Everyone is dancing. It’s ten to midnight, and for the past hour, we’ve been playing Latin music and moving our bodies to it. Everyone save for Callie has their glass of ponche, which has been refilled multiple times throughout the night. Callie is currently holding Wren by the hand, twirling her around, which seems silly given their heights. However, Wren looks so much more comfortable dancing today. I don’t know if it’s that she knows us better or that she’s had alcohol or that I’m not the one pressed close to her like last time, but she seems to be having a lot of fun.

I am too.

Next to them, Violet has her back stuck to Will’s front, both moving their hips to the music. His head full of black curls is bent over her shoulder, and when he whispers something into her ear, she bursts out in giggles, a blush covering her cheeks. They don’t notice me watching. I have a feeling when they’re together, they don’t see anyone else. I was present when they got married on the beach next to the house they currently live in, and I’d rarely seen two happier people.

To my right, Dad is leaning over his new cane and swaying with Ma, who’s hugging him tight. They’re not dancing to the music at all, but neither of them seems to care. They’re lost in their own world.

Even after all these years, they look like they couldn’t love each other more.

That’s what I want. Someone there for me through the highs and the lows. Someone who wants to grow old with me. Someone who won’t give up on me, just like Ma never gave up on Dad and Will never gave up on Violet.

I don’t know why my eyes roam in the Wren’s direction, but they do. However, she’s not where she was dancing a second ago. Spinning on my heels, I look around the room, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Callie doesn’t seem to care, eyes closed and moving her hips to the voice of the singer she recently made me discover.

It’s almost midnight. We’ll soon be turning off the music to count down and celebrate the new year. Where is she?

Leaving my family to their small party, I move through the house, looking for glossy brown hair and a sparkly black dress. I look down at my watch. 11:58. The kitchen is empty, as are the living room and foyer. The bathroom doors are open, and no one is standing in the stairs.

In the end, I find her seated on the floor in a hallway upstairs, her chin resting on her knees, back curved. As soon as she sees me, she gets to her feet.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.