"I want to see the fireworks," she whispered. "I need you to show them to me."

"I will." I tried to find her hand. I reached for her face, but there was nothing but the electricity of her presence.

"I need to feel, Callum Andrew." I felt a million feather-light kisses on my face. "I need to feel."

Fireworks ignited like bombs. Red. Blue. Silver. Boom. We kissed on the beach. Boom. Blue. Red. Under water. Boom. Goosebumps under my fingertips as I slid them along her ribs. Boom.

"Callum."

"Everly.

"Cay-lum!"

Every part of me vibrated as I fought to stay locked inside of the dream. I fought to see her blonde hair shining in the sunlight, the warmth, the memory.

"Callum. Oh, Callum!" Tatum's hand was on my sweaty head, soothing. "It's okay," she said. "It's only a nightmare. Wake up, please."

"It was a dream," I panted, blinking my eyes.

"Yes. A nightmare. I was trying so hard to wake you up before Andy-"

I snapped. "No! It was a dream! Why did you wake me up? I was dreaming of her . . ." My insides twisted.

"You were screaming," she said nervously. "I didn't want Andy to hear you."

Tatum as she took a seat on the edge of my bed. "I also brought you coffee."

I took the mug from her and sat up straight. My hair was drenched with sweat. "Why are you here?"

"It's the fourth," she said cheerfully. "We always spent it together. Good, bad, ugly. Remember?"

"I'm not really . . . I'm not in the mood to celebrate, Tot."

"How do you know?" She tore the covers away suddenly, almost making me spill my coffee. "You haven't even gotten up yet."

"I'm sure it won't be much different than yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that. You sense a trend?"

"Yes it will. I'm here, so it will be incredibly different. We'll have fried chicken, burgers, beers-that delicious ass potato salad Marta makes. You're gonna get up out of this goddamn bed and watch fireworks with your kid, Cal. You're gonna have a big ass smile on your face while you do it, because that's who you are." She pushed curtains open, blinding me with the early morning sun. "Callum . . . I need you to get up. Andy needs you to get up."

I slammed my mug down. "I'm up every damn day, Tatum! I make him breakfast, take him to school, pick him up. I haven't worked in almost a year just so I can be there for him every moment he needs me. I'm doing my fuckin' job so don't tell me what I need to do to be a good father. I'm right fuckin' here!"

My bedroom door creaked open. "Pop?"

I exhaled my frustration. "Come here, Andy."

He sat next to me with his baseball mitt and hat on. "I was thinking . . . about mom."

I sipped coffee to buy time, to mask the burn. "What about her."

"She liked Sunday dinner. Today is the Fourth, but it's also Sunday." We shared a silence. "Does . . . does that make you sad, Pop?"

I told the truth, "No, I loved that about your mom. She was adorable making her biscuits."

"Can we do that today? Have Sunday dinner like we used to when mom was here?"

"Would it make you happy?" I asked.

He lit up, nodding. I capped his head and smiled back. "Then we should do that."

Tatum extended her hand to him. "Why don't we get started while your dad gets dressed, kiddo?"

He shook her words off like a case of fleas. "Zia Tati, I'm not a kid. Not even close."

"Hey," I gently warned, "first, don't ever talk to girls like that, it's rude. Second, you are a kid, and if you want to really do something for your mom, stay a kid. There's no point in growing up so fast, no reason at all, Peter Pan."