“JuJu! What the fu— I mean, how long have you been here?”

   Kayla is awake now, sitting up with sleepy Bambi eyes and her hair all messed up.

   I look back at Julie, who’s still staring at us. “Are you guys going to get married?” she asks.

   “What?” I say, exasperated.

   “My friend Michelle’s dads do everything together. But she says they’re sad because they can’t get married. Are you guys going to get married?”

   What the fuck? I look at Kayla. She looks shocked. I turn back to my sister. “What are you saying, JuJu?”

   “Well, you and Kayla do everything together, so you should get married. Michelle says her dads can’t get married . . . So why do they do everything together?”

   I don’t know what to say. I look at Kayla for help.

   She smiles at Julie. “Because they’re in love, just like your mommy and daddy.”

   Julie thinks for a second then shrugs. “Cool. You guys want to play Rock Band?”

   I blow out a huge breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Sure, go set it up. We’ll be down in a minute.”

   After she leaves the room, I flop back onto the pillows. “Jesus Christ,” I breathe.

   Kayla looks down at me from her sitting position.

   “Crisis averted, thanks to you,” I tell her.

   She chuckles under her breath. I grab her around the waist and pull her toward me for one more quick cuddle before we have to make our way downstairs.

   After an hour of Rock Band—which Kayla rocks, by the way—Mom calls us for dinner. We answer questions about our weekend and the wedding. Julie apparently did really well at her dance recital, and Mom spent a bit of time at Kayla’s house—well, her old house—gathering her personal things.

   After dinner, Mom gets up and plops an entire apple pie in front of me—the whole thing. I stare at her curiously, but she continues around the table, handing out other items. She gives Kayla a stack of dessert bowls, Julie napkins, and Dad silverware. She has a gigantic tub of ice cream.

   What the hell?

   “We’re going to have a picnic, kids,” Dad says, standing up. I look around me. Julie is beaming, and Kayla just shrugs. Everyone stands and walks out of the dining room, carrying their items, so I follow. We step outside, and by this point I’m in complete WTF mode.

   Kayla comes up to me and murmurs, “Hey, they’re your family.”

   We walk up the stairs next to the garage that lead to the storage room above. They must have finished fumigating or whatever. When we get to the top of the stairs, Mom holds the door open for us. I step in and freeze, shocked.

       MIKAYLA

     I’m pretty sure my body has forgotten how to breathe or function at all. I feel something wet on my arm and look down. Tears—I’m crying and I didn’t even notice. I look at Jake and he smiles. I look at Mandy and Nathan. They’re watching me, hopeful. I hand the bowls to Jake and walk over to Mandy. I pull her in tight before hugging Nathan, too. Then I move to my bed.

   My bed—from home. It’s the same cast iron white frame that squeaks when I sit down, with the same comforter and pillows . . . And there’s the baby blanket my mom knitted when she was pregnant with me.

   “How did you . . . ?” I look at Mandy.

   “I had a lot of help.” Mandy shrugs. “Actually, Logan and the guys helped move the stuff in with Dylan’s truck. The girls did the painting and decorating. Nathan was busy with Julie’s recital and work, so . . .”

   I look at Jake. He puts his hands up in surrender. “I had no idea.”

   “You guys,” I say, my voice breaking. I look at each of them, my eyes begging them to understand what my brain can’t voice.

   “Let’s eat!” Nathan announces.

   And we do—on the floor of my new bedroom, which is exactly the same as my old one. I even have my own bathroom. And they placed everything where it was in my old room—the dresser, nightstand, and lamps . . . even my desk and MacBook.

   We’re scarfing down the apple pie and ice cream when I notice a photo frame on my nightstand. I stand up mid-chew and walk over to it. There’s space for four photos in the frame, but only three are filled. One is a family portrait—one of those lame posed shots with the standard watercolor-blue backdrop. The other is a candid shot of Mom, Emily, and me, laughing. I swallow. It was taken at one of Dad’s Little League games, when a player accidentally junk-shot him with a bat. It was cruel to laugh, but his reaction was hilarious. One of the moms caught it on camera and gave us a photo of it. The third one is a picture of Jake and me at my graduation. I don’t remember its being taken. It must have been when I ran up to him after it was over. He wrapped me in his arms and lifted me off the ground, spinning me around. His arms are wrapped around my waist and my hands are around his neck. He’s got his cap on backwards, and I’m looking down at him, beaming, while he’s smiling back up at me. I remember wanting to kiss him so badly at that moment.

   I tear my eyes away from the frame and look at Mandy. Tears falling, I tell her, “Thank you.”

   I can see she’s holding back her own tears. “I just thought . . .” She has to stop to clear her throat and take a deep breath. She holds up a camera and motions around the room. “Maybe you might want a photo with—”

   “With my family?” I beam through my tears. “I definitely need one of those.”

   A sob breaks through her laugh as she holds up the camera, and I get a new family portrait to last a lifetime.

   “I’m thinking that I far from more-than-a-lot like you, Mikayla Jones,” Jake says, and the flash goes off.

           JAKE

       I always knew my mom was an amazing woman, but I never knew just how amazing until now.

   We head back into the house after dessert. Kayla insists on cleaning up after dinner, so I go upstairs to shower. I’m glad to have my own bed back, but I don’t like that she’s so far away, either.

   I must have been in the shower for a while, because she’s all done by the time I come downstairs. Mom tells me she’s in her room. As I open the door to head outside, Mom yells out my name.

   “We don’t need to have a talk about stuff, do we?” she asks, sitting on the sofa with my dad.

   “What stuff?” I ask, hoping they elaborate. Because as much as my parents are awesome, talking about sex makes them so uncomfortable.

   Mom starts to blush. Dad mutes the TV and looks at me. “Just remember that Julie lives here, too, and, um, wrap it before you tap it.” Dad chuckles.