“I left you a present,” Frankie said.

“A present? I told you, I don’t need anything.” Ezra flopped on the bed.

“I know,” she said. “But that’s the fun of it. Giving you something that you want, not that you need.”

Ezra grunted because his face was smashed against a pillow, and his exhaustion was rising like a tide.

“No, no,” Frankie cried. “Sit up! Wake up! I made something for you.”

At this, Ezra cracked his eyes open. “You made something for me?”

“Stand up. Go to the kitchen.”

Ezra lumbered forward and did as he was told.

“Ok,” she said, and Ezra thought she sounded nervous, which was actually adorable. “Move the Froot Loops. There’s something behind them, just for you.”

“You planned all of this in advance?” Ezra asked. “Before we even left for London?”

“Oh, shut up,” Frankie deflected.

“Is this, dare I say, a grand gesture?”

Frankie huffed, but her heart wasn’t in it, her sincerity overcoming any sense of indignation. “Look, do you see it or not?” she asked.

Ezra moved the Froot Loops and tucked his hand into the back of the pantry shelf, his fingers landing on something smooth and thin. He slid it out and opened the square plastic case. It was a CD. On it, Frankie had written: Happy Birthday Ezra. He was so shocked, so moved, that he found himself blinking back tears.

“Is this yours?” he said. “I mean, did you write something, record something?”

“I did,” she said quietly. “But only for you, not for anything big.”

Lately, mostly on weekends, Frankie had started easing back onto the piano bench, playing again for the joy of it.

“You wrote me a song,” Ezra said.

“Oh God, please don’t make me regret it,” Frankie replied, but they both knew that she wouldn’t.

Ezra padded over to the stereo system, just as Frankie said, “Oh no, no, I can’t be on the phone when you listen to it. I’d rather die.”

“Don’t die,” Ezra said. “Not when we’re just getting started.”

“I won’t die, but let me hang up first, ok?”

“But to be clear, this is a grand gesture,” Ezra said.

“It’s a medium gesture,” Frankie said. And Ezra laughed because he could live with that. Then she told him that the band needed her back in the studio, which was absurd because it was the middle of the night, but he knew she was too embarrassed to linger on the line while he played the music she wrote for him. So he said good night, and she said good night, and then they clicked goodbye, and even though they were five thousand miles apart, it wasn’t a goodbye at all.

Then Ezra slipped the CD into the stereo, and he allowed himself to take in the moment, to absorb his righteous, hard-earned happiness. And then, in what felt like a small miracle given how far they’d come, he pressed PLAY.