Dad just nods. “About time one of you hooked someone smart.”
I swallow around the tightness in my throat. They don’t even know her yet, and they’re already proud.
“She’s not just smart,” I say. “She’s brilliant. Kind. Weird in the best way.”
I don’t realize I’ve gone soft until Jules starts tearing up. “You really like her.”
“Yeah,” I say, without thinking. “It’s easy. Like breathing.”
The screen goes quiet.
Then Mom smiles, her pride shining through. “Well. That’s our boy.”
“She sounds amazing,” Ellie says, blinking fast. “I hope we get to meet her soon.”
“You will,” I promise. “We’re taking things slow, but it’s real. She makes me better, somehow. Not just on the ice.”
Ellie fake-wipes a tear. “He has emotions now. Alert the press.”
“Do you have a picture?” Jules leans forward. “Of you two together, I mean.”
I pull up the photo we took last week on the patio—Minerva in my hoodie, Kepler poking his head out of the pocket. I’m looking at her instead of the camera, and I don’t even care. I shoot it off in a text to Jules.
“Ohhhh, my God.” Jules claps her hands, staring at her phone. “She’s adorable. She’s so… glowy.”
Ellie nods from over her shoulder. “She has a good aura. I approve.”
Dad peers at the screen. “She’s the one who made that cinnamon sourdough you raved about last time we talked?”
“Yeah. She bakes when she’s anxious. I benefit.”
“She can stay,” he says.
“Do you think she’d be comfortable coming here for Christmas?” Mom asks gently. “No pressure, of course. I just… I’d love to feed her. And fuss over her a little.”
I smile. Or maybe I just selfishly want her woven into every part of my world. “I think she’d like that. Just don’t scare her. She’s never had family who gave a damn.”
That makes them all quiet.
Ellie breaks it first. “We’ll tone it down. A little.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jules mutters. “I already have a ferret-sized Santa hat picked out.”
Kepler stirs, chirping like he knows he’s being talked about.
“We should go,” Mom says, voice thick. “Let you rest. But thanks for calling. Really.”
“I love you guys,” I say, throat tight.
“We love you more,” they say in chorus.
The call ends, and the living room goes quiet. Lonely for half a breath. Then warm again, because of the girl whose shadow fills this place even when she’s gone.
Kepler sighs as I stroke one finger down his spine, gentle, careful not to disturb him. My hand’s still wrapped around the phone, screen gone dark. But I can still see their faces in my head—Mom, Dad, my ridiculous sisters. All of them smiling like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to hear from me.
It hits me harder than I expect.
I didn’t realize how much I missed them.
