Amy returns holding two pink towels. “Here,” she says, handing me one and wrapping the other around Sophie. As I take a few clumsy steps to go sit at the table, Amy looks down at the trail of water I’m leaving behind, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

“Come on,” she says to Sophie. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

They disappear into one of the bedrooms. I know I should also go change, but I remain frozen in my chair.

“Forgot to bring an umbrella, did you?” Jorge says from the living room.

I try to laugh, try to say something, but no words come out.

“Matt?” he asks, leaning forward on the couch. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, shivering a little. “I just, uh… I need to talk to my parents.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I try to start a FaceTime call with Pa, but he doesn’t answer. I try again, and this time he appears on the screen of my phone.

“Mijo,” he says. “I’m sorry, can we call you back? We were just about to—”

“Can we talk now?” I interrupt him.

“Wha—why? What’s wrong?”

From the moment Sophie turned away from me, the same questions have been spinning around in my head. I’ve been trying to figure out if she’s right. I’ve been trying to decide whether going to Mexico would really be much worse than letting things go on the way they have been lately, but I haven’t figured out any of the answers.

“She needs more,” I mumble. “We both need more than this.”

“Mateo, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sophie’s not doing okay, Pa.” I let out a sigh, trying to get my breathing under control. “She just told me everything—how desperate she is to go be with you, and I just… don’t know what to say to her anymore.”

“Ernesto?” Ma’s voice comes from the background. I hadn’t even realized she was in the same room as Pa. “What’s happening?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look directly at the camera. The rain pounds against the windows in the living room, filling the silence that has fallen between us.

“It’s Sophie,” he says finally.

“Ay, Dios mío,” Ma whispers. Even though I can’t see her, I can picture her face. I can imagine her putting a hand on her stomach, the way she always does when she’s worried. “Is she okay? Mateo, tell us. What’s going on?”