, so, who's taking care of the cat while we're gone?"

"I got a coworker to take her for a few days," Raven shrugs. "She'll be fine. She mostly hides from people anyway."

"She doesn't hide from me."

"She likes you. You guys bonded real quick."

"I wish I could make human connections that easily," I joke.

Raven laughs. "You said it."

That's the last thing either of us say before we get to the apartment building and go around back to where Krash parked his car. I spot him immediately, propped up against the hood of the shiny red vehicle that's glinting in the sun. Ryder is standing next to him and they both look deep in discussion, talking with their hands and raised voices.

"No, you don't fucking bite into ice cream!" Ryder yells at Krash, an intense look in his eyes.

"Licking it just takes too long. If you're not strong enough to bite into something cold, you're a coward," Krash retorts more calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ryder lowers his voice and looks at the ground. He kicks at the dirt saying, "It's not my fault I have sensitive teeth."

"Did we just walk into the stupidest argument I've ever heard, or are you two running lines for something?" Raven asks as we approach the boys.

"No, no, it's not stupid," I say. "What kind of psychopath bites into ice cream?"

"Thank you!" Ryder exclaims.

Raven rolls their eyes at me. "Don't encourage them, Way. You know these two are gonna be arguing about dumb shit the entire time we're on the road."

"That's where I come in; the voice of reason," I say, and Krash snickers, still propped up against the car with his arms crossed, shaking his head lightly so that his hair falls into his eyes. I turn to him, "What?"

"Nothing," he says, pushing his hair back. "Just that you've never seen me lose my cool, have you? I'm more than capable of reason."

"Not if you think biting into ice cream is even remotely okay," Ryder says.

Raven puts their hands on their hips. "Enough," they say firmly, then point at the vehicle. "Get in the car, kids. I know a fun game we can play."

"What's the game?" Ryder asks eagerly as we all pile into the car, Krash behind the wheel, of course, Raven and I taking the back and letting Ryder sit in the passenger's seat next to the driver.

"The quiet game."

"Is it too soon to start reading Harry Potter to Bandit?" I ask Lindsey quietly, the baby asleep on my chest.

Linds sits on the couch next to us and lies her head on my shoulder. "You can read it to her, but you'll have to read it again when she actually understands."

"And then we'll get to watch the movies and— oh my God, I get to show her Star Wars too!" I say excitement swelling in my chest as I picture Bandit dressed up as Princess Leia one day for Halloween.

"Yeah," she humours me, "but keep it down a little, you're gonna wake her—"

Bandit starts to squirm before she screws up her face. Soon, she's crying. She's probably hungry after her nap, so I hand her to Lindsey so that she can feed her. I have things to do anyway, even though I'd like to hang out with my family all day. I have to make sure we're ready for tomorrow, the fourth of July, when everyone shows up for the annual BBQ.

The usual guests are coming: the guys, my parents, friends I only end up seeing once a year on this specific occasion. The kind of friends you text sometimes, tell each other you should have lunch sometime, and then never do. And of course actual friends that fan-fiction writers always seem to forget I have. I don't only hang out with my wife and my band.

I decide to go to the kitchen to check that we have all the ingredients for the BBQ, thinking I should write a checklist, and just as I cross the threshold my phone starts ringing from my pocket. I glance at the caller ID before picking up.

"Hey, Frankie," I say.

"Hey, how you doing?" he asks casually.

"Fine. Bandit just woke up from a nap. What's up?"

"I was just wondering if you wanted us to bring anything tomorrow."

"If you could smuggle Eve over for the occasion, that'd be great," I let slip.

He sighs. "I knew that would come up, I just didn't think it'd be so soon in the conversation."

"Sorry," I say, rubbing the back of my neck as I pace circles around the kitchen. "I've just been thinking about her non-stop."

"I know," he says.

I'm always afraid people are going to tell me to move on. To just "snap out of it," stop thinking about her, get on with my life and accept that she's not here and she won't be for another few months. But they don't. They just get quiet for a few seconds and think back to the good times.

At least I've been keeping myself busy. Working, making music, writing. Being productive especially after I spent about a week in bed, hiding from the world just after Eve left. And of course I have my bundle of joy, Bandit, to think about and take care of.

"It's just not gonna be the same this year without her," I go on. "Like, she couldn't have gotten a visitation every three months instead of six?"

"I know, Gee," Frank says, probably getting tired of me complaining.

I force myself to snap out of it and change the subject, telling him, "But, no, you don't have to bring anything unless you want to."

"We're gonna have a good time, man," he tries to cheer me up, sensing the mood drop when I started talking about Eve. "It's gonna be fine. Eve's probably gonna be celebrating with her friends anyway, right?"

"Yeah, you're right," I tell him, hoping that it's true.

• • •

she lives the poetry she cannot write

Isn't it ironic that she can't write the happy parts

The lightheartedness that she so craves?

All the words she gets out on paper are dark and depressing.

Just like her thoughts.

But no one would ever know by looking at her.

By being with her.

No one is so attentive as to notice that her laughs are hollow.

That her hands are shaking and her fingernails are cracking.

That her eyes have been lacking something.

It's not because of them, though.

She lives the poetry she cannot write.

-E.M.W.