“We built this,” she said.

“Not your mother.

Not mine.

Us.”

I thought about the restaurant bathroom, the lie, and the first phone call from Lauren’s apartment building when she’d told me to return the airplanes.

All the things I once believed would help had been too large and too loud.

What had mattered was learning to ask, to arrive on time, and to leave a little room for someone else’s answer.

I kissed the top of her head and said, “We did.” It wasn’t a proposal.