“It’s weird. There’s not much snow,” I say. “I think the forecasters overdid it.”

“Mira, the storm is probably just starting to hit you. It’s a mess here. We probably got ten inches.”

“Well, it’s less than an inch here. Maybe it petered out.”

“I really don’t think so. Should I call this family you’re with?” Mom asks. “I could speak to one of the parents.”

“Mom, I’m okay,” I say with a laugh. “I’m technically an adult now, remember? Eighteen since the ninth of August and all. And the parents are super careful. You’d totally approve.”

I should flinch at the lie, but we’re both lying now, aren’t we? How could she not tell me about Daniel? Did she think I’d flip out? Or not come home? Or is she in such a bad state she can’t talk about it? In those first days after Phoebe, she’d stand around with a vacant stare while her cereal went soggy or the eggs in the skillet in front of her smoked and burned.

She sniffs softly and my chest twinges. I can picture her right now, in her faded Mickey Mouse scrubs, her hand at her throat. Like she’s trying to hold in her panic.

“How are things at home?” I ask. A gentle probe.

“Home is fine. I’m worried about you,” she says, not biting.

“I told you, I’m completely okay.” I flinch again, but forge on. “I’ll be home by tonight. Is Daniel working or is he eating with us?”

There’s a catch in her breath before she answers. “We’ll figure it out once you’re home. When you’re safe and sound.”

“Mom, I know you have to be thinking about Aunt Phoebe. I’m worried about you.”

“Mira, we’re both thinking about Phoebe. Sometimes the anniversary of a death can be harder.”

“Okay,” I say, unsure of what she’s getting at.

“But right now, I am concerned about your safety.” Her voice wobbles. “Are you sure you’re okay with these people?”

“One hundred percent.” The lie falls easily from my lips.

“Okay. I trust your judgment. Now, let’s get you home and we’ll talk. Pay attention to where you are. Be smart. Keep your eyes open, right?”

“My eyes are open,” I say softly.

And that’s it. I don’t tell her I know about Daniel. I don’t tell her I can sense she’s upset. I say I’ll be home soon and that I love her, and both of those things are true. But they land in a heap of lies that leaves me queasy when we disconnect.

The second I hang up, I fire texts at Zari.

Me: Did you talk to your mom?

Zari: Where are you? All good?