Why is he so obsessed with getting coffee?

“Bo, of course, adores you,” he says.

“Did he say that?” I ask.

He nods.

“Why did you leave me that night?” I need to know, even though it seems obvious. He’s this smart, distinguished man living a normal life, and I’m a waitress who once set my ex’s property on fire. “The night Bo was conceived.”

“I was terrified,” he says. “But that’s no excuse.” He pauses, looking like he might cry. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, and I’m so, so sorry.”

EMILY.

On the way home, the boys and I stop at Mount Rubidoux to smoke a blunt.

Unfortunately, Dawn left before I got to talk to her again. We excused ourselves shortly after my dad came back inside. It would have been bizarre to stay. I imagine my parents are having some sort of talk, although I don’t want to think about that.

“Your mom is so cool,” I say to Bo on the drive.

“Are you kidding?” he asks.

“Not at all,” I say. “She has a vibe.”

“For sure,” says Thomas, and I feel oddly possessive. I want to be the only one who noticed Dawn’s captivating, sui generis energy. Thomas is always deferring to me on how to think and feel, and it’s annoying as hell.

“She’s a fan of yours,” Bo says. “On Exalted.”

“Cool,” I say, trying to make my voice measured and nonchalant, and also trying to suppress a smile. I know I have a lot of followers, but I never imagined them looking like Dawn.

Thomas parks at the top of Mount Rubidoux and we get out of the car. The cross is all lit up, and there are several clusters of teens laughing and smoking and drinking tall cans of alcohol. I feel a weird swirling in my abdomen—nostalgia and warmth and also fear and sadness.

I sit on a big tree stump in front of the car.

Thomas sits in between Bo and me, then puts his arms around us. “How fun,” he says. “A Riverside evening with my favorite Freudian siblings.”

Bo and I are silent.

“How fun,” I say to Thomas. “An evening with my favorite mooch.”

“Mooch?” he says. “I pay for all your weed and all your clothes and a lot of your food.”

“Your parents pay for my weed and my food and your heaux pay for my clothes,” I say, which shuts him up.

We all pass the blunt back and forth in silence for a few minutes.

“Should we head back?” Thomas asks eventually.

“Yeah,” says Bo. “I have to work early tomorrow.”

We all stand up and begin walking toward Thomas’s Volvo.

“Oh, Emily,” Bo says quietly once we are inside the car.

“Yeah?”

Thomas starts the car.