“It was a great thing you did for Wynonna,” Mom added. “We’re so proud of you, Ezzie.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” said Holden.

“I’m proud of you, Holden,” said Willow.

“Oh, you know we’re always proud of you, Holden,” said Mom.

“You keepin’ our Ez in line, Holden?” said Dad.

“Oh, you know,” said Holden, casually brushing his shoulders off. “It’s a full-time job, but I do what I can.”

Holden and I cleaned up well. Partly because we were really, really, really trying. Partly because my family—who knew nothing about prom tonight or our respective dates until now—made it a Slevin family effort to pull our prom shit together.

“Imogen Klutz?” said Dad. “Who’s Imogen Klutz? Do I know an Imogen Klutz?”

“She was Olivia,” said Willow.

“What, the really tall, skinny one?” said Mom. “Is she taller than you, Ezzy?”

“Mom!” I said. “Seriously?”

“No, no, I’m just saying… she’s a total cutie-pie. But do we need to get you shoes with a little extra… oomph?”

“We’re, like, the same height.”

“They’re, like, exactly the same height,” said Holden. “Like, you could balance a table on top of their heads and build a card castle on it.”

“That is a really weird way of saying we’re the same height.”

“I thought it was poetic,” said Willow.

“Thanks, homie!” said Holden. He extended his fist, and she bumped it.

“So she’ll be wearing heels,” said Mom.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably.”

“Of course she is. That’s it. I’m getting you shoes. Spiffy off-white shoes to go with your suit coat.” She was already starting for the door.

“Please don’t get me shoes.”

“I’m getting them. Whether you wear them or not is your choice.”

“Oh my god. Do you even know what shoe size I am?”

Mom shot me a look of the utmost indignation. “I gave birth to you! Of course I know what shoe size you are.” And then, slightly less certain, “Nine, right?”

“Ten,” I said.

“Ten? Oh lord. My children are radioactive monsters. They won’t stop growing.”

“Ouch,” said Willow. “That hurts a little.”

“I’ll go with you, Mrs. Slevin!” Holden volunteered. “I think I’m going to get myself a pair of those bad boys. Then Ezra and I can match!”

Oh my god. My house had gone insane.

“What about you?” I said to Willow. “Are you not going to prom?”

“Psh!” said Willow. “No. Boys are stupid.”

Even as she spoke, I caught the slightest glimpse of it: the tenderness of a wound that hadn’t quite healed.

It vanished the moment Holden opened his mouth.

“Boys are stupid,” he said. “Except for me.”

“Except for you,” Willow agreed. (And they fist-bumped again.) “No, Mom and Dad and I are doing a daddy-daughter date. But, like, with Mom, too. Is there a name for that?”