I had three whole birthdays without Mom’s cakes and Dad making thermodynamics jokes whenever I blew out the candles. I don’t remember my first birthday with them, which was when I turned four, except for the ball pit. I remember being in the McDonald’s ball pit with my mom, how she held me in all that color. How she kept pressing her lips against my cheek. I’d been a little frightened of that sea of plastic, but I already knew she wouldn’t let me go, not ever. That there was someone who would finally hold on to me for dear life. I think that’s the day when I knew I was home.

Sometimes, now, when I am alone, I just whisper, “Mama.” I feel like she hears me. I will never tell anyone I do this.

I say Mama when I wake up in the middle of the night and I feel the pressing. When the sheets are heavy and I start thinking about the hundreds of pounds of dirt in that other pit, the one without color. The one Mom was in for so long before they took her out.

Mama.

I close my eyes and I picture Mom and me in the center of that galaxy of plastic spheres, the smell of French fries in the air, those little red and blue and yellow and green planets orbiting us. Mom, encircling my body like the rings of Saturn.

“The tree of knowledge,” Nate says, resting his hand on a knobby trunk. “From Eve herself to Isaac Newton watching an apple fall, the malum really is the fruit of all knowledge.”

There are rows and rows of trees all around us. Not too many people, since it’s the end of the season. It’s a beautiful day. Blue, with puffy white clouds. Bright sun.

“Which one is Isaac Newton?” Nah asks.

There is color in her cheeks. Maybe it’s the wind, but maybe it’s because we’re out here and it’s good, fresh air and friends and a thermos of apple cider. Maybe Ben was right about the benefits of getting dirt under your fingernails. The tightness in my chest loosens a bit and, for a second, I feel hope. This day is going to be good. And it’s going to make her better. Nate and I agreed that before we tell my aunt and uncle about Nah’s problems, I can play one last card. The ace up my sleeve. Maybe it’s more of a wild card. I’ve never gambled, but I feel like I am today. If my plan doesn’t work, we tell them everything. This is naive, but I can’t bear to make things more miserable for Nah during the holidays. It’s already going to be hard enough.