"Yeah, Torres," Shane said. "What's stopping you from hosting another event where we do all the work?"
Everyone laughed. Even Garrett, quiet in the corner, let the edge of his mouth twitch upward.
I watched them. The easy rhythm of it, the banter that flowed like they'd been doing this for years. Because they had. Birthdays and holidays and random Saturdays, showing up for each other without question.
I took a breath. A real one. The kind I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Watson handled the invasion with his usual social enthusiasm.
The moment I let him out of his carrier, he began making the rounds. Shane was first. Watson wove between his legs while Shane tried to maneuver the headboard through the doorway.
"Your cat is trying to kill me."
"He likes you," I said.
Watson abandoned Shane for Garrett next, rubbing against his shins with single-minded determination. Garrett, stoic as ever, reached down and scratched behind his ears without breaking stride.
Watson climbed into Marco's lap the moment the boy sat down. Marco went still, like he'd been handed something precious and breakable.
"Mama, look! The cat likes me!"
"Don't squeeze him."
"I'm not squeezing, I'm hugging."
Watson, for his part, looked extremely pleased with himself. He allowed Marco to pet him with sticky hands, then supervised Zoe's clipboard work from a sunny windowsill, yellow eyes tracking every person who passed.
"He looks like he's plotting murder," Shane observed.
"He's a sweetheart." I lifted a box onto the counter. "He just has resting villain face."
"Takes after someone," Brian said, passing by with another box.
"I heard that, Torres."
"You were meant to."
Heat crept up my neck. I turned away, busying myself with a box that didn't need my attention.
Maria appeared at my elbow with a plate of pastries. "Eat," she said. "You're too thin."
"I'm not?—"
"Eat." She pushed the plate into my hands. End of discussion.
"You didn't have to cook all this."
"I wanted to."
She said it like it was simple. Like showing up with enough food for a small army was just what you did for the people your husband worked with.
I thought about my mother's dinner parties—catered, immaculate, everyone performing their assigned roles.
This was different. No performance. No transaction. Just people showing up because they wanted to.
I didn't know what to do with that.
"Thank you," I managed. "For everything."
