I just stare at my aunt. Her words gather speed, swell. Another wave.

“I haven’t given them a definite answer,” Aunt Nora says. “I thought we could have a family discussion and consider our options together.”

“But you must want to do it,” Mae says. “The Realtor’s outside.”

Uncle Tony shakes his head. “We just want to know what our options are.”

“When were you planning on telling us this?” I say.

And I know. They were going to wait for Mae to leave, so she couldn’t make the mistake of thinking about staying for me again.

“We wanted to wait until we had all the information we needed,” Aunt Nora says. Lies. “There was no reason to say anything yet. And it’s your birthday. Of course we won’t go—if we go—until you’re done with school. Not until August, at the earliest.” Aunt Nora comes toward me and I back up, against the door. Too close. She’s always too damn close. “And, Hannah, of course we want you to come with us. There are so many good schools there, or you could get a fun job. We could go to museums on the weekend—all sorts of things. A fresh start, honey. It’ll be good for all of us, I think.”

Cheer laced with guilt. Boy, do I know that sound.

Let’s try to be happy even though your parents are dead, okay?

“Best pizza in the country,” Uncle Tony adds.

Fuck pizza.

“But what about Jo? Hannah can’t have a sponsor so far away, can she?” Mae asks.

How To Build A House

Imagine a lot of sticks

Stack them

Set them on fire

Watch them burn

It was one thing to live with my aunt and uncle when Nate was sleeping here most weekends, when Mae was down the hall. But there’s no way they could want me to take up space in whatever tiny place they can afford to buy in Manhattan. Of course not. I’m just their junkie niece. They’re empty nesters who probably want to go have a fabulous New York life, not worry that I’m going to overdose in their guest bedroom.

For a second, I think about my grandparents—but no. They’re in a retirement community. You have to be over sixty-five to live there.

I don’t have any friends to crash with. And, yeah, I have money and could technically get an apartment on my own, but I don’t have a job or credit—who would rent to me? And even if someone did let me have a place, I’d have to be by myself. Ripe pickings for home invasion. I don’t even have a cat. Maybe I should get a cat.

I am about to be homeless. Not on the streets, but a person without a home home.

A homeless orphan.

A homeless junkie orphan.