I hate them. Even more than I hate Liam. Not only does he make me miserable at home mowing the lawn at seven thirty a.m. on the one day of the week I can sleep in, but he adds insult to injury by working for one of my professional nemeses. FGP Corp is one of those huge conglomerates that keep on causing environmental messes—a bunch of overeducated dudes in $7K suits who disseminate biotoxins around the world with utter disregard for the brown pelicans (and the entire future of humanity, but I’m personally more attached to the pelicans, who did nothing to deserve this).

I glare at the thick bubble mailer. Would Liam sign for an EPA envelope on my behalf? I doubt it. Or maybe he would. Then he’d tie it to red balloons his buddy Pennywise provided and watch it disappear into the sunset. I’m already 73 percent certain that he’s been hiding my socks. I’m down to four matching pairs, for crisp’s sake.

“Actually.” I take a step back, smiling, reveling in my own pettiness. Helena, you’d be so proud. “I probably shouldn’t sign for him. I bet it’s a federal crime or something.”

The UPS guy shakes his head. “It’s really not.”

I shrug. “Who’s to say?”

“Me. It’s literally my job.”

“Which you are performing admirably.” I beam. “But I still won’t sign for the envelope. Would you like a cup of tea? A glass of wine? Cheez-Its?”

He frowns. “You sure you won’t? This is express shipping. Someone paid a lot of money for same-day delivery. It’s probably really urgent shit that William K. will need as soon as he gets home.”

“Right. Well, that sounds like a William K. problem.”

He whistles. “That’s cold.” He sounds admiring. Or just scared. “So, what’s wrong with poor William K.? Does he leave the toilet seat up?”

“We have separate bathrooms.” I mull it over. “But I’m sure he does. In the very remote possibility I end up using his.”

He nods. “You know, when my sister was in college she used to have a roommate she hated. I’m talking warfare. They’d yell at each other the entire time. She once wrote an entire list of everything she hated about him on her phone and it crashed her Reminders app. It was that long.”

Uh-oh. That sounds familiar. “What happened to her?”

I cross my fingers that the answer won’t be She’s serving a lifetime sentence at a nearby correctional facility for shaving off his hair while he was sleeping and tattooing “I’m a bad person” on his scalp. And yet, what UPS guy ends up saying is ten times more disturbing.

“They’re getting married next June.” He shakes his head and turns around with a wave of his hand. “Go figure.”

I’m dreaming of a concert—a bad one.

More noise than music, really. The kind of ’70s German electronic crap that Liam owns in vinyl form and will sometimes play when one of his friends comes over to play first-person shooter video games. It’s loud and obnoxious and irritating, and it goes on for what feels like hours. Until I wake up and realize three things: