“Why are you telling me now? Why didn’t you tell me before?” For some reason it sounds like I’m freaking out, but I’m really not—I just want to know. My voice isn’t totally under my control.

“I got an email this morning. You know your dad. That’s how he always does things. He pays attention to things when he has time to pay attention to them—when they’re the next thing on his list.” She pauses. “Your father is a very busy and important person.” And I remember what it was like in New York.

It’s about five blocks from Granma’s house to the bus stop, and eventually she lets go of my arm. Some of the sidewalks have trees leaning over them or agave plants spreading across the pavement. They look kind of like ordinary spider plants except the leaves are stiffer and have little spikes, or teeth, running along the edges—I never saw one in New York, but in Austin you see them a lot. But the roads are big and quiet enough that we sometimes walk in the middle of them; there isn’t much traffic. Nobody says anything for a few minutes, which is totally normal—I mean, it’s pretty early in the morning, but for some reason it feels weird to me. I mean, I feel like Mom is holding something back, or waiting to say something, and eventually she says it.

“There’s something else he said in his email.” This is how she begins. Because it’s a school day, she’s kind of already in teacher mode—she’s wearing slacks and a little jacket, and her shoes that go clip-clop on the street. “I don’t want you to think I’m mad, Ben, because I’m not. But I just wished you felt like you could talk to me about it, too.”

“What?” I say. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“He wrote that you talked to him about moving to London. He said that’s what you wanted to do.”

I don’t say anything, and she says, “Is that true?”

“I guess I talked to him. I mean, we just talked. He’s my dad and he’s in London—so it just seems like—it’s something we talked about.”

“Is that what you want to do?” She sort of stops in the road to look at me.

“Do you want to—I mean, would you come to London, too?”

She sighs. “I’m happy here, Ben. It means a lot to your grandmother—she was lonely before, and I used to worry about her. It’s not easy being the only child, I guess you know that. But we have a good life here. I’m working again, I have friends. I like it here. I thought you did, too.”

“No, you didn’t.”

We’re standing in the middle of the road now, facing each other.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if that’s . . . You don’t listen to me. It’s like you’re not even listening to yourself. I don’t have any friends.”

“What about the basketball team? You’re friends with those boys.”