Accidentally stepped on a snail while running today and I thought of you

Not because you’re slow and slimy

(you’re not)

It reminded me of octopuses

Anyway, I know there’s a lot going on, but I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you

His messages make me smile for the first time today, but before I reply to him, I need to text Jennifer first.

My dad is in the hospital, so I won’t be able to make it to therapy anytime soon, I tell her. It’s a relief—I can’t say I enjoy therapy—but I also recognize that canceling our sessions might not be the healthiest thing for me, especially now.

She responds right away, leading me to think she’s put someone’s therapy session on hold just for me. I’m so sorry to hear this. I’m here if you need me, and please check in when you can so I know you’re okay.

Thank you. I’ll try, I say, and she “likes” the message so I know she’s seen it.

As I’m switching back to Quan’s message screen, I get a new text message, but it’s not from him or Jennifer. It’s from Julian.

Hey, my mom heard about your dad and told me. Is it okay if we come visit tomorrow?

My heart jerks and starts thumping painfully. I don’t want to see Julian, and I definitely don’t want to deal with his mom. I’m barely keeping it together as it is.

Thank you, but can you tell your mom that tomorrow’s not a good time? My dad’s going to have a procedure done soon, and we’re looking into moving him home. If she really wants to visit, a couple weeks later is better, I say.

That’s great that he’s coming home! I’ll tell my mom, he says.

Yes, we’re all very relieved, I reply.

Dots dance on the screen, stop, like he deleted what he typed, and start dancing again. A minute later, I get a new text from him. I’ve missed you, Anna.

I roll my eyes. Sure he has.

I mean it, he insists.

I can’t bring myself to say I’ve missed him as well (that would be a lie), so I reply, Thanks. As soon as the message is marked as read, I grimace. That wasn’t the nicest response I could have given, but I just don’t have the energy to be what he wants right now.

Let’s talk more, okay? I’m here for you, he says.

I exit the text window without replying and put my phone on the center console. I don’t want him to be here for me.

Someone else is much better at it than he is.

TWENTY-TWO

Quan

ANNA’S PARENTS’ HOUSE IS SMACK IN THE MIDDLE OF PALO Alto, not too far from my mom’s place in EPA (East Palo Alto), fifteen minutes tops, but it’s a world away from the place where I grew up. The front yards are well lit and don’t double as junkyards. There are no chain-link fences. The landscaping is immaculately manicured. Everyone has solar panels. As for the homes themselves, each one could grace the cover of Better Homes and Gardens magazine, especially Anna’s parents’. There’s a two-story main house up front and a separate guest house in back. They’re Mediterranean style with cream stucco and orange tiled roofs, very California.

The driveway is empty, but I pull up next to the curb. The driveway doesn’t feel like it’s for me.

Just parked outside, I tell Anna in a text message.

It’s stupid, but I’m nervous. It’s been forever since I last saw her (two whole weeks), and I have this irrational worry that things between us have changed for the worse during that time, even though we’ve been texting and talking.

I don’t get a reply from her, and I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I debate walking up to the front door and ringing the doorbell. That might wake someone up, though. They’ve broken her dad’s care into eight-hour shifts so there’s always someone watching him throughout the day, but that means there’s always someone sleeping, too.

Before I can text her again, the front door opens and Anna races out in bare feet. Her hair’s up in a messy ponytail and she’s wearing the ugliest sweat suit, but she’s the best thing I’ve seen in a long time.

I get out of my car just in time for her to crash into my arms, and I hold her close and breathe her in.

“Hey,” I say in a gruff voice.

Instead of speaking, she hugs me tighter.

“Is everything okay? Your dad’s okay?” I ask.

“He’s the same,” she murmurs without opening her eyes.

“Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she says. “It’s just really, really, really nice to have you here.”

That makes me smile. “I would have come earlier.”

“I know. Things were just so hectic and—”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it,” I reassure her.

She sighs, and I feel her tensed-up muscles relax.

“Are you hungry? I told my mom about you and your family, and she gave me three boxes of food for you, not exaggerating,” I say.

She straightens and looks at my car curiously. “From her restaurant?”

“Yeah, spring rolls and noodle soup and stuff.” I open the trunk so she can see all the plastic soup cartons and foam containers, and her jaw drops.

“I don’t know if we have enough room in our fridge …”

I rub my neck as my skin flushes. “It freezes really well. I can bring some home with me, too.” But I’d have to try to eat it on my own, because sure as hell, I can’t tell my mom Anna didn’t take it all.

“Let’s, uh, bring it in and see if it fits,” she says dazedly, and we pick up the boxes and cart them inside.

The entryway of her parents’ house is the showstopper kind. There’s a long marble hallway lined with paintings and a grandfather clock. To the side, there’s a sitting room with a grand fireplace, exposed wooden ceiling beams, elegant furniture, and the most expensive-looking drapes I’ve ever seen. They look like they’re made of gold, but I’m pretty sure it’s just silk—really nice silk. A ways down, I can see a formal dining room with an antique dining table that seats ten and a crystal chandelier.

This place is nothing like my mom’s house, where aesthetics take a back seat to utility and cost but the food is always good. The only thing that’s familiar to me here is the rug by the front door with all the shoes lined up in neat rows. I think my mom owns that same pair of orange plastic sandals, actually.

I toe my shoes off and follow Anna down the hall, feeling the coldness of the marble seeping through my socks to the soles of my feet. I make a discovery that should have been obvious, but wasn’t, because I never walked on so much marble without shoes before now: Marble is hard. Anna is going to get plantar fasciitis walking on this shit all day.

At the end of the hall, she veers left and enters a humongous kitchen / great room area with a twenty-foot-tall ceiling and more of those gold drapes. Anna sets her box of food on one of the granite islands (there are two) and opens one of the Sub-Zero refrigerators (there are also two) with custom wood paneling to match the cabinetry.

As we’re shuffling stuff around, trying to make room for all my mom’s food, a third person joins us.