The shutter went click. I checked the digital screen to see how the first one came out. I’d caught all three of them mid-laugh.

My heart swelled at the image, stirring up my jumbled thoughts from earlier. It was like my brain was now refusing to acknowledge the boundary I’d carefully constructed after I moved away.

Alexis and Eric were definitely a story—two people who fell in love in college while bonding over their commitment to public service. Teachers who fought for their students, who listened to their needs and met them without judgment. They marched and protested, did park cleanups, and led voter registrations. And every year, on June first, my sister had rainbow-colored cupcakes delivered to whatever random address I was staying in.

For a person who valued the joy of community so much, I sure was missing a lot of it here.

“How does it look?” Alexis asked.

I grinned through the tight grip on my throat and passed her the camera. She and Eric lit up when they saw it. Juliet was less impressed and eagerly went back to her coloring.

“Pop-Pop says you take pictures as your job,” she said, her little face screwed up in concentration.

“That’s a pretty good explanation,” I said. “I take lots of pictures, but mostly I take videos and make little movies for people to watch.”

That got her attention. “Can I make a movie?”

I slid out my phone and turned the video function on. “Anyone can make a movie. I bet your dad can help you. Go for it.”

The expression she wore waving my phone around had my sister and me exchanging a look of surprised happiness.

“You might have a little director on your hands,” I mock-whispered.

“I’d be okay with that,” she replied.

Juliet pointed the phone at me. I waved and blew a kiss for the camera. “If you want, you can ask me questions. That’s how I start making my movies.”

“Okay,” she said, very seriously. “Do you miss me when you leave?”

“Every single day.”

“Can I still call you when you leave again like we did before?” she asked.

“You can call me anytime,” I said. “I promise.”

She was zooming all over. I couldn’t contain my smile, watching her work, the astonishment radiating from her movements. It was an astonishment that I recognized.

“Do you have friends?” she asked.

I smothered a giggle. “I do have friends. Your mom and dad are my best friends.”

“But when you go away and leave us, I mean?”

“Wow,” Eric said. “No more softball questions for you, Aunty Tabby.”

I snorted and said, “Of course I have friends. I meet people everywhere I go.”

Which was objectively true. The contact list on my phone was filled with friends I’d made during my travels and random temporary roommates and people I’d dated. But I hadn’t spoken to any of them since coming home.