And tomorrow is technically Easter.

It would be... nice. To have someone there with me, someone in my corner, someone who might understand why I tense up around my family even though I love them. Someone who might see me differently than they do.

Even if he doesn't come to Catholic mass at the crack of dawn—which, honestly, I wouldn't even wish on my worst enemy, let alone someone I actually like—he could still come to dinner. Could still meet them, still be part of this aspect of my life.

“Are you coming to dinner tomorrow?” From time to time Amanda invites herself to Sunday dinner. She claims it’s because being around the chaos that is my family makes herself feel better about her own level of insanity. But, in reality, I know she likes being around a big, over-the-top family. And my family, while insane, always has more than enough love to spread around. They often call Amanda their extra daughter.

“Absolutely not,” she shoots back. “My own monthly dinner is Wednesday, and that’s too much whiplash for one week.”

“Your family dinners can’t be that bad,” I say. “Your parents seem like perfectly normal people.”

Amanda barks out a laugh. “Normal? Baby, they’re uptight. We sit at the table like we’re in a Victorian séance. No one talks above a whisper. The wine is always room temperature, which is a crime, and someone inevitably mentions stocks.” She shudders. “Meanwhile, your family’s trying to feed me to death and Nico is offering me a ride on his Vespa like it’s the eighth deadly sin.”

I smirk. “You’re just mad he likes you.” “Denied.”

“I dunno,” I tease. “You two did go on a date.”

“That pity date was once, and I only went because I was bored and there was free pasta. The man still texts me memes like I’m gonna fall in love with him because he found the right SpongeBob GIF. As much as I would love to be your sister-in-law, as well as in spirit, it’s never going to happen. Besides, Raven is moving across town tomorrow. I promised I’d help her get settled.”

“Your sister?”

“The one and only.”

I’ve met Amanda’s sister once. The two have polar-opposite aesthetics. Whereas everything Amanda owns is pink and loud, Raven dresses mostly in black and has an attitude that could freeze time, space, and the will to live.

“It’s weird you two are related.” “One of us is probably adopted.”

I laugh, tilting my head back against the couch, considering the possibility of Cal meeting my family.

Amanda narrows her eyes, studying my face with surprising focus for someone who's had as much wine as she has. "I see the wheels turning. You're actually thinking about it."

I huff, trying to sound dismissive. "I don't know. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid." She nudges me with her foot, her toenails painted a bright hot pink. I’ve never seen Amanda in anything but hot pink nails. "It's a good idea. You're serious about him, Iz. It makes sense to see how he fits into your world."

I chew on my lip, turning the idea over in my mind.

Yeah.

That's kind of the terrifying part.

I am serious about him. More serious than I've been about anyone in a long time. Maybe ever. And that's terrifying, because it means he has the power to hurt me, to disappoint me, to leave.

But it also means he has the power to surprise me, to stand by me, to be exactly what I need when I need it.

Before I can talk myself out of it, before the rational, sober part of my brain can intervene and remind me of all the ways this could go wrong, I grab my phone and start typing out a message to Cal. My fingers move across the screen with the slight clumsiness of someone who's had too much to drink but is determined to complete a task.

Hey, I know this is super last minute but… would you maybe want to come to Easter dinner with me tomorrow? I have mass early in the morning. I'd never try and subject you to that, but you could meet me at the house for dinner, which for my family starts at 1pm and is hours long. Maybe this is a bad idea. I have been drinking a bit...

I press send before I can stop myself. My thumb hovers over the unsend button, tempted to erase the evidence of this moment of vulnerability, of hope.

But then my phone vibrates with an incoming message.

Cal

Absolutely. I'd be honored to meet your family. And, I'll accompany you to mass. I'll be by first thing in the morning to pick you up.

His response is immediate.

Not just immediate, but enthusiastic. Not reluctant, not hesitant, not full of qualifiers or conditions. Just a simple, straightforward acceptance that makes my heart skip a beat.

Immediate and so fucking perfect that I grin like a lovesick idiot at my phone.

Amanda leans over, peering at my screen with all the subtlety of a toddler trying to sneak cookies. "Oh my God, he actually said yes?"

I laugh, setting my phone down on the coffee table, the warmth in my chest expanding, settling deep in my bones. "Yeah. He actually said yes. Not just to dinner, but to mass, too."

Amanda pumps her fist in the air like she's just won a sporting event, nearly spilling her wine in the process. "Fucking Catholic guilt dinner, here we come! This is going to be amazing. I need hourly updates. Detailed texts. Pictures if possible."

And for the first time ever, I actually don't feel nervous about bringing someone home.

Not because I think it will go perfectly, or because I think my family will immediately love him, or because I'm naïve enough to believe they won't try to interrogate him as if he's a suspected criminal.

But because for once, I'm bringing someone home who I'm genuinely proud to be with. Someone who feels like a choice I made for myself, not a compromise, not a settlement, not someone I'm with because I think I can't do better.

Someone who makes me feel like myself, only better, stronger, and more capable.

Amanda suddenly clutches her chest, dramatically collapsing against the armrest like she's been mortally wounded, like she's auditioning for a community theater production of Romeo and Juliet. Her hair falls from its bun, cascading around her face in a golden curtain that only adds to the theatricality of the moment.

"I just don't understand," she sighs, shaking her head with exaggerated sorrow. "Why are you here, drinking shitty wine with me, when you could be riding him all night long? Like, what went wrong in your life to lead you to this moment?"

I choke on my drink—again—wine searing up my nose and nearly decorating my shirt in the process. "Jesus Christ, Amanda."

She sits up, eyes bright with mischief. Her lipstick is smudged now, giving her a slightly disheveled appearance that somehow only enhances her natural charisma.

"I'm serious. That man is sex on legs. Sex with a capital S. Sex that walks and talks and looks at you like you're the answer to every question he's ever had." She gestures wildly at me, her wine now actually sloshing over the side of her glass, droplets landing on the velvet couch. Neither of us moves to clean it up. "And you—" The gesture becomes more emphatic, more accusatory. "Are voluntarily choosing to sit here with me instead of climbing him like a tree. Explain yourself."

I roll my eyes, setting my glass down on the coffee table before I really do spill it.

"Because you're my friend. And I'm supposed to want to spend quality time with you. It's called being a good person, Amanda. Look it up."

Amanda scoffs, waving a dismissive hand like she's shooing away an annoying fly. "Yeah, yeah, friendship, bonding, blah blah blah, but listen—" She leans forward, eyes serious, voice dropping to an intense whisper like she's about to share state secrets. "If you ditched me for that? I wouldn't even be mad."