“But really, that was the icing. This morning, after I sent you that text, I went down for breakfast. And like, on the surface, there’s nothing all that different than any other morning, right? Me and Mom a perfectly orchestrated routine. She’s making huevos rancheros, I’m making the coffee. And I’m not sure if you remember, but she’s not exactly a morning person.”

I nod. “You kidding? That was one of the best parts of sleeping at your house. She never woke up before ten.”

“True.” Q laughs. “Except this morning, she’s talking both my ears off. Says she was up all night, tossing and turning. Says she suddenly had this weird feeling she was supposed to find something.”

“Like what?”

“She didn’t know. Just had the feeling. So, she’s walking all over the house, and she’s standing in all the rooms, and she’s just looking for . . .”

“A sign.”

“I was gonna say message, but sign works. And then she’s in Dad’s old office, which she’s been slowly cleaning out. I know you remember Dad’s bulletin board?”

“Umm, I couldn’t forget that if I tried. That’s the most inspirational thing I’ve ever seen.”

And it is. When Q’s dad was first diagnosed, back when we were ten, he’d been feeling depressed, naturally. So he came up with the idea that he’d hang a bulletin board and he’d pin happy things up. The things he was thankful for. Things that made him smile. Or laugh. He pinned comic strips, poems, fortunes from fortune cookies, articles from magazines, and when he heard something he liked, he’d write it down and tack that up too. And then he asked Ms. B and Q to add whatever they wanted too. And then he moved it from his office to the living room, and anytime someone visited, a friend, a family member, coworker, even the delivery-truck guy, he’d show them the board and tell them the next time he saw them, he wanted them to add something to the board. And almost everyone did. There was even something from my parents on that board. The board was overflowing with slips of paper.

“Yeah, it’s great. Well, after Dad passed, she moved it back to his office. Honestly, I assumed it made her more sad than happy. Because after his cancer went into remission, Dad used to tell everyone it was the board that had fought it off. But then, of course . . . it came back. Anyway, Mom is standing in his office and she glances at this board she’s seen a million times and she’s walking back out when one of the fortune cookie slips catches her eye.”

“It was some thought-provoking phrase?”

“Nope, there was something written on the back.”

“Wait, for real?”