Blay hugged the young and set her back down on her patent leather Mary Janes. “I just wanted you to know, I think you did a great job with the planning of all this.”

“And Uncle Blay, we have a wedding cake!” She pointed to where the five-layer, chocolate- and vanilla-frosted creation had been set on a platform. “This is your wedding, and that’s the cake, so that’s a wedding cake!”

Blay smiled. “You are awesome, do you know that?”

“My dad tells me that all the time.” She frowned. “And I better go make sure Lassiter’s okay. He was worried about the cake—that you wouldn’t like it because of the two-colored frosting. So I’ll let him know it’s just fine.”

“It’s perfect. Tell him it’s perfect.”

“Roger that.”

The girl danced off, skipping around Phury and Cormia, dashing by Manny and Payne, dodging past Wrath and Beth, who were sharing a kiss over L.W.’s head.

“Hey, hellren.”

Blay started to smile even before he turned his head. Qhuinn had come up right next to him—and it was weird. Even though nothing had changed, the formality, the carvings in the back, the whole process of confirming their love in front of their community, made it all feel so different. In a good way.

“Hi, hellren.”

And then they both smiled like idiots.

Absolute idiots.

“Hey listen, can you come over here,” Qhuinn said. “You know, to the bathroom—and no, not for nookie.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I mean it. It’s not for . . . you know.” As Blay laughed, Qhuinn tilted forward and jogged his brows. “But the nookie’s coming later today. All day.”

“I can’t wait.”

As they went around the base of the stairs, and ducked into the guest powder room together, Blay wondered what was going on. And then they were sitting together on the bench.

When Qhuinn took a deep breath, Blay got anxious. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Not at all. This is the best night of my life. But there’s something I wanted to do privately. Just for you and me. I mean, not that other people shouldn’t and won’t see eventually, but I just . . .”

Blay stroked Qhuinn’s arm. “What is it?”

Qhuinn shifted his weight to one hip and winced, as the carvings across his shoulders undoubtedly stretched. And then he held up something that glowed with gold.

“Remember when you gave this to me? At that bar?” he said.

Blay instantly recognized what he was being shown. “My signet ring. Of course.”

“Here, you take it now.”

“Are you giving it back to me or—” Blay stopped talking as Qhuinn flatted his other hand to reveal, in the center of his palm, something that took the breath away. “Oh, God . . .”

It was another gold signet ring, and Blay knew whose it was even before he picked the heavy weight up and noted the crest.

Luchas’s ring. The one that had been given to him the night after his transition. The one that had been on his finger when he’d been found in that oil drum—which was the only reason they’d been able to identify him.

The one he’d turned over to Qhuinn.

Because Qhuinn had never been given one by their parents.

“This ring is my most precious possession,” Qhuinn said roughly. “For reasons that you are well aware of. And so tonight, on the night of our mating ceremony, in honor of my brother, and as a way to include him, I would like to place it on your finger.”

Blay’s eyes watered. And then, in the Old Language, he said, “It is my greatest honor to wear it in his name and yours.”

Qhuinn took a deep breath and stared at the gold crest.

And then he cleared his throat. “I miss him.”

“How could you not.”

With an effort, Qhuinn seemed to refocus. And then he smiled a little. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Blay murmured.

They both placed the rings on the other’s fingertips. And then, as they tilted in and kissed, they slid the gold home.

They kissed for a bit longer and eased back.

Qhuinn smiled and brushed the side of Blay’s face. “You are my warm heart in winter, you know that?”

“And you are mine,” Blay said as they both looked down at the same time.

The sight of their entwined fingers, with the rings, seemed like a fitting metaphor for their lives, a melding of histories and experiences, a foundation on which to further build their future together, a vow to raise their young, and love and live and learn, for all the nights destiny provided them.

Together.

Forever.

Amen.

It was a week before Christmas when Elle returned again to her mother’s apartment. She didn’t really want to go, but like she had a choice? She got worried if she didn’t personally check in every couple of weeks.

“Don’t run into a snowbank again,” Terrie said slyly.

As Elle pulled their father’s BMW into an empty parking spot, she deliberately pounded the brake so that Terrie jerked forward against her seat belt.

“Ow!”

“Sorry.”

“You are not!”

Elle cut the engine and opened her door. With her period of monitored driving finally up, she was now allowed to go out on her own, and their father—who’d been feeling extra permissive since . . . well, since their little talk that morning when she’d gotten up early to confess something she’d ultimately kept to herself—was letting her take out the BMW pretty much whenever it was free to be used.

Getting out, she rolled her eyes as Terrie bitched her way around the far side of the car—but all the sister-stressing dried up as they both stared at the apartment building.

“I don’t know why you dragged me here,” Terrie whined. “I don’t—”

“She’s our mother. And it’s almost Christmas. And that’s why you have to come, too, sometimes.”

As they started off for the stairwell, the pit in Elle’s stomach got more hollow.

“I’m hungry,” Terrie said. “Can we go to McDonald’s after this?”

“Sure.”

“Really? You’ll, like, really take me? Even though it’s almost dinnertime.”

“Dad’s out tonight, remember.”

“Oh. Another work event?”

“Yeah,” Elle muttered. “Work again. Always with that work of his.”

Up on the second landing, at their mother’s door, Elle went to knock—

The panel opened, and Elle jumped back in surprise—although not because someone other than their mother was standing there. It was because of the smell. Which was . . .

“Are you making dinner?” Elle blurted.

Their mom nodded. “I thought you girls might be hungry. It’s almost six, and I know you like lasagna.”

“Is this our lasagna?” Elle demanded. “I mean—wait. What is that?”

She barged in and stared across the shallow living room at the Christmas tree that had been put up in the corner. The thing was four feet high, and had a coordinated decorating scheme of blue and white lights and bulbs.

No garland. But their mother had never liked garland.

“It’s not a live one,” their mom said. “Without your father to help—well, this was what I could handle. But I think it’s pretty, non?”

Terrie raced over and skidded on her knees on the carpet. “There are presents! This one is for me!”

Elle narrowed her eyes on their mother as the door to the apartment shut by itself. “What’s going on?”

Before their mom could answer, the timer in the kitchen went off. “Excuse me.”

Elle looked around again, and wondered if the Upside Down hadn’t showed up in Caldwell . . . especially as, through the open door to the bedroom, she saw a freshly vacuumed carpet, and a bed that was made, and a sprig of holly in a little vase on the bedside table.

“Girls, wash your hands, please.”

Elle snapped to it without any argument—Terrie, too—because that tone of voice was one she’d spent her childhood respecting. And as she traded off the bar of soap at the kitchen sink with her sister, she tried to remember the last time she’d heard that kind of command.

And look, the table was set for three.

The next thing Elle knew, they were seated together and holding hands, the prayer done in French. And then their mother was serving them from the glass pan in the center of the little table.

“I love this lasagna!” Terrie exclaimed as she accepted her plate.

“Two or one piece?” their mom asked Elle.

Elle looked down at the melted cheese and the perfect layers. “Two. Please.”

Their mother even put a piece on her own plate.

As Elle took a test taste, she closed her eyes because they had started to water. It was exactly right, the sauce, the cheese, the noodles. And this . . . was exactly right, too, the three of them together, just like old times.

“So I’m going back to school,” their mom announced.

“You are?” Elle said as she flipped her lids back up.

“If I work hard, I should finish my psychology degree two summers from now. And then I want to get a master’s in social work.”

“I think that would be amazing, Mom,” Terrie said. “I want to be a therapist, too.”

“I’d love to talk to you about everything I learn,” their mom said.

“I want to help people.”

With your mouth? Elle thought. You’d have better luck being a drill sergeant in the Marines.

“So tell me how school is going for you both.” Their mom flushed. “I’m afraid I haven’t been asking about it enough. I’m afraid I haven’t . . . been present enough. But that’s all going to change from here on out.”

There was a pause. And then Terrie dropped her fork loudly on her plate and launched herself at their mother. Anna Sophia embraced the girl, and then settled her in her lap. As she stroked Terrie’s back and murmured things that were too soft to hear, Elle looked out the window.