“Wow, so I didn’t think we would do this now, but here we are.” I take a deep breath. “Family, this is Isabelle McKenna. My little sister. Izzie, this is… everyone.”

They all wave at her in unison.

“Creepy,” she breathes.

“Do you like meatballs that aren’t actually meat?” Alice asks her. “Because I made more than I probably should have.”

And for some reason, that piques her curiosity. “Why are they still called meatballs, then?”

Alice frowns at the Crock-Pot. “I honestly have no idea. I mean, they’re mushrooms made to look like meatballs, so I guess they’re mushroom balls?”

“Are you all vegetarians?” Izzie asks, sounding horrified.

“Oh god no,” Creed says. “That’s just the Kid. But Mom has got it in her head that whenever he eats with us, we all have to eat the same crap—I mean, the delicious food my mother prepares.”

“Nice save,” Jerry whispers.

“I’m not a vegetable-arian,” JJ says. “That’s stupid. I like bacon.”

Creed high-fives his son before he grimaces.

“Sneeze ghost,” JJ says gleefully.

“Why has no one poured me a glass of wine?” I ask dangerously.

At least three people scramble to make it happen.

“It’s a lot,” Otter says, squatting down in front of Izzie. “I know. Especially after everything that’s happened. And I promise you we’ll figure everything out. Do you want to go back upstairs? If you do, that’s okay. One of us can go with you. Or you can stay down here with us. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. And I promise I won’t leave your side.”

She doesn’t look away from Otter, like she’s sussing him out, gauging his sincerity. “I know I—” She lowers her voice before she continues. “—cried earlier, but I am already thirteen now. I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure,” Otter says easily. “And I know you do a good job of it. But whatever you want, you just let me know, and I’ll make it happen, okay?”

She nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Cool,” he says. “Do you want—”

“Thirteen, huh?” Megan says, coming to stand next to Otter. “You’re very pretty.”

“I just woke up from a nap,” she mutters, looking down, tugging on the shirt like she’s suddenly self-conscious.

“Your braids are a little off,” Megan says. “Tell you what. If it’s okay with everyone, I can redo them for you. And maybe you can help me do mine, if that’s all right with you. I’m moving a little slowly these days.”

Izzie cocks her head at Megan. “How far along are you?”

“Twenty-two weeks.”

“Oh, Bear, I am going to murder you,” Anna growls from behind us.