She looked around to see if anyone else was around; Taured was hardly ever alone, and Summer thought about saying no, but it was hard to say no to an adult she barely knew. She was supposed to be polite, so she walked slowly to the table closest to the kitchen door and sat opposite him. A bowl of apricots sat next to his elbow, and as he watched her, he split one open and flicked out the pit, eating that half first. He pushed the bowl toward her and Summer chose the brightest, orangest one. Imitating his movement, she split it open and stared at the brown pit inside. It was the shape of an eye, and when she popped it out, it was rough to the touch. Summer ate the apricot, pushing the pit into the pocket of her shorts. The fruit was soft and sweet, like a marshmallow. It was cool that they grew them here; she’d seen kids her age hanging out in the orchard from a distance.

“Did you have an argument?” he asked. He split another apricot and again pushed the bowl toward Summer.

“Yes,” she said. She swung her legs beneath the table, feeling guilty all over again. What if he asked them to leave and they’d have to go live with her grandparents?

“I had a little brother, he was barely younger than me—eighteen months—so we were like twins,” Taured said. “One of my first memories is of us—me and Chris—fighting like our lives depended on it: biting, hair pulling, kicking. That’s all we did, fight. It drove my mother crazy.” He stopped to laugh at something Summer couldn’t grasp, his entire face glowing with the memory. She wished she had memories that made her face glow like that.

“Until it was time for me to go to preschool.” Taured paused to stare at the ceiling, one corner of his mouth lifting, and Summer got the feeling he was somewhere else. “I remember being at preschool and missing him so badly all I wanted was to go home, and then when I did get home, we were happy to be together.”

“No more fighting?” Summer asked.

“We were best friends after that. As it turned out, we needed space to be our own individual people.”

“But you were just little kids.” Summer rolled one of the apricot pits between her palms under the table.

“Little kids are people, too!” he insisted with mock outrage.

Summer laughed at his expression and shrugged. She hated this part, when you were supposed to say something back that made the adults feel good about what they said.

“Cool.”