The adults are smiling in the picture, all of them smiling like they have a secret. And they’re here in the library, standing in front of the huge windows, bathed in light and alive. My mother is near the center of the group, something narrow and circular glinting in her hand that she’s trying to put around Auden’s father’s neck. My own father watches fondly, one hand at the small of her back, his other hand laced with Rebecca’s father’s. Auden’s mother watches her husband and my mother with a pained smile, but the way she leans into Becket’s parents suggests familiarity, just as the way they
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