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“Are you two still coming down in a few weeks?” I ask them.

“Actually,” Raine interrupts. “If you two haven’t bought your tickets already, can I come to Seattle instead?”

The four of us are on the call, everybody’s face visible, nobody sharing screens. So when my eyes dart to Jesse’s in worry, nobody misses it.

“I’m fine,” Raine says, attempting to reassure me. “I just miss it there, that’s all. And I remembered it’s Jamie’s birthday that weekend, and a few people from high school will be there, so I wanted to at least try.”

“Oh, so you’re coming up for Jamie’s birthday, not to see your dads?” Jesse teases.

She shrugs, a smug smile on her face. “Two birds, one stone.”

“We’ve got our tickets,” Leo informs her, “but I think we might be able to just change them for another weekend.”

It’s a nonissue, her going and leaving me here, but I’d been excited to see Jesse and Leo and to have them in our space for a few days.

“Zara, why don’t you come up too?” Jesse says.

I haven’t been to Seattle since we left, and if any of them have noticed, they haven’t said a word about it to me. But I’m in a strained relationship with the place I used to call home, only going back when I absolutely want to.

“I’m good,” I answer casually. “Just tell me the new dates for your visit when you have them. And, Raine, let’s not forget to book those flights as soon as we get off the phone.”

“I can pay for them,” Jesse offers.

“No. No.” I shake my head. “You’re paying for that week-long trip to Florida for the three of you. I can do this.”

When Raine started college, the deal was Jesse, Leo, and I would share expenses relating to food, housing, and whatever it cost for her to fly between the two states whenever she wanted to. Her income from the café covered the things she did for herself—her cell phone, going out with her friends, public transport, and the ridiculous amount of fast food eighteen-year-olds feel compelled to eat.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to come with us to Florida?” Jesse asks for the hundredth time.

“I know you all don’t think so, but I’ll be fine here by myself.”

“Mom’s dating now anyway,” Raine blurts out. “Maybe she’ll have someone spend the night.”

“Raine,” I say on a groan. “Why are you like this?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You made me, why am I like this?”

“Dating?” Leo pipes in. “Do I need to grow my hair out and come to L.A. for a haircut so you can spill all the details?”

“At this stage, there’s nothing to tell.” I turn to look at Raine. “But I’m sure if you ask your daughter, she’ll be able to give you the lowdown whenever there’s news.”

She pokes her tongue out at me, completely unperturbed, and like a kid, I mirror the action back at her. When I turn back to the screen, Leo’s and Jesse’s expressions have turned somber, anxiety etched in their laugh lines.

“What is it?” I ask. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Jesse says. “We wanted to make plans for Lola’s birthday.”

I hate that they both look at me with guilt when wanting to celebrate their daughter’s life. We all hold so many different feelings about Lola, that our thoughts and emotions sometimes struggle to coexist.

But she was loved…isloved, and celebrating her short yet significant life is not up for discussion. It isn’t punishment or a penance, but it would hurt all the same. And I would sit with that hurt, for them and for Raine, for the rest of my days.

Swallowing past the wedge of emotion in my throat, I straighten my posture, giving them all my complete attention. I subconsciously reach for my necklace, needing the strength, even though I know it isn’t there. “Tell me what you want to do, and of course I’ll be there.”

“We can do it anywhere. We can come to you,” Jesse adds, and I’ll forever be grateful for this man. “But we just want to be together.”

“I can come to you,” I say, realizing that moment of dread has arrived sooner than I expected. “Lola’s there, in Seattle; there’s no need for us to be anywhere else.”

Unshed tears fill all of our eyes, the screen becoming blurry, everybody’s faces hard to see. As a family, we try to share our grief as much as possible, but sometimes it’s just too hard to watch everyone crack and break while you’re cracked and broken too.