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“Get what done?”

He carried me up the stairs, and that was when I saw it: a porch swing hanging from the ceiling.

“You said this place needed a swing, and I think you were right.”

I looked from him to the swing and back again. “You did this for me?”

“Everything I do is for you.”

“Okay, Bryan Adams.”

Ozzie, my sweet bear of a man, laughed. “I hope you like it.” He set my feet back on the floor.

“I do.” Pointing to the swing, I asked, “Can I?”

“Yeah, it didn’t break when I tested it out, so you should be fine.”

Taking a seat, he reached for my hand, and I sat next to him. You could see the land spread out before us, the moon illuminating the grass and the abundant trees giving everything a gossamer-like cast right out of a movie.

“It’s perfect,” I said. “Like I always imagined.”

“I know so much is changing, but I hope this makes it all less scary.”

Cyrus had loose lips. I imagined him calling Oz and saying, Dial is scared, you need to fix it.

“It’s scary. But being scared doesn’t mean what comes next is bad. For the longest time I was terrified of this. And now I know I was wrong about us.”

“Are you admitting you made a mistake?”

“I just forgot to carry the one, because you plus me equals us.”

He pressed me closer to him, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Do you remember our dream home?”

“Of course I do. I think our list of nice-to-haves was a mile long.”

“I still want that, if you do.”

I looked up at him. “You wanna build a house when we’re already tackling so much?”

“At some point we need to put us first, and a place to live is a great start.”

Scrunching my face up with a pucker, I said in a singsong voice, “You love me, Oz Palmer. You wanna kiss me, and invest in property together.”

“I’ma just be plain, because I think that’s what I’m best at. I do love ya, Dial. I don’t ask for much. I just wanna love you because that’s what makes me happy. That’s what makes me whole. Not loving you is a foreign concept. When I die, my tombstone will say I belonged to you. Every part of me belongs to you.”

For a man of few words, Ozzie was good at saying just the thing I needed to hear. “I stopped dreaming a long time ago, but you”—I nestled into his cheek—“you make me believe in fairytales and happy endings. The idea of holding your hand through this life and for however long we have on this earth makes me swell with joy. I’m just so glad you never gave up on me.”

“I never will. There is no world in which I don’t love you.”

Maple was in her dobok, and she looked so cute alongside the other kids at the Strike Zone Taekwondo Studio. My daughter would correct me and say she looked lethal and her hands were killing machines, but to me she was giving adorable in her slightly oversized uniform. When I was growing up, my parents let me try everything. I wanted to be a gymnast, a banjo player, a hoof trimmer. I even took ballet classes because I liked the pink getup and standing on my tiptoes. So I thought it was only right to provide Maple with the same opportunities.

New experiences were what life was all about. And there was no better time to partake when you were young and fearless. This event was held once a quarter and gave the students a chance to show off their skills. Ozzie was in Texas for work, and I’d promised to take tons of pictures and videos so he could feel like he was right there next to me.

The area was standing room, as all available seats were taken. I hung off to the side, waiting for Maple’s age group to take center stage. Most of the parents in attendance were people I’d gone to school with. We’d all paired off and started families. Some of them were on their second marriages. If you’d asked me in high school where I’d be at thirty, without hesitation I would’ve said married to Ozzie Palmer, with a couple of babies, and a large plot of land. The order was a bit scrambled, but I still stood by my prediction.

“Dial, is that you?” Ozzie’s dad was weaving through the crowd toward me.

“Mr. Palmer, what are you doing here?”