I stare at her, and she stares back. Suddenly, there are a million other things I want to know about her. I want her to tell me every last detail about her life, but I can’t bring myself to ask any questions. I seem to have lost my voice.

The customer reappears from between the shelves and comes up to the counter. While I bag her purchases, I sneak glances at Erika, who’s fixing up the canned soda section. She’s frowning, probably wondering if she overshared, if she shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. But when she looks up from the cans and meets my gaze, her expression softens. In her eyes, I find someone who’s capable of understanding what I’m going through, who sees me as I am.

For the rest of our shift, we hardly even say anything. It’s as if there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of us now. We both know we’re no longer just coworkers—we’re friends.

18

SOPHIE’S BIRTHDAY SNEAKS UP ON US THIS year.

Birthdays have always been a big thing in our family—Ma always buys all the ingredients to make flan, and Pa makes sure we’re well stocked on birthday candles, because we need as many candles as the age of whoever’s birthday it is. There’s always homemade food, and presents, and multiple renditions of “Las Mañanitas,” the Mexican version of “Happy Birthday.”

This time, there’s none of that. It feels as though we blink and all of a sudden we find ourselves in July. Sophie doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t even keep track of the days left until her birthday on a calendar the way she usually does.

When July second comes, I wake up extra early, get dressed, and head out of the apartment as quietly as possible. I run to the party supplies store on East Tenth Street and pick out the biggest balloons I can find. The first is a big, golden eight. The second is round with pink sparkles, and it looks just like the type of thing my sister would love.

When the gum-chewing girl at the cash register tells me how much the balloons are, I hesitate a little, but then I think of how quiet my sister has been lately. I think about how rough the last few months have been, and I decide that it’s worth spending this money. She deserves to have balloons on her birthday.

By the time I make it back to the apartment, I find Uncle Jorge, Amy, and Ellie already awake in the kitchen.

“Morning,” I say to them as I close the front door behind me.

“Morning,” Amy says. She tries to smile, but the corners of her mouth don’t move much. This is the way she’s been smiling for the past several weeks.

“Is Sophie still sleeping?” I ask.