Two o'clock, Valentine's afternoon. A girl walks into a restaurant.

"Can I make a reservation for tonight?"

"Sure," the waiter says, setting down his cutlery-and-napkin rolling. "For two, I presume."

"Ah, four, actually."

I don't, honestly, get the Valentine thing. Then again, I don't get birthdays either. Every day I am a day older; my birthday is no different. Every day, I love the people I love. If I need one enforced day a year to show it, then I am doing a poor job.

The four were me, Anfy, and my aunt and uncle from Wyoming, who I haven't seen in fifteen years. We chatted about various things, and I was struck anew by just how strong the women in my family are. Generations back, on both sides, are women who are firm, who are self-possessed, who simply are. It's nothing special. There are no girl-power affirmations passed around amongst us. Maybe it's just an example thing. Maybe it's in our genes.

I didn't have a chance. I like it that way.

There's something of a family gathering going on in a few weeks, something of a feat for my all-over-the-world family. I will, unfortunately, not be there. As time goes on and the guestlist mounts, I do wonder how this came to be.

An aunt in Wyoming, an aunt in Provence, an aunt in England. An uncle in England, cousins dotted across the US. Parents and grandparents and aunt and cousins in Queensland. Anthony sees his family every week, and I honestly don't understand it.

Boring old world if we were all the same.