I jerked my hand away from the door. Was it possible? I turned to lean my back against the wall, closing my eyes. Olivia. What would that mean? Freud would ask if he were here. What would it mean, not to your parents, but to you?

It would mean he could love, I would tell him. That he could love, that he could touch—that he was hiding it from me, but that he could.

He could, so if I tried hard enough, I could make him love me.

Once I’d grabbed the umbrella, I stood on tiptoes to swipe it across the top of the doorframe. With a soft thud, the key fell to the carpet. I put the umbrella back and let myself inside. I hadn’t been in the apartment without my parents for…I couldn’t remember how long. The place was eerie without them; I knew I’d spent many hours alone here as a child, and yet now that I didn’t live here anymore, it was as though I’d snuck into a museum after hours. The lights were off, so the whole place was cast in the rich tones of the afternoon sun, streaming through the translucent curtains. I was nervous, closing the door behind me, not only because I was here in secret, but because once they returned, I didn’t know what I would say. Only that I needed to say it.

I trailed my hand along the kitchen counters, which were sleek and spotless marble; surely the cleaning lady had recently wiped them down. There were no traces of the dinner party the night before. Inside the pantry were the familiar staples: no granola, no cereal, no bread; just lentils and almonds and chia seeds, lined up in glass canisters. There were three full spice drawers, which I always marveled at—to me, my mother’s cooking, which she so prided herself on, was underflavored. My father was fooled; he thought she was the best cook in the world. Or did he? Was this his way of apologizing to her for his betrayal? It seemed unreal, and I tried to push the thought out of my head. It’s only salt, I’d always wanted to say, or Red pepper flakes won’t kill you; I had made a grand show, for a time, of dousing the dishes she made in salt and pepper after I’d taken a bite. Yet she’d replied only by grabbing the shakers out of my hand, worrying I would ruin the food, or maybe that I would eat so much salt I’d bloat up.