Daniel peels him off and ruffles his dark hair. “Rude much? Marco, this is Cat. Say hi.”

“Hi,” he complies, running back to pick up his bike. His sister stares at me with an open expression and the kind of unabashed interest only children are comfortable displaying.

“Cat, this is Marco and this is Danielle, the twins. They belong to my oldest sister, Lena.” He says this last bit with a good-natured smirk. “Your momma in the house?” he asks them.

“Yeah,” Marco responds, walking his bike up to the porch and leaning it against the railing. “Why is she here?” he asks now, giving me a funny look.

“You know she can hear you, right?” Daniel teases him, reaching to nudge him on the shoulder.

Marco ignores this and ducks Daniel’s hand. His sister is still standing in the street, watching us. “Where’s Madeline?”

Daniel grimaces. “None of your business. Now go inside and wash up before Mawmaw comes out here and catches you with no shoes on.”

Marco makes a beeline for the house and his sister finally shakes from her stupor, running in behind him, but not without dodging me first.

“Sorry about that,” Daniel says shyly. “No manners.”

“They’re kids,” I say with a shrug.

He laughs. “They’re half-wild, both of them.”

I smile. “So, who’s Madeline?”

Daniel stops halfway up the porch steps. “The ex-girlfriend I told you about. She kind of grew on the kids.”

I nod and inhale deeply. Awesome. I am making a first impression while still in someone else’s shadow.

“Now or never,” he says, grabbing my hand. We ascend the steps to the porch and push the front door open, stepping inside.

The living room is bustling with people, more warm bodies than I assumed could actually fit in this space. Two men sit on the sofa, flipping through channels on a flat screen that’s too low to hear. The twins are running back and forth with wet feet, fighting over a pink bath towel. A toddler in a plastic walker bumps the coffee table repeatedly, setting glasses of tea and cold beer cans vibrating. A teenage girl, maybe two years younger than me, is putting silverware on the table in the dining room with one hand while she holds her cell to her ear with the other. The kitchen is just past that, and I can see several women narrowly missing bumping into each other, as if they are rehearsing a well-choreographed dance routine. A woman charges into the room from the back, hollering at one of the men to “Watch the baby, dang it!”

I shoot Daniel an overwhelmed expression.

He grins with pride. “I tried to warn you. This isn’t even everybody.”

I see Daniel’s warm smile in the faces around me, his soft eyes, his proud brow. But I also see so many differences, a patchwork of people held together by name and love and history.