Noah bounds up the stairs, stopping in my doorway. “Oh look, Dweeb One and Dweeb Two,” he says, tromping past us. “Dinner’s here.”

“My brother,” I explain to Macy. “He’s clueless.”

He makes a fart sound with his mouth and disappears down the hall into his bedroom.

“Hi, Macy.” Mom waves as we enter the kitchen. “I’m the other mom.”

As we all sit down at the table, Mama pours herself and Mom each a glass of wine and asks, “So, how was everyone’s day? Anything exciting happen?”

“No,” Gramps and I say at the same time.

Macy shakes her head so vigorously I’m afraid it’s going to look suspicious, but Mom takes a sip from her glass and doesn’t seem to notice.

“Nothing exciting happened with me either, and I’ll tell you what, I am fine with that,” Mama continues. “I’m so ready for the weekend.”

“Hear, hear,” Mom says, raising her glass, which Mama clinks against hers.

Noah swipes a slice of pizza from the box and starts to dash out of the kitchen.

“Hey, mister,” Mom says, tugging on Noah’s shirtsleeve. “What, do we have cooties? Why don’t you sit down and join us a minute?”

“I already ate at Kendra’s,” he mumbles, mouth full of pizza.

“His girlfriend,” I whisper to Macy.

“Sit down, Noah,” Mama agrees. “When is the last time we were all home on a Friday night and not having to get something done or be somewhere?”

Mom’s eyes crinkle at the edges, and a mischievous smirk slowly takes shape on her lips. “You know what I think this calls for?”

Noah and I share a look—we know what she means.

Noah groans, but I shout, “Yay!”

“What?” Gramps looks at Mom, waiting. “What does this call for?”

Mom rubs her hands together, and then in her goofy voice she finally answers, “Board game night.” She says it that way, like a challenge, because she is very competitive when it comes to board games—she’s definitely not one of those parents who lets the kids win just because they’re kids.

“Oh, I don’t know, Katie,” Gramps says. “I’m still recovering from the great Parcheesi incident of 1987.” Which makes both Mom and Mama crack up.

Noah leans toward me and says under his breath, “Do we even want to know what they’re talking about?”

“Probably not,” I answer, recognizing that this is the first time in forever that he’s speaking to me in a way that is just normal and not mean.

Macy and I go to the closet in the hall where my family keeps our games, and we bring as many game boxes back to the table as we can carry.