The door opens, revealing a party in full swing. My parents went all out in honor of this milestone. A half century together. I can’t imagine. Even if I found someone now and got married within a year, I’d have to live well past eighty to make it to fifty years.

I spot them on the dance floor, looking as spry and starry eyed as I imagine they were on the day they got married, fresh out of college. Mom sees me first—her face lights up, and she tugs Dad off the dance floor and over to where we’re standing.

“Son,” my dad says, giving me an aggressive pat on the back as my mom launches herself into my arms. “It is so good to see you, RJ—”

I squeeze her tighter, hoping to muffle the sound of my old nickname. Josie cannot hear her call me that. Not until I figure out how I’m going to handle this.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, releasing her and glancing at Josie. She doesn’t seem to have heard.

Mom beams at her. “Now introduce me to your stunning date!”

“Mom, Dad, this is Josie.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Lawson,” Josie says.

“Josie!” Mom exclaims, ignoring her outstretched hand and wrapping her in a hug. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Please, call me Mom.”

Josie flinches and gives me a wide-eyed look over my mom’s shoulder.

“Mother,” I warn. “Let’s take it easy on Josie, okay? We don’t want to scare her away, now, do we?”

“No, we do not,” my mom says, shaking her head for emphasis.

“Merrie! Jim!” someone calls.

“Go, have fun,” I say, and they head back to the dance floor, where I spot my brothers with their wives and kids—all looking like they’re having a blast.

The next two hours pass in a blur of hors d’oeuvres, champagne and cake, teasing from my brothers and sisters-in-law, hugs from my nieces and nephews, and versions of the same conversation with dozens of my parents’ old friends.

Ryan, good to see you! You are so tall!

You aren’t still working at that bookstore, are you?

Do people even read books anymore?

Looks like you finally found your own love story! Your poor mom must be so relieved.

You really are tall, aren’t you? Shame you never played basketball.

At half past ten, I scan the room for Josie—we got separated when my sisters-in-law dragged her off to dance to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”

“She fits right in,” Robert says, nudging me, and he’s right: Josie has been wonderful with my family. At one point, she even had my two-year-old niece in her arms. Now I spot her on the dance floor with Uncle Frank, my dad’s pervy old college roommate. And his hands are drifting dangerously close to Josie’s butt.