“Where’s my little pup?”

I stepped into the lawless anarchy of my parents’ house, hands raised to keep them out of the path of the four or five kids charging around the hallway — none of them mine, but all familiar. I caught sight of Josie’s head after a few moments of looking. Clearly, she hadn’t heard my voice over the cacophony, but my scent soon carried through to her. Her head turned whip-fast to face me, hair a matted mess and her smile painted broad across her pretty face.

“Daddy!”

She charged over as though she hadn’t seen me in a week, launching herself up into my arms. I couldn’t know for sure how she saw me, but I knew that it was much stronger than I really was. Even as small as she was, my scrawny legs had difficulty keeping us upright as I caught her, nose buried into the frizzy, rain-teased tangle of her hair.

“Uncle Avery and Aunt Izzy said I can’t go outside because it’s raining until you got here and says yes, but everyone’s outside in their fur and can I go too?”

“You may,” I assured her, subtly correcting to the right word and looking over the excitable slips in her grammar. I had grown-up in this mad mess of scents, siblings and strangers too; I could remember how difficult it was to focus on stupid things like correct English. It would come in time. “And you’re a good girl for listening to your aunt and uncle.”

“Yes,” she agreed. I grinned, heartened at the kind of self-confidence only a child could omit. I was going to miss that when she grew up and forgot how to love herself quite so easily — but, fate permitting, at least I’d still be around to remind her. “What’s on your hand?”

I lifted it up so that she could see it properly, letting her hold my hand in both of hers.

“That’s a new tattoo, sweetheart.”

“Can I see?”

It had been long enough now, I figured — so I peeled the plastic wrap away and balled it up in my other hand, eyes fixed on the empty finger where it had once been. Strange. It really felt like the same tattoo had migrated, even though I knew otherwise.

“Did it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Did you howl?”

I laughed, setting her down at the back door. Outside, the rain was still pretty heavy, but that didn’t seem to be troubling the pack of young wolves charging around after one another in the enclosed privacy of my mom and dad’s yard. “You didn’t hear it from here? I howled like a baby.”

“Dad,” she chastised. I couldn’t tell whether she was telling me off for lying or teasing, or whether she found my joke embarrassing around her friends. Either way, I gestured outside with a hand.

“Go on,” I said. “You can run along and play.”

She wasted no time in shifting, flying outside in a ball of tawny fur to bowl directly into one of her cousins, teeth and paws flying. To the untrained eye, it would probably look like a fight — but there were no untrained eyes here. This was all safe. This was family.

“A new tattoo, did I hear?”

Even in an environment like this, some things were more family than others. Needless to say, the soothing warmth of my mom’s voice was exactly what I needed to hear after a day like this. I turned to face her, already soaking up the support before she had a chance to wrap me in her arms and squeeze me.

“Hello, pup.”

“Mom.”

“Let’s see this new ink, then.”

As we pulled apart, I held out both hands for her to look at. She was puzzled at first, looking from one hand to the other, before understanding dawned.

“Oh — honey...”

“Yeah,” I said. “So… um. It’s his. Moved over, so I can...”

“Of course.”

“It was Noah’s idea,” I said, watching her lift my hand and look down on the new tattoo. If anybody understood my heartache, it was Mom. It was lucky she was so strong, because she seemed to absorb the feelings of those around her by osmosis. When we were down, so was she. Sometimes I felt guilty for bringing so much misery to her front door, but she chewed me out every time I brought it up.

“I’m your mother,” she always said. “That’s what I do. I care.”

Today, I didn’t force her to remind me. She squeezed my hand, and when she looked up I saw that she had tears in her eyes just like mine.

“That’s a lovely idea of Noah’s,” she said at long last, voice low and textured. “Very nice.”

“Yeah.”

She squeezed my hand once more before she dropped it, beckoning me to follow her to the window seat. We sat on either side of the bay window, sitting in silent contemplation with a view of the wild pups outside. I watched Josie take a flying leap over a flowerbed, and the two cousins play-fighting beside it.

“She’s a wild one,” said Mom. It wasn’t a criticism. “She reminds me of Kylie, when she was a pup.”

“That wasn’t so long ago.”

“It’s longer than it feels,” she said, folding her hands together. “Could have been yesterday, if I had to guess. It’s almost hard to believe she’s not out there with the other kids. Same goes for you, you know.”

We locked eyes, smiling at one another. Outside, the sun came out from behind the clouds for just a fleeting moment before ducking in again.

“I can hardly believe how old you are.”

“Trust me. Me neither.” I looked down at my hands. They worked hard with the flowers, and already I could start to see the effect of all that labor weathering them down. It didn’t seem five minutes ago that I was meeting Micah for the first time. Mom was right, too. It felt like I had barely blinked since I’d been one of the flying balls of fur out in that enclosed yard, when the birch tree was still too young to provide much shade, and you could still see out to the houses in the distance. When was the last time I had come in, out of breath and smiling? Had I known, back then, that I’d never go out to play again? Or had the milestone passed like a ghost ship in the night, silent but no less significant for it?

The line between adult and child had seemed so thick back then. Now, nearing 30, I still didn’t feel qualified to say I’d grown up. Even less so now that I’d suffered so much loss.

“He would be very happy, you know. To see you trying to move on.”

I swallowed, keeping my eyes pointed firmly out of the window so that she couldn’t meet them. I’d cried properly once today. I didn’t intend on giving myself a second round.

“I’m sorry,” she said, after a beat. “I’m not trying to bring it up. I know it’s raw. I just wanted you to know that.”

I let the silence sit for a few moments longer. Sometimes I wished I could feel Micah’s presence around me, like bereaved partners often said they could. I had never experienced it. It made me wonder whether I was broken, or whether grief made so many of us mad.

At long last, I spoke up again.

“Your flowers look beautiful already this year.”

“Well, thank you.” She sat up a little straighter in her chair, leaning across to point out a specific patch. “My lobelia and my love-in-the-mist are over there. They should be coming in soon. And zinnias in the center.”

“What color?”

“There are a couple of different strains. The rosy pink ones were a little weak last year, so I think they’ll come in strong. Maybe the blood orange.”

“I don’t know that your alyssum patch is going to last very long with all those overly keen pups rolling all over it.”

She smiled, faint and fond. “Small price to pay. They need to be clipped back every now and again anyway, or they’ll overpower the summer flowers.”

“Silver linings everywhere, huh?”

“That’s exactly right.”

I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the glass. This house was always so full of the scents I loved. Somebody must have opened a window earlier, because the scents of all those flowers outside had ghosted in — only faint, but still detectable. More importantly, there was wolf after wolf I loved in every chair and on every surface. Right here, I could smell the spot where one of Dad’s lovers Sarah, perhaps one of the key feminine influences on my childhood after my mom, trailed her fingertips as she stood with her morning coffee, looking out of the window at the sunrise. If I concentrated, I could pick out every one of my siblings, no matter how long it had been since their last visit.

It was never very long.

When I opened my eyes, Mom’s eyes darted away from my face with a light smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “Couldn’t help myself. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too, Mom.”

“Just don’t think you’re getting away before dinner,” she warned, standing up from the window seat. “Not a single chance.”

I grinned, watching as she headed out to the kitchen again. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I assured her. I wouldn’t, either. I could see my daughter tumbling outside, as happy as the world could ever make her. In here, I felt lifted by all the family I had around me.

It had been a really difficult day, sure. Momentarily, I had relied a little too much on that alpha artist for what I needed — and there was still a kernel of attraction there, tempting me to go back and take a little more. In the end, though, almost everything I needed to keep me afloat on a day like this was right here.

I sighed, leaned back in the chair, and thumbed over the finger where my tattoo used to be. I missed him like a limb every day, but I knew Mom was right.

Even if I couldn’t feel him here, I already knew he would want me to be happy. Maybe it was time I started trying to fulfill that wish.