“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. Salad is a stupid food anyway.” I open the sliding door for them. The hallway is peaceful except for the rubber wheels dragging over the wooden floorboards. My mom pushes the bedroom door open. “Give us a minute,” she says.

Back in the dining room with a garbage bag from under the sink, I pick glass and lettuce off the floor. Just a few more months until I can get out of here.

The doorbell rings and I walk toward the front door quickly, relieved that one of the health aides is here to get my dad ready for bed. It used to be weird having all these strangers in our house, back when it first became too much for my mom to take care of him and work full-time. Now my dad likes the company, and it’s good for all of us to have someone to act like everything is okay, even though it’s not actually okay.

I click the latch open, and my heart falls from a very tall building in my body. Brendan’s grinning on my doorstep.

Like the doorstep of my house.

6

Days ’til prom: Still 83

I SHIFT BACK AND FORTH UNDER THE PORCH LIGHT, WHICH IS threatening to give me second-degree burns. “Uh, what are you doing here?” I ask Brendan.

“Oh, sorry, Cham, I must have the wrong house. I’m a Beth Israel volun-cheer.” He sets his container of hot drinks down on the porch and checks his phone.

“Well, good luck finding—”

“Nope, this is the right one.” He picks up the drinks with a little tap dance that sloshes cocoa out the holes in the lids.

“You must be the volunteer with the hospital,” my mom says, coming up behind me. “I’m sorry, I forgot you were coming today. Come on in. My husband’s just getting to his room.”

I close the door behind Brendan. My chest is full of horses. They’re trampling me in their race to keep these people and places separate. Brendan comes from the world of things happening, and this is the world of things I can’t believe are happening. And yet here he is, holding out his hot drinks, and it’s their steam that’s crossing over first, from that world into this.

Dear Universe,

Wanted: A giant claw to come down and pluck Brendan from my house because he is an intruder from my other world, and home is my other other world, which is only safe for me, my family, and carpenter ants, which are like family, given that they eat all our food.

As we walk down the hall, my anger toward my mom rises. “I go to school with Brendan,” I hiss, as if she hired him specifically to embarrass me. Seeing as you can’t hire a volunteer, you probably can’t fire one either. She shoots me a death look.

“Remind me about this program, Brendan,” my mom calls over her shoulder.

“It’s just to follow up with anyone who’s had major surgery in the last year,” he says, no singing, thank god. “Your husband had his knee done a few months ago?”