I dig deep for my calm voice. “This isn’t me not talking to you; this is me not sharing a journal entry about the most vulnerable aspects of my life, haphazardly, after knowing each other for twenty hours.”

“You’re a selfish jerk! Just like him.” She chucks the notebook at me. I catch it awkwardly against my chest.

“And you’re a bundle of joy,” I tell her with a grim smile.

“This isn’t a joke!” Siri screeches. She grabs her notebook, strides out the door, and slams it shut behind her.

I turn to Donya, who’s holding a hand to her heart.

“We’ll be fine,” I tell her.

Her forehead creases in concern. “I can stay a little longer.”

I shake my head. “Nah, I deserved that. I’m fine. Thanks for your time.”

Donya nods. “You’re very welcome. I’ll be here tomorrow at one.”

I trek out of the cabin and down the steps. Siri’s fifty feet ahead of me, crossing the valley. I follow at a slower pace.

I wish I could call Dawn. She’s great at this calming, making-people-feel-safe shit. She would know what to do. Or I wish I could talk to Grams. Or ask my mom why she would plant these seeds in Siri.

What the hell was Dad thinking? How could he let me think this was okay? That it was fine to start again completely fresh, without them?

In her little miracle, this girl who can’t stand to be in the same room as me for more than an hour without screaming basically proposed a future where she comes to live with me, Grams, and Dad.

Dad, whose response to my eviction was not What happened? or Are you okay? He simply stated, You’re welcome to move back home if you sign my nine-point live-in contract.

I signed an official printed list of stipulations before he let me “walk of shame” back up to my childhood room. Stipulation one was the therapy clause. Stipulation two is to fix my look. Sometime in the next month I have to dye my hair blond “for my own good,” because that’s how I’m going to “book more acting jobs and get my career on track.”

He’s … always been like this. Can we go to a One Direction concert? We can go to a concert if you want to see Bruce Springsteen. Can I go to this New Moon convention? We can go to Ice and Fire Con. It’s been so long since I’ve really thought about the day we left New York.

That was messed up. Every decision he made feels disgusting now.

What kind of asshole convinces his six-year-old that she should leave her mother and sister to fly across the country with him and start a new Hollywood life because they’re holding her back?