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Dylan crosses his arms, leans on the sink next to me. “What are you talking about, Tommy?”

“You two and this whole ‘taking it slow, a day at a time’ thing. Two years. That’s like …” He pauses and looks up, his mouth moving silently. “Like seven hundred thirty days. That’s enough thinking. I’m not getting any younger, and I want a nephew or niece to spoil.”

Dylan’s body shifts next to me, and I meet his gaze. One eyebrow raised. I don’t know what to say either. I take a page out of Dylan’s therapy book. “What makes you say that?”

“I thought it would be fun to have a baby in the house again. Bring some life back into it. Make some changes.”

As far as I know, no changes have been made to the house since their parents died. A baby would definitely force Dylan to make some changes. He has kept it up and painted the house, but always the same colors.

Dylan is nodding. “You’re right. The house could use a freshening up. But I don’t think we need a baby for that.”

“How about a dog instead?” Tommy says.

“A dog?” Dylan scratches his head.

“Yes.” Tommy nods aggressively. “This house needs a dog for sure.”

I shrug. “I’ve never had a dog before. I like dogs.”

“And I’m moving back in. I’m tired of the dorms. So next semester, I’ll be home, and I can take care of it. We can go to the shelter, and I’ll have the entire summer to train her and—”

“Tommy! Is this your roundabout way of telling me you want to move back in? Because if so, you don’t need a baby or a dog for that.”

“I know.”

“This is your home. This will always be your home. We”—Dylan points at the three of us—“are a family, and will always be.”

“Can I still get a dog though?”

Dylan nudges me with his shoulder. “Guess we’re getting a dog.”

I smile. “Can we name it River?”