I opt to pour myself a bourbon and go sit on the front porch. I know why I’m going there, but I refuse to admit it. I tell myself the view is good from here, but when I take a seat on the top step and glance to the side, I see little doodles painted on the railings. Suns and stars. Happy faces and XOXO. And hearts. Willa drew hearts on my front porch, and now I’m stuck sitting here, drowning in the thought that the real reason I’m out here is that I’m waiting for her to get home.
