I shake my head vehemently. “I’m a funnel cake purist, sorry, guys. Those artificial preserves can’t even share a plate with my sugar waffle.”

And then bumper cars (I can’t be stopped! I give Q all kinds of collision-induced headaches), and antique cars (always a classic! Autumn leaves us in her antique dust!), and an old Anderson household tradition (even Dad used to play and he swears all the games are rigged): a three-point shooting competition, which (whatever) Q wins handily, a giant purple panda to show for it, which he presents to Autumn.

And I pretend to be jealous.

“Man, don’t be giving my girl presents.”

Autumn squeezes the bear and says, “Finally, a real man.”

And then more rides, more rides, more rides. Like, in between rides, I still feel like we’re riding.

I can’t tell you how many rides we ride.

Only that as we step onto our final coaster for the day—a day that’s now night—my head is super achy but my heart’s needle gauge can’t even measure how full it is. Okay, that was terrible. Did I mention my head’s achy?

This time we’re in my favorite riding spot. The very last car. This ride with three seats in each car, which, if that’s not kismet.

And then we’re climbing a few hundred feet, only to drop fast enough to leave our stomachs behind—which, life, right?—the high winds making cartoons of our faces, gnats spattering like bug grenades, diving for our eyes and mouths, but we keep both open anyway, because we have to scream and howl and make fun of each other—are you over there closing your eyes?! Look at you scared!—because we don’t want to miss a thing.

We’re at the top of the final hill when the fireworks start.

Splatters of purple and yellow and blue falling with us.

You couldn’t script a better ending.

Before we make it to the exit, Q’s phone buzzes and I know it’s his mom, except his face lights up in a way I’m not sure I’ve seen; he tilts the screen toward Autumn, who squeals with delight. Starts singing, “Q’s got a girl, Q’s got a girl.”

“Hey, what about me,” I protest. “I wanna see!”

And then he flashes it to me too.

A text.

Brianna: hey you guys leave yet??

“Dayuuuum, bro,” I say, pushing him playfully. “These the girls from line? You gave them your number?”

Q shrugs like even he’s surprised, but he can’t keep his face from smiling. “Okay, don’t laugh, but I’ve been really working on this. Trying to put myself out there more, you know. But to be real, I didn’t expect it to work like this.”

“Why would I laugh and why wouldn’t it work?”