Having finally reached the bartender, I order for us while Arthur gets beer for him and Vincent, and Diet Coke for Georgia.

Siaka reaches us and there are bises all around, even from Liv who deigns to look up from her phone to give a bored kiss to each cheek presented to her.

“Her boyfriend’s supposed to be meeting us,” Siaka explains, looking apologetic. He takes a sip of Perrier. “Nice T-shirt,” he says, wedging himself in next to me as we shove our way toward the stage.

I glance down at the vintage Nirvana T-shirt that, I have to say, fits me perfectly.

“Georgia insisted on dressing me,” I admit. “Between her, Charlotte and Jeanne all plotting to take over my wardrobe and social life, I feel like I’m living in a house full of moms.”

“Lucky,” Siaka says, and there’s a hint of wistfulness beneath the jokiness that makes me realize I’m fortunate to have so many people who care about me on a daily basis. He only has his dad—when he’s around—and Bran, who, though he has his good qualities, isn’t exactly gushing with warmth and affection.

It dawns on me that I’m finally beginning to get what I so desperately longed for.

Acceptance.

Belonging.

My smile widens to match Siaka’s. He motions to his shirt. “I don’t go to many concerts. So, I thought that a plain old T-shirt would be the safest.”

Nothing he wears could be plain or old, I think. The shirt’s the same shade of green as his eyes. It’s in a cotton that looks so soft, I want to run my hands all over it. I sip my Perrier to distract myself.

“So, is he coming?” Siaka yells, turning to Liv.

“Working late.” She frowns at her screen. “He might try to catch the end of the concert.” She looks like she regrets having tagged along.

“You into music?” I ask her, trying to make conversation.

For a second, she looks like she’s going to say something sarcastic, then she tips her head to the side and nods.

“I guess Sebastien’s band is supposed to be ‘New Grunge,’” I say, using finger quotes.

“Thus, the classic grunge shout-out.” She eyes my T-shirt.

“It’s actually Georgia’s,” I say.

“That makes sense.” She glances at Arthur, who’s standing right beside me talking to Vincent. “Her boyfriend looks like a non-druggy version of Kurt Cobain.”

I turn to stare at Arthur. “Wow, you’re right!”

Liv lifts her eyebrows and shrugs, as if, Of course I’m right. When have I ever not been?

The next band starts pulling out their equipment, and Georgia jumps up on stage with them. She whispers something into a tall, slim guy’s ear then gives him an excited hug.

Arthur turns to me. “Remember what we talked about the other day?”