“Hey, Anna,” she says, smiling at me in her sweet way. She likes everyone, genuinely cares about everyone. “How are you? How’s your mom? Where’s Priscilla?”

“Is that Faith?” Priscilla calls out from the other side of the house.

Instead of answering with words—I’m literally too tired to speak—I push a smile onto my lips and point toward my dad’s room.

Faith has only taken a few steps when Priscilla barrels into the room and gives her a big hug, saying, “You’re here. I can’t believe you didn’t even text me ahead of time.”

“My schedule opened up, so I drove here straight from Sacramento. You’re looking good, Prissy,” Faith says as they separate, using Priscilla’s nickname that I hate. I’m not sure if it’s because of the negative meaning of the word or the fact that I’m not allowed to use it.

“No, I’m not looking good, but I love you for lying. I’ve gained five pounds since I’ve been here. There’s nothing to do but watch Dad and eat, and her booty call gave us tons of food.” Priscilla waves toward me with that last part, and it takes me a few seconds before I understand she means Quan.

I shake my head, trying to remember how to form words so I can correct her, but it takes me too long.

“Your booty call, Anna?” Faith asks in shock. “What about that super cute boyfriend you had?”

“They’re in an ‘open relationship,’ ” Priscilla answers for me, putting finger quotes around the words open relationship.

Faith’s mouth hangs open.

“You should see the new guy.” Priscilla waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “He’s covered in tattoos. Our mom thinks he’s a drug dealer.”

Faith’s surprised expression gradually transforms into a sly grin. “Good for you, Anna.”

That irks me enough that I finally find my voice to say, “He’s not a drug dealer. He’s in the apparel business.”

“He sells T-shirts out of his trunk,” Priscilla says in a mock whisper.

“He doesn’t,” I say, irritated that she discounted Quan so easily—even though I did the same thing in the beginning. “His company is called MLA, and they’re getting purchased by Louis Vuitton.”

“Seriously?” Priscilla asks. In the next instant, she’s pulling out her phone, typing “MLA clothing” into her search engine, and scrolling through the website. “This is him?”

“Yeah,” I say, and my annoyance is completely overshadowed by nervous anticipation now. She’s going to be impressed. She has to be impressed.

Please be impressed.

All she says is, “Interesting.” She clicks through different pages on the website, evaluating, judging. “Has he signed a contract with Louis Vuitton?” she asks in a neutral tone.

“He said they’re in negotiations. It’s not a done deal yet.”

“I thought so.” Coolly putting her phone away, she says, “Just so you know, these things rarely go through. In case he’s not aware, tell him not to get his hopes up. Nice website, though.”

I slump back into my chair, disappointed and inexplicably angry. Why does she have to put everyone in their place like this? Why can’t she just be happy for him? For me?

“How long are you staying?” Priscilla asks Faith.

“I don’t have anything until Monday, so I thought I’d stay over the weekend to play with you and then leave early Monday morning, like five A.M.,” Faith says with a twinkling smile.

“You don’t want to leave Sunday night like a normal person?” Priscilla asks.

Faith shrugs. “You know how I am with sleep. I thought I’d do night shifts, too, so your mom can take a couple days off?”

“Oh my God, you’re an angel. I’m going to kiss you,” Priscilla says as she leans close with her lips puckered.

Laughing and batting Priscilla away, Faith says, “No kisses needed.” Her expression softens when she looks at me, though a smile still plays at the corners of her lips. “You should take the weekend off and go see your fashionista boyfriend.”

“You should go when you have the chance, Anna. I have to fly back to New York in a couple weeks to do some stuff, and you and Mom are going to have to watch Dad by yourselves,” Priscilla says.

It’s what I’ve wanted, a chance to leave this house, but now that it’s here, I feel bad jumping at the opportunity. I shouldn’t want to leave. I should want to stay. A good daughter would stay.

And what’s this about Priscilla leaving for New York? She never mentioned this before. The thought of caring for our dad during all my waking hours by myself fills me with dread. The moaning … I’ll have to listen to it for sixteen hours straight, only to sleep, wake up, and listen to it for another sixteen hours.

“How long will you be gone?” I ask.

“Just a week or two. Some stuff came up in the office, and they need me to sort it out,” Priscilla says in an offhand manner. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, but, yeah, you should really take the weekend off while you can. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before Dad’s party.”

My face goes cold as the blood drains from it. A week or two. I honestly don’t know if I can handle that. I’m trying as hard as I can, but I’m not holding it together well. As it is, I’ve been crying as I get out of bed each morning, knowing what I have to look forward to, what I’m going to do, what our dad wants.

“Okay,” I say. When I remember, I smile at Faith and say, “Thank you. Really. It’s so nice of you to—”

“Of course,” she says before I can finish, squeezing my hand. “I’ve been meaning to come. It just hasn’t worked out until now. You know how it is.”

I don’t know how it is, but my head bobs in a circular kind of nod anyway. What I do know is that she has absolutely no obligation to be here, not like Priscilla and me. She’s only my dad’s niece. We’re his daughters. He raised us, fed us, loved us. Caring for him now is something we must do.

Even if it breaks us.

Gratefulness overwhelms me, and tears swim in my eyes as Faith and my sister leave the kitchen, headed for my dad’s room. It’s been so long since I’ve been free that I don’t even know what I’ll do with the time she’s giving me.

Practice violin in circles and circles?

No.

I type out a message to Quan: My cousin came. She’s HERE. Do you have this weekend free?

He replies instantly, I did, but not anymore! Can I come get you tonight? Like right now?

Yes, please, I say.

Heading out. See you soon.

I hug my phone to my chest for a moment, wishing it didn’t take so long for him to get here. Then I head up to my room. My plan is to hurry through a shower, pack my things, and make my bed before meeting Quan outside, but when I get into the shower, I lose track of time.

This has been my only sanctuary since I’ve been here. When I’m in the shower, no one can yell “Anna, come help me pull Dad up” or “Anna, go get me the bag of diapers from the garage” or “Anna, take the trash out for me” or “Anna, watch Dad while I go to the store” and expect me to drop what I’m doing, stop my thoughts mid-thought, and jump to their bidding with a happy smile. I’m showering. I can’t hear them. They have to wait until I get out.