“I’m just trying to, like, articulate that I get a say in this. It’s not, like, Mae’s decision just because she’s smarter.”

Nora puts a hand on my arm. “Sweetie, it’s not a decision for either of you to make. Your parents would never want you to feel that kind of pressure. Their will is very clear: If anything happened to them, they wanted you to be with us. We agreed to it years ago, back when you were both really little.”

“So, like, legally we have to go with you?” I ask.

I need a pill. An escape pod. What would happen if I just got up and walked out of the room—if I just decided this wasn’t happening? Is there any universe in which my opinion on the subject would count?

“Yes,” Tony says. “Legally, you come with us. But we don’t want you to look at it that way, kiddo. We love you girls. That’s why we agreed to this. And Boston is a great city—you always have a good time when you come to visit. It’ll give you a bit of distance from all this. It can be really good to breathe new air, you know?”

I’ve heard the word hopeless so many times in the Circle of Sad. I used it myself. Then, I didn’t know what the word really means, what it feels like to live inside these eight letters, how they circle around you, a whirlpool.

I’m literally losing everything in my life.

There are no tears, like usual. It’s so bad that I can’t cry. I stare at them all as my entire chest caves in on itself, as I become hollow. It burns. How can you burn when you’re empty?

Mae stands and sits beside me, and I let her pull me against her and rub circles on my back with her palm.

“What about the house?” I ask.

We’ve lived here our whole lives. I learned to walk in the living room. Got my first period in the bathroom. Made soup with Mom and egg bakes with Dad and—

Nora puts a hand on my knee. “We’re gonna have to sell it, honey.”

Mae’s hand stops. “What?”

For a moment, she and I look at each other and I can almost see that event horizon thing Dad tried to explain to me once—can see Mae and I building mud pies in the backyard after an unexpected spring storm, can see her across the dining room table, helping me with my math, or on the roof, pointing out stars—Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor …

Mae turns to them, and, for once, she fails at words. “But … but … we grew up here. We can’t just … This is our … This is where—”