Page 173 of The Difference Between

The teacher steps to the mic and welcomes us.

Gavin whispers, “Try to enjoy it.”

That might be impossible.

A narrator in a subpar costume—his mother must have gone on a shopping spree at a Goodwill—nervously leads us into our journey. Alice appears then the White Rabbit and we’re off, moving from real life to Wonderland.

Three full scenes happen and I’m not sure I breathe—Addie’s up next.

My knee bounces, and she steps on stage as a buttercup. I stand with my hands clutched. “Flowers can’t talk,” I murmur along with Alice.

Addie steps up—it’s her turn—but instead of looking at Alice, she looks out in the audience. I wave and smile. With bright yellow petals around her face, she smiles and waves back. To Alice, she says, “But of course we can talk.”

It is nothing and everything, and I can’t stop myself from clapping, Gavin doing the same as he stands next to me—our whole row having an impromptu standing ovation for a flower with one line.

It’s funny how things work. How the sliding scale of excellence shifts with a little perspective. Half of this auditorium doesn’t care about what that flower just said, but I can’t think of any six words that matter more.

The scene moves on and we all take our seats. Rue and Remy give me thumbs-ups from down the row.

“She did good,” I say to Gavin. “Right? Just like we practiced.”

He pecks me on the cheek. “She did great.”

“And her costume is the best.”

He chuckles. “Yes, Reese, it was the best.”

I sit up a little straighter even though I already knew that. The Cheshire Cat waltzes onto the stage and talks in riddles to Alice.

“Next year,” I whisper to Gavin, “I think we should⁠—”

Gavin whispers, “Knock, knock.”

“What?” I cut my eyes to his. “I’m not playing jokes with you in the middle of the play.”

“Knock, knock,” he repeats.

Keeping my eyes on the stage, I relent. “Who’s there?”

He digs into his pocket and pulls out a piece of candy. He whispers, “William.”

I barely look at him. “William who?”

Gavin puts the candy in my hand and brings his mouth to my ear. “William Mary Me Reese Conway.”

William Mary Me Reese Conway? I repeat the words in my mind as I look at the candy in my hand—a Ring Pop—and it clicks.

My gaze meets his, his handsome face illuminated by the stage lights, and my heart goes from flatlining to pounding out of my chest. “What about kids?”

Since leaving Chicago, we’ve shelved the topic. Partially because we’ve been busy, but also because I needed some distance from the blow. I may have him, and Addie, but even with all my money, the odds of me ever having a child that’s biologically mine are slim to none. I’ve accepted it, but it still hurts. It likely always will. Instead of dwelling on that, I’ve been focusing on today. On the vineyard and spending my nights around people I love and in a house that happens to be a shed. A finished trendy shed, now that I’m involved.

But if he’s serious—he usually is when it comes to us—then we need to have a serious conversation about it. An elementary school play isn’t quite where I pictured it.

“We could get goats,” he says. “Kids. Get it?”

I roll my eyes—this is how he’s doing this?

“No.”