It was very, very, very difficult not to smile. The happiness of this moment was splitting my face open.

That’s when someone’s embarrassingly loud dad yelled, “WHOOOOOOO! VIOLA AND MALVOLIO! THEY’RE OURS! THOSE ARE OUR KIDS!”

Willow—holding Holden’s other hand—locked mortified eyes with me, and then we spotted them. Our parents. Mom and Dad were sitting right next to each other. Maybe they weren’t holding hands or looking terribly romantic, but they were standing, and clapping, and cheering, and smiling with a pride that made my heart swell with the highest level of happiness: stupid-happy.

At least, I felt that way for a moment. Then I felt a phantom itch—like the itch an amputee feels in a limb that’s not there anymore. Only this itch enveloped a whole body.

I looked left.

I looked right.

I didn’t see Wynonna anywhere.

I knew exactly where she was supposed to be—to my left, between Captain and Curio—but she wasn’t there. Instead, Captain and Curio were stepping together awkwardly, filling a gap that had clearly just been evacuated.

As soon as we were free to stop bowing, I made a quick, determined exit. Forced and weaved my way through the crowded stage.

“Ezra?” said Imogen. “Where are you go—”

The backstage door closed behind me.

I veered into the main hall. Searched clockwise. Heard the soft chokes of sobbing. I followed the sobs until I was practically upon them—and yet, the source was invisible.

I glanced at the two side-by-side water fountains, wedged in an alcove in the wall. Glanced down.

Wynonna was lying on her side, curled up and inserted beneath them. Her eyes were red.

“I’m not crying,” she said, and sniffed.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Okay, well… what do you want?”

“Are you okay?”

Wynonna’s facade of okayness collapsed effortlessly, like a house of cards. She wept.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said.

I curled up on the floor facing her. Her hands were draped limply in front of her face. I don’t know why I did what I did next—it was so uncharacteristic of me—but I took her hands. They became a ball in my own hands, and I squeezed them.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She finally opened her eyes. Our gazes met sideways, across the plane of the vinyl tile floor.

“Carol didn’t show,” she said finally.

“Is that why you were crying?”

“No. But it still hurts, you know? I mean, you two were really connecting. I thought for sure she would show.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was crying because of your parents.”

“My parents?”

Wynonna tried to nod. The mere effort, however, was making her lip quiver and her eyes flood.