“Well, I think that’s a great plan.” She planted a kiss on my forehead, still holding me close.

“I really, really like him, Mom,” I said. I could feel the heavy weight of longing for him in my bones. It hadn’t left me. Even though our relationship had ended, my feelings hadn’t.

“I know, honey,” she whispered gently in my ear. “I know. I know.”

*  *  *

Later that night, as I washed dishes, I heard a muffled conversation coming from the living room. Then Jim called, “Franny-Bananny!” I shuffled in, with the rubber dish gloves still on, plopping down in his raggedy old armchair.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Can you go grab the recycling bin off the porch and put it out front?” he asked.

“Sure thing,” I said, hopping back up. I walked through the kitchen, tossing my gloves in the sink, and opened the door, stepping out into the sunporch they’d added on after I left for college. There, on my mom’s wicker couch, sat Lola and Cleo.

“Oh my god!” I screamed as they rushed toward me, looping me into their arms for a hug. “Am I hallucinating?”

“You wish,” Lola said, laughing into my hair. “But we are very real.”

“How did you get here?” I asked, pulling back to marvel at them.

“It’s bizarre,” said Cleo, sliding out of her leather jacket with a smile, “but there are these things called trains.”

I snorted. “Oh my god, how is it possible that you’ve gotten snarkier.”

“We have some important things to tell you,” said Lola. “And, honestly, we’re both sick of texting you. We missed your face.”

“Okay.” I sat down on the love seat that was positioned across from the couch. I was so excited to see them that I couldn’t stop my body from bouncing up and down ever so slightly. “What is it?”

“You first,” Cleo said to Lola, whose face broke out into a wide grin. Cleo clutched her hands in front of her face, giddy.

“Cleo already knows,” she said.

“What’s going on?” I asked, nervous. Was she somehow pregnant? I glanced at the Van Halen T-shirt she was wearing and tried to see if there was any sort of outline of a bump.

She held out her left hand, which had been tucked in her lap, and waved it at me. Just below a dark-blue manicure sat a gold ring with a giant black diamond at the center, flanked by smaller, white diamonds.

“Holy shit,” I said, trying to process what I was seeing.

“I’m engaged!” she squealed, in an excited octave her voice rarely hit.

“To”—I was still trying to wrap my head around it—“Perrine?”

She nodded, beaming. “I proposed.”

“Oh my god, Lola!” I stood up and moved toward her, and she rose to meet me for a hug. “I am so happy for you.”