“Hudson’s stronger than you think, Dad,” Isla says, and I notice she too is drinking coffee. When did that happen? She usually drinks milk in the morning, a tall, cold, sweating glass, like a toddler. “He looked me in the eye yesterday when we said goodbye, which is the first time he’s done that since I don’t know when. Maybe two Christmases ago? That has to mean something.”

“I hope so,” my dad says, and grips my mom’s hands. When I see them locked like that, I let my usual fury turn to warmth, an unexpected twist in my gut.

Maybe we’re all stronger than we think.

Maybe there are worse places to be than hitting bottom with the people you love-hate.

Maybe monsters can give up their monsterhood.

“When are the lawyers and Paloma coming back?” I ask. My parents have returned from Boston, and I assume their new entourage will soon follow. The kitchen will again smell like tuna sandwiches and cologne. The dining room will give off that anxious hum of a command center.

“They’re not,” my mom says, looking around as if surprised not to see them here with us. “Actually, we have a lot to talk about. Isla, would you be able to take tomorrow morning off from school? Would that be okay, honey?”

I look over at Isla, but I can’t read her face. My mom has never asked our permission for anything, has never said the words Would that be okay, honey? Not even that time she flashed that picture of me in my Halloween costume in eighth grade on the Tonight Show—even though I was dressed as a carrot—or when she tweeted that I had my first crush.

“I guess,” Isla says.

“And you can be here too, Chlo? Tomorrow morning?” my mom asks.

“I’ll have to clear my very busy social calendar,” I say. “But I think it can be arranged.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she says, with real gratitude, not the sitcom variety, and that’s when I get scared.

—

For the first time, I call a meeting with Kenny. I decide it’s unlikely that I’ll run into Levi or Shola or any of my classmates in a high-rise in Century City, so we meet in his office. Also, Isla, as usual, is right: I need to get out more, even if it’s to have a chat with my lawyer. Later, if I’m sure there are no paparazzi following me, I’m going to check in on Cesar.

I pace in front of his couch, an expansive view of Los Angeles laid out behind me like a glittery net, and talk. I’m here to tell Kenny my story, whether he wants to hear it or not. I’m done with the waiting on every front.