I get groceries delivered to me and make a filet mignon in her vegan kitchen, refusing to air out the smell. I fry up eggs, let giant wheels of brie grow runny on her counters. When she lights incense, I cough loudly. When she sprays her essential oils, I open a window. I play loud, angry late 2000s rock and roll when she does her yoga, a far cry from the pop-y, upbeat music I’d actually listened to during that era. It’s such a pure, clichéd form of teenage rebellion that I dance, too; dance in ways I haven’t moved my body for months.

She doesn’t approach me or confront me about any of it. We can tell when the other is coming down the hall, in the kitchen, so it’s easy to avoid each other. For those days before I’m finally out, we’re just two bubbles, never touching lest the other one bursts.

I’ve never fought with her like this before. Even as a teen, silence was never my strong suit. But her words, the blame she’s so eager to use as a barb, they’ve seared me so much more than the same ones printed over and over again in all those rags ever did. They were from my own mother. And hurled at me when I had just begun to unpack whether they were really true.

I text my brothers, in Chicago and London. Our communication is sparse. Of course, they reached out when it all happened, especially when people on Twitter began threatening their children, but beyond asking me if I’m okay, we haven’t been keeping in touch.

She’ll calm down and apologize, says my oldest brother, Oliver, in London with his British wife and twin babies. Theo, who has been living with the same girlfriend for close to a decade now, is more straight up. She’s batshit. She’s always been batshit. Don’t take anything she says personally. I know it’s hard. Sharon hasn’t spoken to her in a year because she complained, loudly and meanly, about us not getting pregnant. Stay strong. You’re welcome to come out here and stay with us for a little while.

I would almost take him up on the offer, too. But even after everything, I can’t imagine leaving New York quite yet. I just can’t.