I treat Dawn to a hard stare from my position on the floor. She pulls her legs up under her and stares right back from the high ground of the bed.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” I return to the drawer.

I’ve been performing a five-minute version of my set at open mics around the area for the last six months, but I’ve yet to do it in front of anyone I care about—or know.

I’m not ready. The set’s not there yet. I don’t want them to come out and see a mediocre comedian (especially after what happened last week). I want them to see someone worth seeing.

Only Dad, Grams, and Dawn even know I’ve been performing.

It’s impossible to talk about pursuing stand-up without people snap judging everything about you. I don’t want people to think I think I’m funny. I want them to think I’m funny on their own. And I don’t want them to doubt me because I’m a woman. Or because I’m young. Or because it’s a long-shot career that doesn’t usually pan out. That’s what happens when people you know watch you perform while you’re still working on your exceptionally subjective, finicky craft. If they don’t laugh, if they catch a bad go, if you don’t shine like a perfect star, you’re forever tainted in their eyes. Forever unfunny. Forever incapable of your farfetched goal.

“Jamie. You’re obviously not fine.”

My eyes flit up to Dawn’s. “I need a whole new set, D. The plan is to milk the retreat for material. I’m betting I meet at least three screwballs with broken relationships and distorted senses of reality to dissect.” I reach for the pile of clothes I chucked from the closet and stuff them into the backpack as well.

“Jame, if you let me hear your current set, we could workshop it! I can help. I’m betting you already have some good material.”

I plaster on a smile and chuck a handful of mismatched socks up at Dawn. They rain down around her. “It’s all good. I’ve got it under control.”

She sighs and throws one back at me.

“With the eviction thing and moving back in here … Grams thinks I need to get away for a few days to figure out my shit…” I shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe she’s on to something.”

Dawn exhales a resigned breath. “Well, I for one, am glad you’re back in this house. It’s nice having you next door again.”

I grin at her. “That is a fabulous perk.” I shove everything down and attempt to zip the backpack.

Dawn shifts to hang her legs off the bed near my spot on the ground. “Have you told Aaron you’re leaving for a week?”

“Why would I have told Aaron?”

“Did you already drop him?”