I can’t imagine having siblings or being a part of any large household. The idea of someone always being there seems so cozy and comforting, and makes me sad. I spent so much time alone growing up. Maybe that’s why I said yes to Ashe even though I never fully believed in us.

I realize that now, though maybe I could’ve lived blissfully unaware of my doubts for ages. Moving along in our marriage until something snapped—a promise broken or an expectation unfulfilled. Then, that undercurrent of unease would be clear in wretched hindsight, the dirty frenemy.

Everyone abandons me eventually.

Now, that loneliness returns and digs in, especially when Grady pulls in beside other cars, muttering a breathy, “What’d I forget, Marigold?”

“Game night,” she says.

A full gasp erupts from me. Game night? They have a game night?

He turns to me apologetically. “Sorry. We don’t have to stay.”

“No, I want to. If it’s alright,” I pipe up quickly, “I mean, I don’t want to intrude.”

He groans. “It’s no intrusion. I just don’t want you to feel bombarded by them. They’re a lot.”

Nervous but desperate to see this family event, I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. “I can handle it.”

Grady’s light touch finds the small of my back when he ushers me inside, and a heat joins my unease. I really shouldn’t enjoy his touches this much.

Marigold beelines through the chaotic room and disappears. It’s not a living room but a great room with beamed arched ceilings, an open concept into the kitchen and dining room, and a blazing fireplace against the far wall. Card tables and chairs have been set up around the room, all boasting games. Scrabble at one, Ticket to Ride at another, Sushi Go around the coffee table, and Farm-Opoly at the dining room table. The room bursts with noise and laughter while the games are played simultaneously.

All of which stops when eyes land on me. Silence takes over as they glance from me to each other and back again like they’re stunned and unsure what to do with me. Wild déjà vu takes over—the production of The Sound of Music in high school when I was the set designer, perfectly content to stay backstage and let my backdrops and props take the starring role until she showed up with other ideas. That red-faced humiliation returns now, making my skin hot and my fingers tremble.

“This tells you how often I show up with a woman,” he whispers before his hand gently urges me forward. “Guys, you know Marina?”

“Marnie, welcome!” Carmela rises from the Ticket to Ride table. She maneuvers her way to me as the others break their silences with greetings and how-are-you’s. Uncharacteristically uneasy, my answers are quick and automatic. Fine, thank you. Nice to see you. How are you?