“You okay?” Darian asks, appearing at my elbow with another beer.
“Yeah,” I say, and mean it.
The party winds down slowly, the way good parties do. Nobody wants to be the first to leave, to break whatever spell has been cast by food and music and family. Lily’s fully asleep now, drooling slightly on my shoulder. The music has shifted to quieter songs, the ones you play when the night’s getting deep and everyone’s a little drunk on contentment.
“We should go,” I finally say when I realize it’s past ten. “Lily’s got swimming lessons in the morning.”
“On Sunday?” Zara asks.
“It was the only slot available.”
“Next time just stay over,” Helen says, like it’s already decided. “We’ve got plenty of room here. Zara and Levi have that whole guest wing.”
“Mom, you can’t just volunteer their house,” Darian says.
“I’m not volunteering anything. I’m stating facts. They have room.”
“She’s right,” Zara says. “You guys should stay next time. The girls would love it.”
Next time. The assumption that there will be a next time, many next times, settles over me. Helen’s already planning future visits. Paul’s already treating Lily like another grandkid. They’ve accepted us without question, just because Darian loves us.
“We really should go,” I say again, though part of me doesn’t want to leave.
Helen walks us to the car, her arm linked through mine while Paul carries a sleeping Lily.
“I’m so glad we finally got to meet you,” she says quietly. “I haven’t seen him this happy in years.”
“I haven’t been this happy in years,” I admit.
She squeezes my arm. “Good. That’s how it should be. Both people, equally happy. That’s how you know it’s right.”
Paul settles Lily carefully in the backseat, tucking her seatbelt around her with practiced grandfather movements. When he closes the door, he turns to me.
“Thank you,” he says simply.
“For what?”
“For bringing him back to himself. He was lost for a while there. Now he’s not.”
Before I can respond, he’s heading back to the house, Helen’s hand finding his as they walk.
Zara gives me a quick hug. “Fourth of July,” she says. “Mom’s already planning it. Don’t even think about saying no.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good. She likes you. They both do. That’s huge.”
The drive home happens in that perfect quiet that comes after good days. Lily dozes in the backseat, occasionally mumbling about horses and fireflies. Darian drives with one hand, the other resting on my thigh, his thumb tracing absent patterns through my jeans. The radio plays low, some old country song about roads and home.
“Your mom’s intense,” I say.
“She liked you.”
“How could you tell?”
“She didn’t offer to set you up with her dentist’s son.”
“She does that?”
