His parents came in a second later carrying dish after dish of sauce and pasta, bread, and salad. “Thank you for acknowledging our son as the world’s cutest baby,” Midge said, a twinkle in her eye as she began dishing up our food.

“The picture is all the proof the world needs,” I said.

“It’s why, when I was boxing, I was always worried some reporter would interview Mom or Midge,” Dean said. “It’s tough to cultivate an image as a ferocious fighter with your baby pictures floating around.”

I twirled pasta around on my fork and admired the looseness of his body language here. That two weeks ago he’d been strung tight, muscles taut, quick to scowl. Today, when Rowan and Dean had laughed through their childhood stories, I didn’t think he noticed the way Alice and Eddie shared a look of relief.

“And now that you don’t have that damn lot to glare to death, you’ll have even less people to try and scare away,” Midge said.

I nudged his calf with my toe. Scaring away had been the opposite of what he’d done to me.

“It’s looking so good already,” Maria said. “Do we need more money?”

I swallowed a bite of pasta and checked the donation page on my phone. “Right now, the amount is over $3,600, and Rowan worked on a budget with Dean to help estimate what’s remaining.”

“If we break $5,000, we’ll take it,” Dean said. “We can hold the rest in savings for maintenance and to buy plants and seeds every year. Tabitha basically got the park fully funded.”

Midge and Maria cheered, but I waved my hand and shook my head. “No way. I take no credit for this one. All I did was put a few videos up about your neighborhood. All the Philly supporters did the rest.”

Maria touched my hand. “It’s your neighborhood too, dear. If we all played a part, then yours was just as important.”

Dean swiped his thumb over my pulse. I swallowed a couple of times. This was my neighborhood. Of course it was. I recognized I was doing the switch, putting one city in the rearview mirror and focusing on the next. Austin, not Philly.

It wasn’t until I’d gotten on that plane to fly to UCLA—with a manipulative mother newly cut off two years earlier—that my lungs were fully able to expand. That I’d taken in full, sweet breaths and known it was going to be okay.

I’d held everything I loved at arm’s length to maintain that momentum, staying one step ahead of guilt and memories. But maybe cutting off my love for this place too was the mistake. Because I’d been home for all of two weeks and I was feeling ready to reclaim it as mine just as it was time to go.