He ate his cake with everyone staring at him, and then the apparent birthday boy said, “I want to open more presents!” That got everyone’s attention and the boy, who, according to the giant poster hanging on the wall, was named Tucker, climbed into a chair to keep opening gifts. And seeing new toys held more appeal than Noah apparently, as the kids migrated over to watch him tear into wrapping paper.

All except for one little girl. She had to be about four or five, her curly brown hair in two pigtails, and she was wearing a Disney Belle dress. Her eyes were enormous and sad-looking. Noah crouched down to her eye level. “Hi.”

“Why did Malec have to die?” she asked, her lower lip trembling. “He was good. He shouldn’t have died.”

If I’d ever had any doubt about Noah’s talent, he quashed it as he shifted into Malec right in front of me. His posture, his voice, even that dangerous glint in his eye. “You’re right, I did choose to be good. And I didn’t go anywhere. See? I’m here.”

The girl rushed forward, throwing her arms around his neck, and I swear, my ovaries exploded. The hug finished and she asked, “Do you want to play Skee-Ball with me?”

“I do.” He stood back up, and she wrapped her tiny hand around one of his fingers, and my heart squeezed at the utter adorableness. I heard him ask, “Are you a princess?” as she led him out into the arcade.

There was a lightness to my whole being, a joy I couldn’t remember feeling before at how happy he looked and how good it felt that I was the one who put that smile on his face. He started playing with the little girl, at one point picking her up so that she could roll the wooden ball up the ramp easier.

How had he so quickly become my favorite person in the whole world?

Then I flashed back to my conversation with Shelby last night. Was I doing this because of a guilty conscience? Trying to fit in a bunch of good memories before I told him the truth?

I was going to tell him. When the time was right. He turned around to grin at me, and I waved back. Not yet. The time wasn’t now.

Then the second birthday party noticed that he was there and emptied out of their party room to come over to him at the Skee-Ball game. He did more pictures and talked to more kids, and I saw when his face shifted from a real smile to a pretend one. He was looking overwhelmed.

I gently pushed my way through the crowd and said, “Sorry, guys! We have to get going. Thanks for letting us come to your parties!”