Dad already had plans to go golfing with a couple of his friends he met at a bar. Their names are Paul and Howard. One is a finance investor and the other works at a gas station. One is married. One is divorced with two kids. His kid’s names are Sasha and Sarah. Why he told me all this random information, I have no idea. A simple “No thank you” to my lunch invitation would’ve sufficed.

I get in my new car, the one Josh had bought me—a small economical Ford—tap in the address he’d given my dad into my phone and wait for it to calculate my route. Ten minutes later, I’m slowing to a stop on a dirt road with no cafes or restaurants in sight.

Becca: I’m here, but I think you gave me the wrong address.

Josh: What are you looking at right now?

Becca: Nothing really. There’s a fence and some trees.

Josh: Is the fence green?

Becca: Yes.

Josh: Drive up the driveway and park at the bend of the arch just by the front door.

Becca: Is this someone’s house?

Josh: Just go. Tommy’s waiting, he’s excited to see you.

With that image in mind, I put the car back in gear, and steer into and up the long driveway, parking where Josh told me to. There are no other cars in sight, but I figure there might be a valet inside who’ll move it later.

Becca: Okay. I’m here. Do I just go inside? Is it fancy? I’m not dressed for fancy.

Josh: Just hurry up. We’re waiting, and I’m starving!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I calculate twelve steps to get to the front door of what looks (at least to me) to be a mansion. I push down on the handle slowly and peek inside. The place is empty. And I’m not talking empty of people, I’m talking empty.

No furniture, nothing on the walls, nothing.

Nothing but dozens of pictures littered on the floor.

I squint, trying to make them out, and gasp when I realize they’re pictures of Grams, of me, of Josh, and of Tommy. I step inside and pick one up, my heart racing, my hand going to my mouth. With shaky hands and tear-filled eyes, I pick up another, and then another, following the trail from the foyer, through the living room, into the kitchen and out the back patio where more pictures await. I breathe for what seems like the first time since I opened the door, letting the cold air hit my lungs, reminding me that I’m alive, though I’m pretty sure I left my heart beating somewhere by the front door. I glance down by my feet and take in the next image before picking it up. It’s of Grams and Tommy sitting on the steps leading to Josh’s apartment. He’s handing her flowers, clearly picked from her garden, and she’s smiling… the kind of smile that took hold of the atmosphere and made everything as bright and happy as she felt. I follow the photograph down the patio steps and into the soft dewy grass. I keep my head lowered, picking up every single picture and studying them a moment before going to the next. The further I move, the pictures begin to change. Josh and Tommy together. Me and Josh together. Me and Tommy together. Until I get to one of all three of us and I pick it up and stare at it the longest. It’s one Josh had taken on his phone from the sand-stealing night at the beach. The night of the first kiss, of the first shared feelings we’d kept secret, simmering just below the surface. Tommy looks so young. We all do. My gaze moves, searching for the next picture, but there isn’t one there, and when I see what’s in place of it, my breath catches, and everything stops.

Everything.

Josh and Tommy stand side by side, in matching gray suits… beneath the arbor Josh had made my grandmother for her sixty-fifth birthday. I swallow forcefully and let the tears fall as I look at the arbor, and at them, then at our parents standing beside them. Then something strange happens. Something I can’t explain. A force pushes me forward, like hands on my back, urging me toward them, and I move… one foot in front of the other, my hand still covering my mouth. I exhale a shaky breath and stop a few feet away, knowing, but not really believing that all this is happening and it’s happening to me. I’m a sobbing mess by the time Josh takes my left hand in his. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Love,” I whisper back, because it’s the only thing I can say, the only thing I feel.

He smiles, but beneath that, I can see the nerves, the fear, and I want to assure him that he has nothing to be fearful of, but he hasn’t yet asked and maybe I’m wrong… Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. But then he pulls out a ring from the pocket of his slacks, a giant square emerald surrounded by diamonds. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, his eyes glazed and his voice soft when he says, “Remember that night when I told you I wanted you back, and I asked you for a sign that you felt the same way?”