“Soon all we’ll be eating is butternut squash,” Jackson said, rolling their eyes.

“Don’t forget kabocha and delicata,” Hunter teased them.

“How could I?” Jackson said.

“Well, we have something more exciting than squash this afternoon,” Julia said as a song finished playing. She nodded to Billy and Liz, who stood and went to the kitchen. They returned a few minutes later, Billy carrying a chocolate cake, my name written in the middle, adorned with white candles.

“Make a wish, Mila,” he said.

“Yes,” Julia said. “Make a wish. Wish for anything.”

I wish I could be one of you, I thought. And then I blew out the candles. Billy cut thick slices while everyone lined up with plates. Liz brought out tea.

We settled again, all of us in new places across the living room. It felt like a dream, but the bright gray afternoon light shone through the windows and everything was clear: the cake crumbs on the plates, and the steam from the teapot Julia kept refilling. The books lining the wall on each side of the giant hearth, Lee sitting straight-backed in the center, and the stack of wood on the grate for when the cold came in. Jackson, Emma, and Hunter in a heap on the sofa; the little ones playing with clay while watching their movie—the faint sound of Mary Poppins singing. Billy sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the chair. Liz lounged on floor pillows across the room. Terry rocked in his wood rocking chair, and Julia moved about us all easily, gathering empty plates, checking on the children, making sure we were all warm and cared for.

“And now,” Julia said, rising, “I think it’s time for gifts.”

Hope rushed over me. A ring or a necklace or a bracelet of my own. But Julia emerged from her room with two wrapped packages, both much too large, and I had to hide my disappointment.

“Open the big one first,” Liz said, sitting up to watch me.

The package was heavier than I expected it to be. Carefully, I tore open the paper. I saw a suitcase of sorts, blue gray and old, with a handle and two metal buckles. I unlatched the buckles to see what was inside. “A record player!” I said. So then I knew what would be in the flat, square package. I tore off the paper, eager to see the record. It was Billie Holiday, singing Gershwin songs.

I didn’t know what to say.

“Julia gave us some ideas,” Billy said.

“I hope you like Billie Holiday,” Liz said. “The record shop guy showed us like twenty options of records with those same songs, but she seemed like the coolest.”

“She had the best name,” Billy said. “Spells it weird, but still.”