“That’s not a thing,” Stella said.
“It’s absolutely a thing. I looked it up.”
“Oh!” Meg sat up straight. “Remember the year Tyler insisted we call him Tyler the Great?”
Anna groaned. “An entire year.”
“I was going through a phase,” Tyler said, sinking lower in his chair.
“You made us say the whole thing. Every time.” Meg turned to Fiona. “If you just said ‘Tyler,’ he wouldn’t answer. You had to say ‘Tyler the Great’ or he’d pretend you didn’t exist.”
“He was eleven,” Margo said. “I thought it would last a week. It lasted until the following Thanksgiving.”
“Hold on.” Fiona’s face was changing. “Tyler the Great. Tyler... TG.” She stared at him. “Your email. Tyler dot TG. I’ve been trying to figure that out for seventeen years.”
The table exploded.
“Oh my God,” Stella said, hands over her face. “Dad. Your professional email address is based on a nickname you gave yourself at eleven?”
“It’s just initials?—”
“It is not just initials!” Fiona was laughing so hard she had to hold onto the table. “I asked you once andyou said TG stood for ‘Tyler, General.’ As in general photography. I believed you!”
“I also couldn’t figure it out,” Luke admitted. “I assumed it was a middle name.”
“His middle name is James,” Meg said.
“Which makes it worse,” Luke said.
Tyler looked at the lights strung in the trees. “Can we go back to talking about the fire extinguisher?”
“Absolutely not,” Stella said. “Tyler the Great. I’m never letting this go. Ever.”
“Welcome to the family,” Bernie said to Fiona. “Now you know everything.”
Fiona was laughing—really laughing, the kind that made her shoulders shake and her eyes stream.
Margo watched Fiona look around the table at these ridiculous, wonderful people and saw something shift in her face. Not resignation. Recognition.
This was the family her daughter had chosen. Loud, silly, prone to setting off fire alarms, and absolutely, completely real.
Tyler stood. For a moment, Margo thought he might say something, but instead he just walked around the table and hugged Fiona. Awkward, brief, but real.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Take care of her.”
“I will.”
He sat back down. Fiona wiped her eyes, laughing at herself.
“Good grief. I said I wouldn’t cry.” She raised her glass. “To family. The kind you’re born into, and the kind that surprises you by making room.”
“To family,” the table echoed.
Stella stood and hugged her mother—long, the kind of hug that said everything words couldn’t. When they separated, both of them were crying, and neither seemed to care.
“Okay.” Fiona sat down, fanning her face. “Enough of that. Someone change the subject before I completely fall apart.”
