She drops her eyes from mine and goes to the top of the stairs. “Kids? Gillian’s here!”

Ten seconds later Josie’s bounding up the steps, then flops onto a beanbag, arms wide.

“I’m exhausted! Dance Challenge is so hard!”

Sam doesn’t seem to be following her, so I head down and find him shelving the handsets for the Xbox console. He doesn’t turn around as I enter.

“Hi, Sam.”

“Hi.”

He still doesn’t turn.

“Everything okay?” I say.

He nods his head the tiniest bit.

“Sam? Did something happen?”

He turns sharply.

“Can you just leave me alone? Why does everyone always have to make a big deal of everything! It’s just a game!”

I start backwards.

“Well, excuse me.”

Sarcasm probably isn’t the best tone to take but Sam’s already stomping up the stairs. He’s a kid, I remind myself; he’s hurting, this is normal. But I’m surprised at how wounded I feel.

Come on, Gillian. Be the grown-up here.

“Well,” Dinah says uncertainly as I reach the top of the stairs. I guess neither Sam nor I are at our sunniest right now. “Get home safe.”

“Thanks,” I say, a little more crisply than I mean to. I turn to her daughter. “Bye, Josie. Happy New Year.”

Outside we get into the car, and Sam doesn’t speak so I don’t either. I don’t have it in me right now to be snapped at again. When we park in the driveway he slams the car door, and once I let him in, goes up to his room without a word. I figure the wise thing might be to let him cool off for a bit before I go talk to him. Hopefully I can rally him a little for our New Year’s Eve dinner with Mom.

I pull out my phone and text Oliver.

Don’t forget, 7:30 for tonight.

We still haven’t actually spoken to each other since he walked out on me last night. I’m still smarting from that if I think about it too hard—but it’s layered now with all the guilt from where I’ve been today. I just don’t know how I’m going to bring this up with him again, including the fact that I went rogue with my solo visit to the clinic and that I lied to the doctor about Oliver being on board.

It feels kind of like a game of chicken, neither of us acknowledging where we left the conversation last night. Ignoring all that probably suits Oliver, though—I bet I’m going to have to be the one to bring it up again.

Can I just meet you at the restaurant? he texts back. Sorry, today is crazy.

I clench my teeth.