I manage to get down the stairs to the kitchen without crawling this time, so I figure it’s safe to consume liquids and grab a kombucha from the fridge then head out to the front porch. There my niece, Chloe, is playing with her pet hedgehog, Mr. Prickly Pants, in the shade while Brendan and Laura poke around in their raised vegetable beds on the far side of the front yard.

“Hey, Squirt,” Chloe says, grinning up at me.

“No,” I say for the thousandth time. “You do not get to call me Squirt. At least not until you’re taller than me, like everyone else.”

“I’m already halfway there. Won’t be long now.” Chloe giggles as Mr. Prickly Pants noses the toilet paper roll she’s placed in front of him, sending it lolling across the porch. “Isn’t Prickly Pants the cutest?”

“He is. I want to eat his face he’s so cute.” I take a sip of my drink and sag into the wicker loveseat. “Your dad giving you a break from being the designated weed puller today?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, tailing her pet on her hands and knees. “He and Mom are having romantic morning time, so I get to hang out with Prickly instead.”

My eyes widen, but I’m careful to keep my tone casual as I ask, “So you’re calling Laura ‘Mom’ now?”

“Yeah.” Chloe’s private grin is so sweet and happy it breaks my heart a little. “She said I could.”

“That’s great, kiddo,” I say, throat tight. “Laura really loves you.”

“I know,” she says matter of factly, making me think, not for the first time, that it must be nice to be Chloe.

Even when I was a kid, I can’t remember trusting that I deserved good things the way she does. I was fearless with adventures of the body, but voyages of the heart were more carefully considered. I’ve always sort of assumed people weren’t interested in liking me until they proved otherwise, rather than vice versa.

“Wonder why,” I murmur, kneading the sore, broken-feeling place in my neck with my thumb, beginning to recall some poorly executed head-banging to “Back in Black.”

“Wonder why what?” Chloe catches the toilet paper before it tumbles off the edge of the porch and redirects her hedgehog on a return roll.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

“I wasn’t sure at first,” Chloe says, making my muddled brain work to follow the conversation. “But I talked to Dad, and he said my real mom wouldn’t mind. He said she loved me so much that anything that made me happy would make her happy. And calling Laura Mom makes me happy. So I decided to do it without waiting until after the wedding. Why wait for something you want, when you can have it right now?” Chloe reaches for a box of dominos by my feet, pinning me with those luminous, wiser-than-her-years green eyes. “Because you never know how long you’re going to get, Aunt Dee. There’s no time to waste. Especially for the good stuff.”

I nod as the hairs lift on my arms and that “someone walked over my grave” sensation flutters through my bones. It’s crazy, but it feels like the universe dropped a truth bomb on me, right out of the mouth of this eight-year-old girl. This kid who has somehow managed to stay fearless even after losing her mother when she was practically a baby.

“You’re one of the bravest people I know, Chloe,” I say softly.

She shoots me a “what have you been smoking” look that makes me laugh.

“Seriously,” I insist. “You’re brave and smart, and I want to be like you when I grow up.”

“Thanks, I guess,” she says with a shrug. “But I’m super afraid of seagulls. Just thinking about them makes me get sweaty all over and feel like I’m going to be sick.” She studies me with a critical look. “And I’m pretty sure you’re already grown up.”

I pat her red curls fondly. “I’m glad you’re only pretty sure.”

“Well, you’re short. And you’re sillier than most grown-ups I know.”

“True.” I nod. “This is solid evidence. Maybe you’ll be a lawyer when you grow up. Or a scientist. Or a therapist.”

“I’m not sure I would be good at any of those things.”

“You would be,” I assure her. “Trust me.”

She grins. “Okay. But I think I’m going to be a hedgehog breeder and an artist and a professional bike rider.”

“That sounds lovely.” I lean down, pressing an impulsive kiss to her cheek. “Thank you for the chat. Can you tell Amanda I’m upstairs when she gets here? I have something important I need to start working on right away.”

“Sure. What is it? Can I help?”

I start to say no, but then experience a lightning storm of creative inspiration and point an enthusiastic finger at Chloe’s chest. “Actually you can. You and Mr. Prickly Pants both. Meet me in your room by the costume trunk in ten minutes.”

Chloe claps her hands. “Are we going to play dress-up?”

“We are,” I say, chest fizzing with a potent mixture of hope and daring. “And make some art, too. And maybe a little magic while we’re at it.”