Page 108 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon

Cal thought that was hilarious. Kelsey laughed, too, but I think she just likes laughing.

“Well,” I said, “when you put it that way.”

It was so warm inBaltimore the winter Brynn and Tim died—one of the least-wintry winters in decades. This year, unfortunately, late December through about two weeks ago was the exact opposite, with snow, sleet, and temperatures routinely below freezing. We’ve come out of that now, though, and spring is here in all its balmy, pollen-dusted glory.

Grace and I are walking side by side. She has Harry Styles by his leash. We aren’t hand-holders by nature, but Grace and I are holding hands now because this feels like a significant moment for all ofus.

The aquarium isn’t heavy, but it’s too cumbersome to carry, so Ian and Bella are behind us taking turns pulling it in an old beach wagon we found in Grace’s basement. One of the wheels is loose, so I help them roll the wagon over the curb and into the park. The mice look up at me, nervous.

“I’m glad it’s warm again,” says Bella. “The mice’ll be happier this way.”

We’ve fallen into a nice rhythm, Grace, Ian, Bella, and me. We’re together every weekend, a few weeknights, too, here and there, although I’ve never—at least to the kids’ knowledge—stayed over. Last Sunday night Grace and I leaned against the front fender of my car for a bit when she walked me out. “What now, do you think?” she asked, facing the Rodrigos’ house.

I knew what she meant, and it was a good question. We’ve talked about logistics, because there are many of them to sort through. I haven’t seen Brynn again since the day I got stitches, and Grace says she no longer talks to Tim, but our houses are too full of their ghosts for all of us to be together in her place or mine. So, somewhere new, eventually. Soon.

“We’ll figure it out,” I told her.

“As long as you’re there,” she said and leaned her shoulder into mine.

“Yeah. As long as you’re there.”

“When we do find a place, though,” she said, “we should probably check for mice.”

“Yeah, that’s a good call.”

As we approach the playground,I look at the swings to see if by chance the two Goth girls from before are there. They aren’t, though, just two moms chatting and pushing a boy and girl about Bella’s age. They don’t notice us as we wheel by, which is a relief, because I’m not sure how we’d answer questions about this.

“It’s up here,” says Ian. “Remember?”

“I do, buddy,” I say.

The little creek is flowing again, and all the melted snow and sleet from the last few months has made everything around it green and lush. A few tadpoles scatter when we stop at the water’s edge. I lift the aquarium out of the wagon and set it on the grass. Grace crouches beside it, takes the screen top off, and she and Harry Styles look inside.

“I’m gonna miss these little guys,” she says.

“Me, too,” says Bella.

When we’re all together, it’s usually at Grace’s house, but she and the kids have enjoyed feeding the mice lettuce and brown food pellets from Petco when they’re over at my place. The guy with the green hair—whose name, we learned, is Trevor—has been a big help in cultivating the mice’s surprisingly expensive diet. “I know it’s a lot,” he told us. “But you can’t just feed them anything.”

“Okay, everyone,” I say, “time to say goodbye.”

“See ya, friends,” says Grace.

“Bye,” says Ian.

“Goodbye, mice,” says Bella, trying not to cry.

I ease the aquarium onto its side, careful not to cause a panic. As usual, with freedom there for the taking, the mice pause, unsure what to do. A warm breeze arrives, rustling the trees, and I see a plane moving across the sky above us, climbing toward somewhere.

I tap the bottom of the aquarium. “Off you go,” I say.

They all start to move, slow at first, just exploring, then at full tilt, running and running.

“There they go!” says Ian.

Harry Styles pulls against his leash and barks.

“Are you sure they’re gonna be okay?” asks Bella.

Grace and I look at each other.

“Yep,” we say at the same time, even though we have no idea. How could we?

But we can hope.