In the blink of an eye, I’m swarmed with memories of my parents together. My dad was playful and my mom was strong. He joked and she laughed. He danced with her when she turned the radio on in the kitchen. She doesn’t turn the radio on anymore.

“How do you do it?” I find myself asking. “How do you recover from losing someone you love so much?”

“You don’t,” she answers. “I haven’t. I just have to believe that I’ll see him again someday, and then all the waiting will be worth it.”

I take a breath at her words. “That’s a really beautiful thought.”

“Use it in your next book,” she says with a grin.

It gets quiet after that but not uncomfortable. I’m about to offer her a cup of tea when the sound of Beyoncé’s “Crazy In Love” starts blasting through the room, leading us both to exchange matching expressions of confusion.

“Is that your phone?” I ask in disbelief, while also being incredibly impressed.

“What? No, it’s not my phone.”

I get up and follow the sound of the music until I find my cell phone lit up on the kitchen counter. The word Beefcake flashes across the caller ID screen.

Oh, that bastard.

I’m feeling a mixture of rage and amusement as I answer the phone. “Hello,” I say sweetly.

“Hey, you like my ringtone?” Ryan’s voice is light and easy. He’s going to catch an elbow to the chin when he gets back.

“I’m sorry but I’m busy right now.” I smile at my mom as she eyes me suspiciously.

“Duke says hi. He also says that he’s tired of walking.”

“Well, tell him it’s good for him. I have to go now. You have a great day.”

“Wait, wait, I have to ask you one more question. It’s really important.”

“What?”

“Are you still wearing my sweatshirt?”

“Okay, bye!”

I hang up and focus back on my mom, unable to stifle my smile as I put the phone down on the counter. I try to act neutral as I return to the reading chair.

“Who was that?” she asks.

“That was the census bureau.”

I can tell she doesn’t believe me but she still sits back with a shrug. “So have you started packing yet?”

“Packing?”

“Kara Marie Sullivan,” she says with clear disapproval, “do you mean to tell me that you are leaving for Italy in a matter of days and you still haven’t even started packing yet?”

Packing. Italy. Crap. Is it horrible that I forgot about that?

“Okay, so I haven’t packed yet, but it won’t take me that long.”

“Packing for a weekend getaway wouldn’t take long. You’re leaving for six months. Six months, Kara. How couldn’t you have started yet?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I guess I got distracted.”