Six-year-old Jamie was silly. We would laugh together about nothing because Jamie could make anything funny.

Terry looks at her hands. “I don’t think Siri’s comfortable with that.”

I don’t know what I’m comfortable with. How does one move forward from here? My imaginary friend is actually my sister.

“I need music,” I blurt.

Terry bites her lip. “Siri, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any music in here.”

“Come on, Terr. Can’t she borrow her phone for like an hour?” Jamie urges.

Jamie wants me to have my music? Does she know how much I need it? Jamie would always let me have the last red ice pop in the freezer even though we both liked it best. That fit well into Mom’s imaginary friend trajectory.

I lock eyes with Terry. “How am I supposed to know if I’m comfortable with any of this without my music?!”

Excrement, I yelled at Terry. I glance nervously from her to Jamie. Jamie’s wearing the same startled, guilty look she had when I screamed earlier. “Sier…” she starts, then trails off.

My anger is doing its pulsing thing. This happens sometimes; it feels like I have a second heartbeat for my rage. I feel like a pot that’s bubbling over with no one around to turn down the gas.

Jamie always came into my room when my parents were fighting. She’d put a SpongeBob SquarePants video into the VHS under my little TV, and we’d climb under the covers and watch. She’d make it really loud to drown out the war raging downstairs.

“I’m going to set up a daily appointment with Donya for the two of you.” Terry scribbles in a notebook she picked up off her tiny coffee table.

“Terr, we don’t need Donya,” Jamie insists.

Terry puts down her pen. “I’m setting up a standing appointment with Donya for an hour every day for the next five days. If you attend the appointments, you can skip your group chat sessions.” Terry pages through her planner. “She has a slot after lunch every day at one o’clock. Let’s plan for that, and we can have her host you both in here.”

“Sier, don’t you think we can handle this on our own?” Jamie says.

Jamie knew I existed, and she went on living like I didn’t.

“Sier, can you hear me? Let’s channel our feelings into a hike! We can do it bright and early, tomorrow morning, eight a.m.?”

“James, you can’t hike right now, you’re mildly concussed.” Terry sounds exasperated. Jamie is exasperating.

“Siri, please acknowledge that you can hear us,” Jamie says.

I get up and stride toward the door. I don’t remember the walk to my cabin, but I got here. I lie on my yoga mat with my feet up in the air to try to stifle my anxious heart.