Dammit. I grimace. “Right. Thanks.”

“Twenty-fifth anniversary, huh? That’s cool,” he says, once we’ve completed the circuit.

“Nuts is more like it.”

“What’re you talking about? It’s beautiful. Two people in love for over twenty-five years—they must be, what—fifty? I mean, isn’t that what we all want? A love that lasts forever?”

Eye-roll. Of course that’s what he wants. Of course he thinks that’s a real possibility.

But what about when no one falls in love in the first place, like Mom? Or when someone falls in love so often that you wonder if it’s really what they’re feeling, like Hannah?

“First of all, no. Not everyone has to fall in love, and it’s not a tragedy if they don’t.” I don’t think Mom is aromantic, but still. It’s a thing.

“I guess,” he says. “But—”

“Nuh-uh! I wasn’t finished.”

“My apologies.” He inclines his head graciously. “Do continue.”

“Thank you.” I clear my throat and say, “Second of all, I don’t think being married for twenty-five years is a bad thing. I just don’t believe that it’s as great as everyone says. I bet tons of people are faking it.”

“Damn. Hello, jaded.”

I shrug. “Hello, person who’s watched too many Disney movies.” I go back to making adjustments on the arrangement, adding a bit of sage here, twisting the ivy there.

Owen laughs. “Okay, maybe. But happy endings do happen. Plenty of people stay married forever.”

“How many of them are really happy, though?”

“My parents are still happily married.”

What a surprise.

“I mean it hasn’t been easy,” he continues. “Things got really rocky at one point, actually. Like, I thought for sure they’d split up. But they pulled through. Maybe that’s rare, I don’t know. But it’s possible. Just because some people get divorced doesn’t mean that true love and romance is dead. It just means other shit got in the way.”

I fiddle with a holly berry. My story would be such a great counterpoint to this true-love fantasy of his, but is it worth risking his getting all judgmental about me and Mom? I’ve always told myself that I’m not ashamed of how I was born. I decide to go for it and give him the SparkNotes version of my origins.

He listens carefully, running his hand through his stupid K-pop hair, and I wait for him to tell me that Mom was crazy, or irresponsible, or brave. But instead he just says, “Well, okay. Maybe true love forever isn’t for everyone. But you’re never going to convince me that falling in love is just for rom-coms and Disney movies.”

This guy. “You might be the sappiest person I know,” I say. “Except for Hannah. And Emily.”