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I swallow fast, so my taste buds won’t have to suffer long. “So good!”

She smiles and feeds a forkful to Steve, who nods, chewing.

“Mmm, babe. Best you’ve made.”

Once she leaves the room, a terrible accident happens in which Little Stevie jumps onto the counter and knocks the rest to the floor. We press his paws into the mess to back up the story, and since he gets to lick frosting from between his toes, he takes no issue in being framed.

The three of us wander around, viewing street murals for the day, and spend the night watching their friend’s band perform at a dingy bar only using oil lamps for lighting. I keep waiting for the dust particles in the air to combust, but they never do.

They give me a camera. A real one with film and a real weight to it.

“Since you’ve shed the engineered persona created with our culture’s obsession with social media,” Steve says. He plants a kiss on the top of my head on his way to feed Little Stevie.

I bite back a smile. He has a secret Instagram where he posts cat pictures on a semi-regular basis, but I don’t mention it.

And then I’m walking through the gate in Phoenix again a few days later. No bubbly-blonde ambush or annoyed Liam waiting for me but a familiar smile and outstretched arm.

“There’s my girl.” Patrick tucks me in for a hug. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

I smile against the pocket of his shirt, always soothed by his embrace. Patrick’s gruff, but underneath the beard and naturally furrowed brow lie three soft spots, one reserved for me. He keeps an arm around me. We stroll through the terminal, indistinguishable from the families reuniting for the holidays.

The house smells of sugar cookies, even after I pass the plug-in in the foyer. Keaton and Joyce flip through magazines at the counter. Both lean on an elbow, their chins resting on a hand. The rest of the flat surfaces are covered in containers filled with decorated desserts. Tomorrow night, we’ll have the annual Reynolds’ Christmas—this year at Aunt Peg’s—and no one shows up empty-handed.

Today, though, we’re celebrating my birthday and nothing else. A cake sits on the table alongside brand-new candles ready to be lit. It took until I turned twenty to convince them to stop throwing a full party. They seemed set on making up for all the ones I’d missed before I moved in with them. The simple fact that they cared meant more than the streamers and balloons.

We’ve switched to a family dinner the past few years. The four of us at first, and then Liam joined the fold. But as we settle into our chairs at the restaurant, he’s still a no-show.

“Where’s the man?” I ask.

Keaton frowns across from me. “Didn’t you see my texts from earlier?”

I dig my phone out of my purse. Dead.Shit.And I was doing so well.

I hold up the black screen, and she shakes her head at my inability to adult.

“They rushed his grandfather to the hospital this afternoon. Heart attack.”

“What? Is he okay?”

“They’re performing more tests, but he should be able to come home in the next day or two.”

Under the table, I continue pressing the button on my phone to turn it on. Nothing happens, of course, but I try anyway. If Dane texted about his grandfather, I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him again. Or worse, that I don’t care. We haven’t seen each other since my last visit, and he’s been working so much that he texts at random intervals. He spares me the details, unlike a blabbering Liam would, but the end of year seems busy for them. Usually, the messages consist of pictures, him dramatically sprawled on his desk or the clock with aFUCKIN’ REALLY?!

“Liam’s at the hospital with the rest of his family then?”

Going vague with an overall Masters inquiry is the only way to ask about Dane since after she shoved me in a bridal gown, I decided to put off telling her about him. Again.God, I’m a shit friend.

“He and his dad and Dane are still there,” she says, checking her phone for any updates. “Everyone else has either gone home or back to the office to finish up before the holidays.”

“Let them know I’m thinking about them?”

She gives a small smile, and I force one in return.

Halfway through dinner, Liam sends her a text, asking how my flight was. He’s never shown an interest before, so I don’t question who really wants to know.

Back at the house, Iplug my phone in to charge while Keaton and Joyce set candles on my cake. They sing, and I open gifts. A planner from Patrick, a set of canvas shopping bags from Joyce, and a classy mug from Keaton that says,It’s vodka, and no, you can’t have any.

She leaves when Liam calls to tell her he’s heading to the apartment. I’m staying at the house to help Joyce with last-minute wrapping in the morning, so I give her a squeeze just outside the front door.

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