“That’s already the plan. I told her I’m going to ask her out in two years. Because that’s the length of her contract and that’s how long Lauren thinks that Sari needs someone to be around after school. And until then we can be friends.”

Now, that was a genuine surprise. “Really?”

“Really. Well, that was after I asked her out and she said no. Then I let her know about the two-years-from-now plan.”

“And what’d she say?”

“She rolled her eyes.”

“You’re fucked.”

They both laughed.

John rose and gathered his things, not wanting to wear out his welcome. Maddox followed him to the door, and the brothers quickly embraced. They made a plan to see one another in a few weeks, but John knew that there was a good chance Maddox would cancel in the meantime.

He walked to the train and thought about old money. How, like anything, if it was ever present in your life, you barely thought about it. Mary must have spent a couple hundred bucks on the food alone for her party. A party she’d thrown just because she’d wanted to have a party, celebrating nothing but summer and friends and life. He thought about the difference between Mary’s party and Estrella’s annual block party. Both parties were for the same reasons, and both were jovial and lively. And strangely enough, Mary had looked at home in both settings.

MARY’S HOUSE FELT empty after the Coateses left just shy of a week after they’d arrived. Their air-conditioning had taken longer to be fixed than they’d thought, and Mary hadn’t minded the company.

She didn’t want to feel vulnerable after the conversation with her mother and John’s words at her party. She wanted it to roll off her back. But for whatever reason, her mother and John had served up a one-two punch that was still smarting five days later.

Mary had taken the opportunity to give Jewel a million cuddles, to bring home dinners for Josh and Joanna, to laugh and fill her time with company.

But now they were gone, and her apartment felt much too large for one person. Mary was normally a good sleeper. Good enough that even after thirty-seven years of life, 3:00 a.m. still felt like an unfamiliar and vaguely creepy betrayal of the daytime. She wasn’t ever comfortable at the witching hour.

She rolled in her sheets and wondered whether John was a good sleeper or not. She could easily picture him as an insomniac, red eyes cracked and the sheets twisted at his hips. But then, he was so intense and focused in his waking life, maybe he was one of those people who just passed out cold the second his head hit the bed. She could also picture him dead to the world, his face finally relaxed and slack in the kind of sleep that restored a man.