“If Mom already bought her plane ticket, Abuela’s mind is made up, and I doubt we can change it. We’ll just have to take care of her. Make sure she’s happy. And mentally, we need to prepare ourselves. I doubt she’ll make the trip again.”

I pulled in a sharp breath of cold air. John’s words hit me hard. Abuela had always been there. Life without her was a reality I didn’t want to imagine.

As an adult, I hadn’t been great about making the trip to see her. We’d gone consistently as kids, but after our last trip as a family, the summer after I graduated from high school, I hadn’t been back. To be fair, she’d been to the States twice in the seven years since then—once to surprise my mother for her birthday and again two years later for my college graduation. That last time, she’d told me, “Next time, I’ll come for your wedding.”

Now next time had become this time. I couldn’t give her a wedding by Thanksgiving. But maybe supplying a boyfriend wasn’t asking too much. “I guess I really need to bring Jamie home with me, huh?”

“If she’s expecting to meet him, I wouldn’t want to disappoint her if I were you.”

“It’s all she talked about when she called. And really, I guess I want her to meet him. Maybe it’ll stop her from giving my contact info to the missionaries.”

“She’s still doing that?”

“Yep.”

He laughed. “Man, you have it worse than I ever did.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“This might be it, Lane. Abuela isn’t getting any younger. I know it feels like a lot of pressure, but her hopes hinge on you. If you can make it work, I’d bring him.”

“I’m sure he’ll come if I ask him. It’s just all . . . a little complicated right now.”

“What’s complicated?”

“Life. Love. Everything.”

“Okay. Spill it, sis. Spare me no details.”

I curled up into Randi’s porch swing, my blanket still pulled tightly around me, and launched into a detailed account of my love life, even down to the nitty-gritty of my conflicted feelings regarding Simon.

“I can’t figure out why he even keeps coming to my mind,” I said. “I really do love Jamie. It annoys me that I keep thinking about Simon at all.”

“Sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason for what our heart feels,” John said. “Have you thought about asking Simon how he feels?”

“What, about me?”

“Sure. I don’t want to diminish your feelings here, but it’s possible you’re making it all up, right? If Granny Grace hadn’t planted the seed of doubt, suggesting Simon had feelings for you, would you be thinking about this at all?”