I fiddle with the clasps of my overalls. “I’m jealous of Siri, Papa.” I stick out my tongue and make a dying zombie noise. “I hate it. I hate how jealous I am of her.” I get up from the table and shake out my limbs. “Woof, I said it out loud.” I sit back down. “It’s irrational and immature, but having her in California without me was driving me insane. I felt the hooks of it creeping up around me all week, and they got me today … I was horrible.” My voice squeaks. It’s unpleasant.

“It’s your turn,” Papa reminds me. I mindlessly yank up a card.

“I shouldn’t be reacting this way to the idea that Siri and Dawn might like each other. It’s gross. But I have these relentless, nasty possessive feelings weeding through me all the same.” I glance up at Papa’s kind expression and immediately feel ill. I drop my head into my free hand. “I shouldn’t have told you that. What am I doing right now?”

“Your discard,” Papa says softly.

I put down a card without looking at it, and I stare through my fingers at the discard pile. Papa picks it up.

“James. Everyone has flaws. We all make mistakes. We all have horrible thoughts sometimes. You are not a human manifestation of failure. Failure is human.”

“I want to be an alien,” I tell the table. Papa discards.

“Jamie, there is strength in recognizing when you’re in the wrong. There’s strength in acknowledging your faults and working to be better. That’s something your mother still struggles with.”

I pick up a card and look him in the eye again. Papa smiles at me. “Part of being successful in anything you’re looking to accomplish is knowing when to ask for help. Discerning when you need it and taking the initiative to find it.”

I discard.

Papa picks it up and lays down his hand. “Gin.”

84. Angst and Intervention

SIRI

September 9, Wednesday Early Morning

New Jersey

We take a red-eye home. My back is in spasm and it makes for a horrible flight. I watch Frozen on the tiny six-inch screen embedded into the chair in front of me and cry.

The familiarity of being back in my own house is a massive comfort. I drop my stuff and head straight for the shower.

Hot water chases away the tension in my chest and eases the pain in my back. I missed this shower.

Our stupid plan backfired in so many different ways. Jamie thought this was going to give us some kind of closure, but if anything, it’s opened more wounds.

My cornerstone self-esteem questions are back monopolizing my every thought: What could I have done to make Dad think I was worthy of sticking around for? Without dance, where is my value to Mom?