“Lily?” another voice says. “What are you staring at—are they making out again? My eyes! God, someone get the spray bottle so we can soak them! It’s like they’re in heat all the time!”

Instead of stepping away from Bear, I curl my arm around his shoulders and pull him to my side before turning around.

Lily and Noah stand in the kitchen entryway, looking scandalized, as only sixteen-year-olds are able to do. They’re bigger now, obviously, and almost spitting images of how Ty and Bear looked at that age. Lily is still bright and brash and sarcastic. She tends to step on people in a rush to get things done, but she’s learning to apologize for it. She’s an amazing young woman who is going to change the world someday.

Noah is still our sweet, sensitive boy with a heart of gold. He tends to be a little nervous at times, and shy. His mouth runs away with him before he has a chance to think of what he actually wants to say, but he’s endearing, even when he fidgets. It’s impossible for him to stand still at any given moment. Even now, his finger is tapping against his leg, foot bouncing just a little.

They’re also staring at us with such judgment that I can’t help but snort at them.

“Old people can get funky too,” Bear says.

They both groan in unison.

“Jesus, Papa,” Lily says. “You are so lame.”

“So lame,” Noah says, because he agrees with whatever Lily says. He didn’t have the easiest time when he was younger. Given that he was small and soft-spoken, it made him an easy target for bullies that thought he’d be a pushover, especially for a few months when they were both in fifth grade. What they didn’t expect was to have to deal with our fiery daughter, who always found a way to protect him, even when their friends and interests led them in separate directions. They drifted a little from each other for a while, but somehow, they always found one another again. They were a team, and no one fucked with Noah Thompson, not when Lily was involved.

Bear, of course, had threatened to destroy anyone who ever dreamed of touching his kids. I remember the day the parents of the instigators had all met in the principal’s office, how they had come in with chips on their shoulders, sure their precious little shits could do no wrong, but had left practically quaking in fear at the sight of my husband. I’d stood behind him, arms across my chest, scowling at each of them in turn, but Bear? Bear had lit into them, listing off each encounter with precision, providing signed documents from kids and teachers who’d witnessed kids picking on Noah for being nothing more than himself.

People didn’t really pick on Noah much after that.