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Noemi shyly holds out her left hand to show off a modest engagement ring, and Henry and I ooh and ahh and offer our congratulations.

“When’s the big day?” Henry asks.

Noemi makes a face. “We haven’t set it. My parents again. It’s too soon! What’s the rush!” She rolls her eyes. “There’s no rush, but there’s no reason to postpone it either. We’ve been together for four years, and Caleb got a really good job, straight out of college.”

“It’s tech,” he says. “Not hard to get a good job. But yeah, we’d like to make it official, but waiting is fine … as long as her parents don’t realize we’re living together.”

I choke out a laugh. “They haven’t figured that out?”

“My parents own the house where we live,” Noemi says. “They’re fine with Caleb still living there … but they don’t realize we’re sharing a room.”

“I keep all my stuff in another closet.”

“Because my mom is a total snoop.”

They exchange a look, and again, my heart swells for them. This is what I dreamed of when I was little. A life like my parents’, where you meet someone in college and you both graduate to good jobs and to each other. I have a sister and brother who followed in our parents’ footsteps, happily employed and happily married, with two kids and fulfilling careers, a broad social circle, and all the things the world said would come easily and naturally.

Not to all of us.

That’s fine if it’s not something you wanted, but it was for me. I can wonder what went wrong, but I know the answer. Everyone knows the answer, even if we don’t talk about it.

I snap back to the conversation, which is not about me and I don’t want it to be. The kids—yes, they’re kids to me—talk about their hopes and dreams. Saving up for a house. Starting a family … with a dog, which they already have chosen and are picking up this weekend.

“It’s a beagle,” Caleb says. “That’s what I grew up with, and my aunt breeds them. The pups are finally old enough to leave their mom.”

“I’ve never had a pet,” Noemi says. “So I’m really excited for one.”

“One,” Caleb says, passing her a smile. “That’s the key word. We are getting one.”

She sighs and looks at us. “They’ve all been spoken for except the runt. He has a hind leg that’s a bit shorter, and so no one wants him.”

“Except Noemi, who is trying to convince me—despite no experience with pets—that having two is as easy as having one.”

“Just wait until she’s saying the same about babies,” Henry says.

“No, that’s him,” Noemi says, hooking a thumb at Caleb. “He wants four. I’m two max.”

“Two’s a good number,” Henry says, and the conversation turns to his girls.

As they talk, I relax. We’re safe here. We just need to get through the night. Only a few more hours, and then it won’t matter what’s in the forest. We’ll get cell service and get out of here.

The conversation continues, undulating lazily from topic to topic. I mostly participate with nods and smiles and questions. What can I add to a discussion about good jobs, happy relationships, and awesome kids? I have nothing.

I have nothing.

Damn it, no. None of that. I have plenty. An amazing family. Excellent health. Good prospects. I’m just in a transition stage.

They talked about pets. Maybe I’ll get one. I love cats and dogs.

Except, when I think of it, a knot forms in the pit of my stomach and all my doubts come skittering from the shadows. Would I be a good pet mom? How could I be, when I can’t offer the kind of stability an animal needs?

I need to reconnect with my therapist. That’s what this strange and horrible night has taught me. What’s that expression? The long, dark night of the soul?

I thought I was doing better. I had a good job. I was dating again. I had new friends I could go for lunch with. Two months ago, I’d have been ready for a pet, but then it unraveled, like it always does, and I need to acknowledge that I’m not fixed.

You might never get better, Ellie.

That was one of the last things my therapist told me, right before I decided I didn’t need her anymore because if I can’t “get better” what’s the point?