“What? Who? Is that a joke?”

“You’re the one who was born to be married.” She takes my hand. “I’ll find you a nice man to date, honey. Don’t worry. You won’t be an old maid for much longer.”

“Gosh. That’s so sweet, Mom.” But I put my head back on her shoulder, and we watch the kids go by, and the wind dries my tears and flutters my hair.

* * *

When I get back home the next afternoon, music—if you can call “The Wheels on the Bus” music—seeps out of Leo’s place. I creep up to my place to grab a few things. The Realtor has some apartments she wants to show me, but for now, I’ll go back to Rachel’s.

I check my voice mail—two missed calls, both from Owen. Right. I was supposed to have dinner with him, but we never rescheduled. The thought of going into the city makes me tired. If he wants to see me, he can come up here.

As I’m getting some clean underwear, I see the little pink clay dog Leo made when the girls stayed with me. It’s been on my bureau since that night.

Without further thought, I go down to Leo’s.

I glance through the window and see Austin, son of a Hungry Mom, banging out “Lightly Row”—I know all the beginner songs, horribly. The mom is staring at the back of Leo’s head.

I knock on the door, loudly. “Leo? Can I see you for a second?”

“Lightly Row” stops—praise Jesus—and some pounding begins from Austin’s destructive little fists. His mother doesn’t tell him to stop.

Leo is at the door surprisingly fast. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Suddenly, I feel stupid. I didn’t really plan this out. But there he is, and I haven’t seen him for six days, and my heart lurches and wobbles.

He looks tired.

I clear my throat. “Um...how are you?”

“Good. And you?”

“Fine! Great. Good. Um...I wanted you to have this.”

He looks down at the pink Loki. A faint smile comes to his face, and my whole soul seems to expand. “Thank you, Jenny.”

“Leo!” Austin bellows. “I’m bored!”

“Don’t yell, Austin,” his mother says in a singsong voice.

“Hang in there, buddy,” Leo calls over his shoulder. He looks back at me. “How’s apartment hunting going?”

“Good. Listen. Leo. I just want to tell you this one thing.”

“Okay.” His eyes are such a pure blue today.

“You didn’t break my heart,” I say. “You filled it up. And I do love you, but I also understand what you can and can’t do. I just hope that I’m a happy memory for you. That’s what you are for me. I’ll always think of you and smile and be glad that I was with you and got to know you.”

His mouth opens slightly.

“I’m! So! Bored!” Austin roars, punctuating each word with a fist-bang.

“He’s bored,” I say. Leo’s smile is fast and then gone. “You get back to it,” I say. “I just wanted to tell you. And to give you Loki.”

“Thank you, Jenny.” His voice is achingly deep and gentle.

“You bet. I know how you love pink.” I give a shaky smile and get while the getting’s good.

Evander’s mom pulls up as I’m heading up the stairs. “Miss Jenny,” the little guy calls as he gets out of the car.

“Hey, buddy.” If he sees the tears in my eyes, he doesn’t comment. “How’s practice coming along?”

“Fine, thank you.” He has such nice manners. “Leo says I’m ready for my audition.”

“Then I bet you are.”

“Would you come?” he asks. “To Juilliard?”

I’m momentarily shocked out of my sorrow. “Um...wow! Thank you, honey!” He beams. “Just make sure it’s okay with Leo and your parents.”

“My parents can’t go. They have to work.”

My sore heart tugs. “Well, you ask Leo, and if he says yes, I’d love to. But either way, I know you’ll be great. Because you already are.”

He has the smile of an angel, this kid. My throat tightens even more as he goes into Leo’s. I’m going to miss Evander. A lot.

I go inside my own apartment.

It seems so long ago that I moved in. All my furniture loves it here. I love it here. The brick walls, the bang of the radiators, the arched doorways, the claw-foot tub, the tin ceiling in the kitchen, the black-and-white tile floors in the bathroom... I wish in one sharp, abrupt swell, that I could stay.

What a beautiful word that is. Stay with me. Stay home. Stay alive.

In another impulsive move, I pick up my phone and call the Realtor. “Hey, Jill,” I say. “I think I’m ready to buy something. Let’s forget about renting, okay?”

She’s thrilled, of course. She promises to email me some listings and schedule some visits.

After I hang up, I take one long look around, trying to etch the feeling of living here on to my heart so I won’t forget.

There’s a picture of my nieces as newborns on my mantel, the three of them in soft pink sleepers. Rachel kept them in the same crib for three or four months. They’re touching in this picture; Grace in the middle, one hand on Rose’s, her arm looped through Charlotte’s.

I want kids. I want a daughter or a son. I want to be a mother. I also want to be a wife, but it doesn’t seem fair to try to find a husband when I’m pretty sure I’ll be in love with Leo for a long, long time.