"Hey," I say, searching for something to wear, "how was your hike this weekend?"

"Excellent," he tells me, a smile in his voice. He sounds contented and relaxed, which is somewhat rare for him. He's a high-strung person. "I wish you could have been with us, Alpine, but it was at the edge of my comfort level, so you definitely wouldn't have enjoyed it."

"Then I am glad I stayed home," I tell him with a small laugh as I change out of flannel pajama bottoms and slip on my favorite jeans. Though I'm bummed I wasn't invited, I wouldn't have wanted to be the weak link. And he does sound like he missed me. Our relationship has been doing well until very recently. He's seemed distracted and distant the last few times we've been around each other.

As I listen to Jack's recap of climbing Mount Rainier with a group of more experienced hikers, I tell myself not to think about the fact that he had promised not to climb Rainier until I was at the skill level to join him. He felt he couldn't pass up this opportunity, reasoning he'd be well prepared when we finally hiked it together.

"Hey, is there any chance I can come tomorrow night instead of tonight to review the edits on the video for ReWild's fundraising event on Saturday?" Jack asks, "I'm still beat up from the hike."

He's referring to the local non-profit where I do volunteer graphic design and social media strategy. Happily, they found a budget for us to do this promotional video, which is helpful since I've had to cut down on freelance work to focus on the coloring book.

"Sure," I tell him as I change out of my sleep t-shirt into a nicer one for breakfast with Luna. I'm a little bummed Jack's pushing the editing back, but I understand still being tired from such a climb. It just makes me a bit nervous. We've promised to send it to the executive director for final approval on Wednesday. But this is life with Jack; he's always got a lot going on. I'm just happy we'll do the final edits together in person. "What time?"

"Let's say six thirty," he says.

"Sounds good," I say, wondering what I should make for us for dinner. Coming in the evening means Jack will likely stay the night, and our relationship will be back on track. Sweet.

"Perfect. Hey, Alpine, I've got to run to teach a class, but I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

I hang up, feeling better, though my shoulders are still tight. We've been working on the ReWild project for a few months. The organization is fascinating. It teaches high school students about sustainable farming practices and the importance of rewilding vacant land to restore wildlife habitats.

I came up with the video idea, designed the storyboards, organized the interviews, created the original illustrations for graphics, and have done all of the editing so far. Jack did all of the video work, including some fantastic drone footage. It's turned out beautifully; the staff and board couldn't be happier.

Our video only needs a few more tweaks to be the proper length. I've found excellent music options that can also work as the soundtrack. I can't wait for it to debut this Saturday night at the big Mid-Summer costume event. It's an excellent clip for both of our portfolios. I like being involved with projects that allow me to stretch my skills.

It might not be wise to call Jack my almost-boyfriend, even if we've agreed to be exclusive. Until the last couple of weeks, we seemed solidly headed into couplehood. We've been hanging out for the past year and a half, but got closer working on the video, so much so, that he told me the day we landed the gig he was my date for the event. He hasn't said anything to contradict that. It's probably me being paranoid. Maybe he was more nervous about hiking Rainier than he let on.

I make a note to remind myself that Jack and I also need to pick out our costumes from Uncle Theo's collection tomorrow. The fundraiser's theme is "The Summer of Love," which is perfect. I still have Theo's collection of vintage apparel in a specially built temperature-controlled room in the barn. These were items he loaned to movies or plays but were never for sale at either of his two vintage stores. They're his favorites, clothes, accessories, furniture, and paintings from the 40's, 50s, 60s, 70s, and 80s (his eras of fun, Theo liked to say).

Attending the fundraiser this weekend, dressed in some of Theo's fabulous vintage clothes, and being with several of his old friends will be a fantastic way to celebrate him.

**

"What are you going to have?" My friend Luna asks, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief as we wait in line and look over the blackboard above the large glass-covered display case. She's wearing her favorite olive cargo pants and sage Hummingbird Floral Farm t-shirt, which I drew the logo for a couple of years ago. Her long, black, curly hair is wrapped in braids around her head, Frida Kahlo style. She's short and curvy and radiates a sort of can-do happy energy that's so appealing. Though she's about a decade older than me we've become close friends since I moved up here.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

We're meeting at the Shared Space Baker & Café, a utilitarian bakery co-op in a nondescript strip man that also hosts the ReWild's printer. The food here is always good, but on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, two middle-aged Armenian sisters create absolute baking magic. You have to come early if you want your pick of their fantastic assortment of delicacies, which is why we're having breakfast before going to the printer.

"I'd like one of each," I say, "But I think I'll keep it to a potato mushroom hand-pie pie and a piece of their amazing blackberry coffee cake to help wash away the taste of the bad dream I had this morning," I tell her, "How about you?"

"Oh no, yikes," Luna commiserates, "I'm going for the apricot tart and a breakfast burrito."

Once we find a place to sit that also allows us to look at the final details of all the print collateral on my computer, we catch up on news, gossip, and what's going on at Luna's floral farm. It's a crazy busy time for her extended family, but I'm happy the business is doing so well.

"Enough about us," Luna says finally, "Tell me about your dream. Did you write it down?"

"No," I shake my head, taking a big sip of my iced tea, "I don't need to. It's a recurring one."

"Wow, really?" Luna says, "Do you know what it means?"

"Usually, it means some kind of personal bad news is coming I need to shore up for," I admit, "I think it's because I found out this morning that I have to prove to the new V.P. of Marketing at the publishing company that I can promote Horse Girls well when it comes out."

"Isn't that their job?" Luna asks, confused.

"You'd hope so, but in today's publishing world, they often expect authors, which in my case means illustrators, to do a lot of promotion."

"I get that it's more work. But you know how to do it," Luna says, sneaking a bite off of the blackberry coffee cake I haven't quite finished, "I mean, you create gorgeous graphics and smart social media calendars for your clients, so this is just about following your own advice, right?"

"Yeah, I just don't like to make myself personally the center of attention the way I'm afraid they're going to want," I grumble, taking a bite of her apricot tart. It has a delicious crust that tastes like shortbread.

"Try this on as an idea; what if you just decide to test it out Saturday at the event dressed up in something funky from Theo's collection? See if it brings out your inner ham?"

**

My phone rings into my blue tooth as I ponder Luna's advice on the drive home. It's Mom. I think about letting it go to voice mail. She's been bugging me about selling the house and moving back to L.A. I'm not in the mood to defend my choice to live here, but on the other hand, she'll have great ideas for what kind of costumes I should search for.

At sixty, she's too young to have participated in the summer of love, but she's passionate about vintage clothes like Theo was. She worked at his Long Beach boutique all through High School and college.

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"You'll never guess who I have here with me," she says brightly. I'm relieved she sounds upbeat. Lately, that hasn't been the case. My Dad, sister, and I have been worried she's going to spiral into one of her long, tricky depressions.

"Who?" I ask, playing along.

"Hey stranger," says a gravely woman's voice, a voice almost wrecked by cigarettes. Crap. The dread in my shoulders blossoms in my stomach.

"Hey Pamela, what are you and Mom up to?" I ask my horrible old boss. No wonder I had such a memorable tsunami dream. I do my best to keep my voice even. I was hoping I'd never have to this woman ever again.

"Oh, come on, Shelby, surely you're faster than that?" Pamela asks, "Or are you getting dull living up North in that soggy forest?"

I tell myself not to take it personally. This is Pamela's MO. She loves to put people on edge.

"Is it already time for another One More Midnight with You anniversary?" I ask, trying to sound cheerful but thinking that five years have passed too quickly.

"Yes!" Mom exclaims, "The big forty, can you believe it?"

"No," I admit honestly, "wow."

I'm referring to the music video Mom starred in when she was in fashion school. It was directed by her then-boyfriend Franklin Haus (who's gay, but that's another story). Pamela was at Long Beach State University with him, majoring in communications. According to her, Franklin charmed her into handling the video's P.R. for free, telling her it would launch her career. It did, and they've all stayed friends, sort of. These days, Franklin seems to be available only to Mom during these video anniversaries.

The video is something special. Franklin shot it in black and white film rather than video as a class project. It's one of those classics that keeps gaining in popularity. It was created for a popular local rockabilly band, Picture This, also from Long Beach. It was a group my mom and Franklin knew well; they all went to High School together. Interestingly, this particular song was a slow ballad and their one top-forty hit.

"We're having the most marvelous brainstorming brunch here in Malibu. I'm enjoying being back in civilization," Mom says breezily and then adds guiltily, "Not that Ventura isn't charming, but I'm ready to give our renters notice and move back home.

Mom and Dad have been living in Ventura since Covid hit to help take care of my nephew Nils. My sister Syd has been working full-time at her ebike marketing job and helping Bill save his family's bike shop.

"Amen," says Pamela, "we've got serious work to do if we want to take advantage of this special anniversary. Thank God I've finally convinced your mother to become the social media influencer she was born to be."