Jasper’s hopping off his motorbike, he’s taking off his helmet, he sees me standing on the veranda, he’s grinning, he’s a miracle. And the twins run out and say, “Jasper!” They’re jumping up and down, two wild, bouncing beans. Mum’s at the door too, saying, “Jasper!” And Jasper’s flying up the path like a comet. His grin is like the universe beginning and like atoms splitting and Mum—who’s seen love and felt love and been broken and mended by it—sees my face, and gives my arm a squeeze. “Yeah,” she says, and her voice breaks a bit. And when Jasper and I hug, hard, and he spins me and doesn’t
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