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This was it. My chance to say the right thing, to be the supportive parent who didn’t mentally blank out when conversations turned to what mattered most.

The stakes had never been higher.

“What do I think of hedgehogs as a species?” I asked, with as much faux cool and calm as Micah was mustering.

“Yeah, I mean, you never wanted us to bring our pets over.”

Yeah, I’d royally screwed up on that.

Adam cut a warning look and thew a balled-up sock at his brother. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Hey,” I said.

Micah grabbed the sock and threw it back, pegging Adam in the side of the head.

I sighed. “Don’t throw socks, please.”

“Sorry,” Adam said.

Micah grunted. “I need to know what she has to say.”

“But….” Adam pressed his lips in a firm line.

“It’s okay.” This was going to be a tough conversation, but oh so important. At least we’d managed a sock ceasefire. “We can talk about anything you guys want to talk about. Always.”

“Even if it’s uncomfortable?” Adam’s voice carried a timid note, like he wasn’t sure.

“Especially if it’s uncomfortable,” I said. “Often those are the subjects we need to talk about most.”

And now it was open season on the gross and inappropriate.

But it had to be said. It had to be done.

“Okay, then I want to know, too,” Adam said. “What do you think of hedgehogs?”

“Hedgehogs are great,” I said. The words sounded shallow. I needed to do better. “Of all of the animal kingdom, I think they’re some of the cutest.”

“We’re not cute.” Micah frowned. He practically spat the word ‘cute.’

I was losing them. Okay, what’s better than ‘cute’ to a teenage boy? “They’re also some of the coolest and toughest for their size, what with those sharp spines.”

“Is that why you didn’t want us here?” Adam’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Of course not. I always want you here.” I was doing this wrong. A small pang of panic rose up my throat, carrying the taste of bile with it. I pulled him into a hug and reached for Micah, who climbed in, too. “I didn’t know. And I’d never purposefully do or say anything to make you feel unwanted.”

“We know,” Adam said.

But it didn’t change the past.

I couldn’t take back any of the pain or uncertainty I’d caused. I loved my boys unconditionally, wholeheartedly, and I needed to prove it.

“I didn’t want pets here because of the terms of my lease,” I said, squeezing them tighter. “I was afraid of losing the apartment, but if I’d had any idea that it was you guys, I never would have said anything like that.”

“Can you let us go now?” Micah asked.

Instead I kissed him on the head, and then Adam on the cheek, because he was too tall.

“We’re getting killed,” Micah said. “A lot.”

I chuckled and released them. “Sorry. I love you so freaking much it hurts.”

“We know,” Adam said.

“We love you, too, Mom.” Micah took his place back on his bed and mashed his controller.

“I’m going to get an I Love Hedgehogs shirt.”

“Don’t do that,” Micah said. “Seriously.”

I hid my laugh in a fake cough. “How about matching shirts for the whole family?”

“No,” both boys said in unison.

“It would make a great family Christmas card.”

“You’re not making us do that,” Adam said. “Tell me you’re not making us do that.”

“I’m not doing it. It’ll kill me,” Micah said, with a ghost of a smile that suggested he knew I was joking. “I’ll shrivel up and die. That’s life in prison for murder.”

He’d do it if I really asked him to, which I wouldn’t. “All right,” I said. “If a family picture means a life sentence, I guess I can let it go this time.”

Adam snorted.

They both started talking at once as they mashed the buttons on their controllers, due to some sort of excitement in the game.

A knock on the door meant Carson was here, and it created a new kind of excitement just for me.

“I’ve got to get that.” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder.

Too busy in the action, neither of the boys responded. No protests meant I was free to go. With a light heart and a skip in my step, I hurried to the door.

Carson held a familiar green box in his left hand, and he lifted his right to nervously squeeze the back of his neck. His torso stretched deliciously, drawing my attention to tonight’s T-shirt.

Stay Sharp was written across his chest along with the hashtag symbol. I’d purchased it for him last Christmas.

Seeing him here on my doorstep was a warm hug. Then he enveloped me in an actual hug, holding the box over my shoulder. I melted against him and nuzzled into his chest.

He smelled like fresh linen and mint, like happiness.

“Hi,” he said, his chest rumbling against my face.

“Hi.” I wiggled my nose and inhaled one more time before taking a step back and pretending like I hadn’t been smelling him. I nodded toward the box in his hand, which happened to be the signature color of my favorite bakery. “Pablo’s DoughNuttery?”

“I was driving by it. Did you have other plans for dessert?”

No way did he just happen by Pablo’s. It was on the other side of the city. “I have no other plans. Yours is perfect.”

I waved him inside and watched his butt as he entered.

“What are we cooking?” He set the box on the counter and looked over the ingredients I’d been prepping.

“Stir-fry,” I said.

“Vegetables on the side?”

“Vegetables mixed in.”

He raised a brow. “Gutsy.”

“I know. Some things are worth a chance.” Like us. We were totally worth a chance—as many chances as it took to get it right.

“Yes, they are.” His eyes crinkled as he put his hand over the pan to check the heat.

It had to be hot enough by now. I sidled up next to Carson at the counter and passed him the oil and the carrots.

Carson reached over to Pablo's box, grabbed a small rectangle of paper I hadn’t noticed before, and handed it to me.

It was a bookmark.

My bookmark.

A fluorescent orange flower pressed and laminated.

Holding it brought a smile to my face I didn’t quite understand, along with a fuzzy feeling I understood even less.

It was like I had the answers.

Like they were blocked off, hidden behind a locked door.

I’d had the bookmark for most of my life, though I couldn’t say for sure when I’d gotten it. It had been a gift from someone important….

I tottered on the edge of something big—a memory, another life, a revelation.

My best friend gave the flower to me. I couldn’t remember anything about her, only that she’d been everything to me.

What was her name?

“I found the bookmark under our mattress and thought you’d like to have it,” Carson said. “I’ve always wondered what kind of flower that is.”

A piece clicked into place.

I knew the answer to Carson’s question. My heart started beating faster. “It’s a dream flower.”

As soon as the words left my lips, everything changed.

The kitchen, Carson, and the entire real world disappeared.