Uncle John said that throwing a party for Luke would be tacky, so we’re having a Spectacular Barbecue instead. When I asked Dad what made a Spectacular Barbecue different from a regular barbecue, he shrugged. “Your grandmother can’t follow directions, so she found a way to throw a party without telling Uncle John she was having one. Is that not ‘spectacular’ enough for you?”

The Spectacular Barbecue is even better than a party, because everyone is coming, even Uncle John, Aunt Mary, and Luke, all the way from California. I thought we would play capture the flag, since Luke is here and we’re able to make even teams again, but instead we play hide and seek.

I am the seeker. It seems like I have always been the seeker, which isn’t really fair, but I don’t complain. I close my eyes and spin in circles in the kitchen, counting to sixty. Because it is a Spectacular Barbecue, we are playing indoor-outdoor hide and seek, so when I open my eyes, I don’t know where I should begin.

I glance around the kitchen, wondering if any of my cousins are brazen enough to have hidden in the room in which I counted. Probably not, but I circle the kitchen island, just in case, before stepping into the laundry room.

Over the years, Luke has attempted to persuade the rest of us to eat everything from mud to cicada shells, so I wouldn’t be shocked to find him under a heap of dirty clothing. I flip the lid open and rummage through the wooden hamper. It’s filled to the brim with drab garments, and also beetles. When they crawl up my arms, I am forced to cut my search short. But I am glad to know that everyone’s boring clothing is in the hamper, because stuffy clothing is most certainly unwelcome at a Spectacular Barbecue.

I consider going outside, but I resolve to finish the first floor before risking getting distracted by the festivities. I check the bathroom and find Catherine laying in the bathtub. She is not attempting to bathe (she is fully dressed) or to hide (she is easily visible). Her body is stiff, her eyes are closed, and her hands are clasped over her stomach. A blanket is draped over her legs.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “but you look terribly uncomfortable. Are you trying to sleep?”

“Why would I be sleeping in a bathtub?” She does not open her eyes.

“Oh,” I say. “Well, in that case, you should go out to the Spectacular Barbecue.”

I linger for a moment, wondering if she will stand up and follow me out, but she doesn’t.

I head into the guest bedroom. I do not see any of my cousins, and I am beginning to feel like a bad seeker, but then I find something better, something that I’d thought was lost: sitting on top of the bed, as if it never left, is my favorite mink blanket, the one with the rose on it. Years ago, when I told Grandma how much I liked it, she told me I could have it, but then later told me that she’d lost it. I could never understand how she managed to lose it, especially if she was meticulous enough to preserve dead bees in orange pill bottles, but here it is again, in front of me. I touch it, thinking it can’t be real, but it is, and it’s as soft as I remember. Luke will be happy to hear that it’s been located; our pillow forts haven’t been nearly as elaborate without this blanket, lacking a certain regal quality.

None of my cousins are in the television room, but Grandpa is. I haven’t seen him recently, so it’s gratifying to find him, even if he isn’t technically participating in hide and seek. He looks even thinner than he did when I last saw him, and it is difficult to differentiate between the wires connected to the television and the tubes attached to his body. He is watching a K-drama, but the subtitles are off—it irritates him when the English subtitles and the Korean speech are out of sync—so I have no idea what is going on.

“Hi Grandpa,” I say, realizing I have been hovering like a phantom. “Why aren’t you outside?”

“Oh, I’m better off inside,” he says glumly, then turns the question back on me. “Why aren’t you outside?”

“I’m playing hide and seek,” I say.

I almost ask him why he’s sad, because it is ridiculous to sulk around the house when there is a Spectacular Barbecue occurring just outside, but in his presence my own happiness feels like fire, fleeting and fragile, so I dart out of the room before his sadness snuffs it out.

In the living room, I am distracted by family photos. There is the one of Dad and Grandma that I like, where he is going to prom in a white suit and she is smiling proudly beside him. There is one of Grandpa and Uncle John, holding a baby that has to be Luke. Others are more disorienting. There is a picture of Sophia and me, on a boat, but she has a nose ring and my hair is shorter than it has ever been. I don’t remember her having a nose ring; I certainly don’t remember getting a bob. I pull a strand of my hair into my face and inspect it to confirm that it is as long as it should be. I flip the photo of Sophia and me over so that it rests facedown.

I hear a sneeze from behind the curtains. I pull the curtain back and find Sophia. Thankfully, she isn’t wearing a nose ring. She looks the way she has always looked, the way she will always look.

“Do you have a nose ring?” I ask her.

“No,” she says. “I want one, though.”

I resist the urge to show her the photograph. Grandma used to tell me that I was a sharp child, but the Spectacular Barbecue has made me feel cloudy, like I can’t differentiate between what has been and what is and what will be. Something is irrevocably different, but I am not sure what it is. Perhaps it’s Sophia, who, despite looking like her usual self, is not smiling.

“You lied to me,” she says, straight-faced, “about Cape Cod.”

“I lied to you about Cape Cod?”

“You keep saying that we all went to the Cape,” she says. “We didn’t all go.”

“Of course we all went to the Cape,” I say. “We all always go to the Cape.”

“See, you make things up,” she says. “We didn’t all go. Luke didn’t come.”

“Yes, we did,” I say. “It’s always us and Luke and Catherine and Simon and Brielle.”

“That’s not how it happened,” she says. “You know that’s not how it happened, but you keep lying to me about it.”

I get the impression that she is telling the truth. “Should I be sorry?” I ask. It doesn’t sound like the sort of lie I would tell, but Sophia seems very upset with me.

“Not if you aren’t.”

“I think I should be,” I say, but I’m not sure.

“Then why aren’t you apologizing?”

“Because I—” I start, struggling to remember if I have lied, if I am sorry. “I don’t know.”

I am the seeker, but as I am walking away from her I wonder if I have been the one hiding this whole time.

I check the dining room, where the only place to hide is under the table, but no one is there. I am about to walk up to the master bedroom when I hear movement from the coat closet. I open the door and Simon stares back at me.

“Got you,” I say. “Hey, do you remember going to the Cape this year?”

“Yeah, we went,” he says. “It wasn’t as fun as usual though.”

“What do you mean? It’s always fun.”

“It was different this year,” he says. He breaks eye contact with me before he continues. “You cried, remember?”

“Why would I have cried? The Cape is always excellent. Spectacular, even.” I sigh. “Honestly, Simon, a Spectacular Barbecue is no place to talk about crying. I’ll see you outside.”

I walk out of the room. I want to go outside. I really want to go outside to the Spectacular Barbecue, where there are balloons and everyone is waiting, but I go upstairs and check the master bedroom. I still manage to get sidetracked, running my hand along the mother of pearl cabinet with the iridescent birds. I have two people left to find, but I think I might be hallucinating. The birds on the cabinet are moving, wings in motion, and I stare at them, challenging them to peel themselves off of the cabinet and fly away. They don’t, of course, because the viny detailing is strong enough to preserve them where they are.

I look around the room. There is nowhere to hide under the bed, no room for monsters or cousins. There is one classic hiding spot in this room: the walk-in closet. We have all hidden here a number of times, knowing that the seeker usually searches downstairs first.

Nestled among Grandma’s scarves and boxes of winter clothing, I find Brielle.

“This isn’t a very original hiding spot.”

She shrugs. She looks sad. Why is everyone sad?

“Am I the first one you found?” She must know she isn’t.

“Fourth.”

“Then I win.”

“You don’t win,” I say, “You come in second.”

“No,” she says. “I win.”

It’s never worth arguing with Brielle. If she can’t understand that I still need to find Luke, I’m not going to explain it to her. I cleared the house, save for the creepy basement (where no one ever hides), and my final hider, Luke, must be outside. I can finally go outside to the Spectacular Barbecue!

Dad is grilling kalbi on the deck. “Find everyone?” he asks.

“Not yet. Seen anyone?”

“Only Sophia,” he says. Right. Of course he had seen her. She would have been totally visible from outside, pressed between the curtains and the glass windows.

I take some kalbi and some lettuce from the plate beside him. It is okay to reward myself; I have nearly found everyone.

“Did I lie to Sophia?” I ask him.

“Are you a liar?” he asks, surprised.

“I don’t think I’m a liar, but I think I may have lied.” This is my confession, but it is meaningless, because I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.

“About what?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “She said something about Cape Cod.”

“Yes,” he says, “I think you did make something up about the Cape.”

“Why would I have lied about the Cape?”

“I didn’t say you lied,” he says, “just that you made something up.”

“Well,” I say, “Sophia’s the one who isn’t making sense. She said that Luke didn’t come this year, but that can’t be true.”

He sighs. “That’s not quite how it happened this year.”

I stare at him blankly. When he fails to elaborate, I walk away and take the stairs down to the pool. I drift into Uncle John and Grandma’s conversation.

“It’s so quiet at night now,” Uncle John says, and I think he is crying, “now that I’m not praying.”

Grandma nods, wrapping an arm around him. “I know,” she says, “I know.”

“I was praying, at the end, fervently,” he says. “But now I don’t believe at all.”

I am not sure what it means to pray fervently, but I nod solemnly before shifting the subject back to hide and seek. I have to find Luke. “Where do you think Luke is?”

“I don’t know,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I wish I knew.”

I wonder if he said a party would be tacky because he didn’t want to cry at a party. But how could he have known that he would spend the party crying? I resist the urge to tell him that it is equally unacceptable to tear up at a Spectacular Barbecue.

I have to find Luke. Things are getting clearer, but also they are fuzzier. Where has Luke been and where could he be? He has scampered up trees and twisted his ankle on the comedown; he has jumped from the roof into the pool; one time he even climbed out the window of the master bedroom onto the roof and made his way down to the deck from there. The deck! I jog away from Grandma and Uncle John and make my way back to the deck.

“Dad!” I say, and I am giddy, because I understand now.

“Game over yet?” he asks, amused. I am glad that he understands the emotions appropriate for a Spectacular Barbecue.

“No, I’m still looking for Luke,” I say. “I thought he might have climbed out the window of the master bedroom and onto the roof,” I say. “From there, he probably would have been able to get down to the deck. He did that once, a long time ago. Is he here?”

“I don’t think he’s here,” Dad says. His voice has gone cold. I guess I shouldn’t have told him about the window.

“Okay,” I say, brightly, because even if Dad is annoyed at me, I think I have figured out where Luke is. I’ve searched everywhere else, and there’s only one other place he can be.

I run into the foyer and nearly slip as I turn left and start down the stairs to the basement. There is a sign hanging on the wall reading “WRAP YOUR TOES!” It’s written in Sophia’s handwriting, and I am conveniently barefoot, so I don’t question it. I grip the edge of each stair with my toes as I make my way down.

I see Luke there, waiting at the foot of the staircase, and I am so relieved that I have found him. I have never been so relieved in my life! He looks up at me and seems surprised that I have found him at all. He is probably wishing that I would get to him faster, but I have to follow the instructions; I have to wrap my toes or else I will fall, I think, perhaps I will fall to my death.

I am on the bottom stair and Luke is on the floor. Right now, Luke is so, so young. He is the oldest of the six of us, but today he is young. He is wearing a navy shirt and cargo shorts.

“You came to the Cape this year, right?” I ask him.

He doesn’t reply. I keep talking.

“I’m sorry I told Sophia you did, if you didn’t,” I say. “But we all always go to the Cape, so I don’t see how I could have lied.”

I had been getting annoyed with the others for not giving me straight answers, but at least they offered me words.

“You should come outside,” I say. “We can play capture the flag. We can finally make even teams again, now that you’re back!”

I offer my hand to help him off the ground. He doesn’t take it.

“Luke,” I say, “it’s a Spectacular Barbecue. Hide and seek is over. Wrap your toes and let’s go. We can come back inside later, for pillow forts. I found the rose blanket!”

He doesn’t move. Now that I am looking at him more closely, I notice that his appearance has shifted. He is still sitting on the floor, but now his face is yellow and his cheeks are sunken in. I wonder what he would weigh on Earth, on the moon, in a tomb. I am beginning to remember, I think.

“Come on,” I say. I am not above begging. “You could use the sunlight. Besides, the Spectacular Barbecue is for you.

“No,” he says, “the Spectacular Barbecue is for you.”

“The Spectacular Barbecue can’t possibly be for me,” I say. He is being ridiculous. I cannot recall what we are celebrating, but it is a milestone, and Luke always hits milestones first. It goes Luke, me, Sophia, Catherine, Simon, Brielle. That is the order. The party shouldn’t be for me. Something is wrong, if the party is for me. “You’re older,” I explain, because he is young today and has forgotten, “so you hit milestones first.”

“Look at me,” he says, as though I haven’t been looking at him the whole time. “You’re not looking. You need to really look at me. Do I look older than you?”

Does he look older than me? I cannot tell. There is more of me than there is of him, because he is so small today. He is practically collapsing into the ground, lacking the muscle required to lift himself up. He has no hair, I realize. I cannot tell if he is young or old, dead or alive.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know how old we are.”

“Ask Grandma,” he says, and I am grateful that someone has finally given me straightforward instructions.

I go outside and Grandma is still talking to Uncle John about religion. “What does it mean to pray fervently?” I ask them.

“It means that you are desperate enough to believe that prayer can heal the sick,” Uncle John says.

“It means that he loved Luke enough to ask a God he had forsaken for help,” Grandma says to me.

“If there is a God,” Uncle John says, and he is definitely crying now, of this I am certain, “he will think that I am a foolish, spiteful child.”

Details are returning to me, but they are not very helpful. I do remember crying, on the Cape—which is dumb, because the Cape is even more exciting and fun than a Spectacular Barbecue—but I think I had a reason.

I really need some answers. I butt into Grandma and Uncle John’s conversation. “How old should Luke be?” I ask.

“He was born in 2001,” she says. “And you were born in 2002, and Sophia in 2005—”

I cut her off. “So how old should we be?”

“How old the two of you should be and how old the two of you are,” she says, “are two very different questions.”

I am so confused. I want to be happy, because I have found Luke, but he is making it absurdly difficult for me to bring him outside. I just need to get him outside; then, he will wish that Uncle John hadn’t forbidden us from throwing a party! He is the guest of honor, not me, because he is older, and I need him to be present at the Spectacular Barbecue.

I sprint back into the house and down the stairs, not bothering to wrap my toes in an effort to get back to Luke as soon as possible, but he has disappeared.

I run through the basement, which has tripled in size, in search of him. I think I see him and I break into a sprint, but just when I am about to celebrate having found him, I crash into a wall. I stagger back and realize that I have run into a mirror. I haven’t found Luke, only myself, and I don’t look like I should. Luke’s freckles have been transplanted onto my face and my hair is chopped short, like it was in the photograph. Still, the worst of it is not the misplaced freckles or the shortened hair, but that I am much, much older than Luke, and I have remembered enough to understand that he is somewhere out of bounds.