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The kitchen is full now. Every chair is taken. Cameron leans against the counter because there's nowhere left to sit, and his mother keeps touching his arm as if to confirm he's real. The conversation is loud, overlapping, and constantly interrupted, and I can feel the current of love that runs through this family like a live wire.

Then Colleen stands and says, "Oh! I almost forgot." She disappears into the living room and returns with something red and fuzzy. A Christmas stocking. Embroidered across the top in gold thread: BRIAR.

"I just finished,” she says. "I know it's early, but I wanted you to have it awhile.”

A Christmas stocking. In April. From my fake boyfriend’s mother after I told him I love him. I bring a hand to my throat, which is suddenly dry. The reality of loving Cameron Miller is punching me harder than the Boston defense.

"It'll go right next to Cameron's," his mother continues, holding it up against an invisible mantle. “All my babies in a row. I’ll have to double-stack when someone gives me grandbabies.”

I take the stocking. It's soft and heavy, and the embroidery is tidy and carefully done. I can imagine her working on it while she watches her son on television, between calls at work.

"Thank you," I say, and my voice is steady. "This is really thoughtful."

"We're so happy to have you," Colleen says. "Listen, this summer, when Cameron's home — he always rents us a house on the Cape for the Fourth. The whole family. You'll come, of course."

"When Cameron's home," Patrick repeats, smiling. "Ma's already been planning the room assignments."

"There's a dock," Nicky says from under the table, where she's made good progress with Puck. "And kayaks. And a clam bake. You'll love it."

I smile and nod, hold the stocking in my lap, and feel the ground shift beneath me. When Cameron's home. The summer. The Cape. This family has a future mapped out, and Cameron is in it, and it's here, in this city, hours and hours from my sister and her routines.

I look at Cameron. He's watching me from the counter, an expression I can't quite read — aware, maybe, that something is happening but unsure what. He smiles. I smile back. I see why he said yes to a fake dating arrangement, but I also see what it will cost him to end it with me … and that’s … I just didn’t think about what comes next for us.

I don’t usually travel in the off-season. I like having time to do things with my sister, like taking her for ice cream in the neighborhood and getting our nails done. And it’s clear that Cameron is used to spending every free second with his family, too.

Here.

I got caught up. Swept away by the man who changed my smoke alarm batteries. I hear Puck hiss at Nicky and startle as he hops into my lap, burrowing into my tummy.

My phone buzzes. I check it under the table.

Dominique

DD had a great day. She and Wendy made friendship bracelets.

I stare at the text and think about my quiet life, a few blocks from my sister’s group home. Jigsaw puzzles, curfews, and Deen’s braids … my sister, who can’t come to the Cape because she doesn’t do well with changes in her environment, and vacation feels more like torture to her.

And I’m here right now for work travel. My home? Is in Pittsburgh. Where I’ll always be with DD. And this man’s future is here in Boston.

"Briar?" Colleen touches my arm. "You okay, honey? You look pale."

"I'm fine." I put my phone away. Why did I let myself break the arrangement's rules? What was I thinking? "Just a little tired from the drive."

"Of course. Cameron, take her to the hotel. She needs rest before the game." Colleen hugs me — another real hug, tight, motherly, and fiercely warm — and whispers, "We're so glad you're here."

I hug her back, and the stocking presses between us. I think: I can't do this. I can't let this family build expectations around me when I know — I have always known — that I will never leave Pittsburgh. I will never leave my sister. And the man they're expecting to come home is the man I love, and I can't keep him.

Cameron drives me to the hotel. He carries my bag. He kisses me in the lobby and says he'll see me tomorrow. He looks happy. Relaxed. As if being in Boston has loosened something in him that Pittsburgh holds tight.

* * *

I ride the elevator alone. I let myself into my room. I sit on my bed in the dark, pressing my hands against my face.

I said I loved him, and I meant it. I mean it even more now, having seen where he comes from and having met the people who made him. His mother's warmth. His father's easy welcome. Nicky's total, instant adoration.

They need him. He belongs with them. And the life they're imagining — summers on the Cape, the stocking on the mantle, Cameron home for good — has no room for a woman who will never leave the city where her sister lives.

I lie back on the hotel bed and stare at the ceiling, utterly, completely devastated.