There had been times in Brynne’s life when her mother’s persistence, however well-intentioned, would have gotten on her last nerve, but tonight was different. She wanted to be taken care of, told what to do, if only until she’d regained her composure.

Eli would recover, but none of them had known that until he’d been out of surgery for hours, and moved from the ICU recovery room to the bed he was, hopefully, resting in now. Before Marisol’s first update, delivered at 10:42 p.m., his condition had been classified as critical; Eli had, in truth, come very close to dying.

So Brynne replied with a meek “Okay,” and went off to take a quick shower. She emerged from her room nearly half an hour later, clad in her warmest—and silliest—pair of pajamas, bright yellow, fluffy ones that made her look—and feel—like Big Bird.

Miranda had given them to her at Christmas, as a joke.

They were warm, though, and they were soft, and because they reminded her of Miranda, a dear friend, they felt like a hug.

That night, Brynne needed all the hugs she could get.

She broke down and cried when her dad pulled back a chair for her and her mom set a plate of steaming waffles, swimming in butter and syrup, at her place. There were eggs, too, and four crisp slices of bacon.

Everything exactly the way Brynne liked it.

“I feel like such a baby,” she wept.

Her dad handed her a clean, folded handkerchief, plucked from his shirt pocket. Who but Mike Bailey still carried a handkerchief, and who but Alice Bailey still pressed them after every washing.

“Eat,” Alice said, helping herself to coffee and sitting down at the table.

Mike sat down, too. “We had to dig around downstairs for the waffle iron,” he said, probably trying to distract Brynne from her teary mood. “You ought to get one for the apartment.”

“I’ll put that on my to-do list, Dad,” Brynne said, after drying her eyes and dabbing at her nose. “number seventy-two, right after nominating myself for an alien abduction.”

Mike laughed. “That’s my girl,” he said.

Alice, who was sipping coffee, looked very serious all of a sudden. “Why didn’t you tell us you were dating Eli Garrett?” she asked.

Brynne noticed, for the first time, that neither of her parents had plates in front of them. “Aren’t you two eating?”

“We ate earlier while we were waiting to hear back from you,” Alice said.

“Right,” Brynne replied, resigned.

The waffles were heavenly.

“Weren’t you going to tell us about Eli?” Alice persisted. She was an old pro; it took more than deflection to throw her off the trail.

“Of course I was going to tell you,” Brynne answered, between bites. “When I was sure there was something to tell.”

“Isn’t there?” Alice asked.

“I’m in love with him,” Brynne admitted, albeit cautiously.