Tears well up in my eyes and my limbs start to shake. I have the urge to yell. Bo stands up and starts pacing around the apartment. Again, he looks like a man. I don’t like it. I force myself to take some deep breaths. I’ve lost every woman I’ve loved, and I can’t lose my son.

“Bo, honey,” I say. “He was a one-night stand. I didn’t even know his last name. How could I tell a child that?”

He says nothing, just walks over to the window. He picks a cigarette from the pack and lights it. I worry that Karen is home, but then remember I can use Bo to guilt-trip her if she complains. She’s always loved Bo. Bo is my protective cloud sometimes. He softens me to others.

“I wasn’t even sure he was alive,” I say.

He squints at me, looking dubious. I don’t blame him. I’m a liar. I lie and I lie and I lie.

“How do you know he’s alive?” I ask.

“I did ChromoZone,” he says.

“What’s that?” I go over to the windowsill to join him in smoking, but as soon as I walk toward him, he puts his cigarette out and walks away. My stomach contracts. I want to yell at him even though I know he didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who did something wrong. I take a deep breath.

“It’s a genetic testing and family ancestry site,” he says from the couch.

I’m not entirely sure what this means, but I don’t want to ask. I already know Bo thinks I’m dumb.

“I spit in a cup,” he says, apparently sensing my confusion. I’m so embarrassed. “And they told me I have a sister.”

“A sister?” I ask. “How do you know her dad is alive?” I don’t know why I’m still pretending I think Paul Forrest is dead. I suppose his newborn is an adult now, around Bo’s age.

Bo looks at me with rageful eyes. I’m looking in a mirror again.

“Because I fucked her,” he says. He leaves and slams the door.

I follow him, ready to scream, but he is throwing up on the grass, looking pathetic. I walk back inside and pour the rest of the Cook’s into my cup.

EMILY.

I wake up in the midafternoon and grab my phone, momentarily forgetting I do not want to see it. I have lots of notifications.

A text from my dad: Please call me.

A text from Bo: Can we talk?

A text from Cinnamon: How are things with lover boy? The professor and I have been in bed for days.

A text from Thomas: Clover dumped me, should we fuck our pain away? Or do you only do that with blood relatives?

And then a voice mail from my old therapist.