I didn’t quite know what to say then. I wasn’t in the habit of lying to my parents. On the other hand, to tell them Ros had permanently shacked up with Jess would probably be met with disapproval, and I wasn’t ready for them to decide it was time for us to come home. It was hurtful that Ros was gone, but it wasn’t like they were in a ditch. They were with Jess; they’d told me they were with Jess. Her parents are okay with that? I’d texted. Just her mom. She’s gone a lot, they’d said. I’d read this and written back Wow, because I didn’t know what to say, and because, honestly, it sounded sort of sad—and similar to Ros’s situation, now that their dad was gone and their mom was working.

“They’re out,” I said finally.

At their girlfriend’s sex palace, I did not add.

“They’re at work,” I heard myself say. “At this plant store. It’s really cool. The store sells these beautiful arrangements and terrariums.”

“Oh!” my mom said. “Good for them.”

“Oh yeah,” said Andrew. “Ros has got a regular green thumb. They come home every day covered in soil, telling us all about orchids, how we should start a tomato garden.…”

I moved the camera away from him.

“Anyway,” I said. “The next play is The Trojan Women. By Euripides.”

“Sounds uplifting,” my dad said.

“It’s definitely depressing, but I think it’ll actually be easier than Into the Woods. It’s, like, war-torn and ravaged, so everyone is just in these raggedy tunics. The worse they look, the better.”

“Do you feel like you’re learning a lot?” my dad asked.

“I do,” I said. Phoebe had finally stopped having to unwind my tangled thread on the sewing machine, and Benna had told me that I seemed like I was finally getting the hang of it.

“Good,” my dad said. “What about you, Andrew? Is he still there?”

“He’s still here.” I swiveled the camera on Touchstone, who was now frying himself an egg.

“I’m learning a ton,” Touchstone said. “One of the clown teachers is really supportive. He’s got a connection to this school in Paris. He wants me to go.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “He wants you to go to French clown school?”

“It’s actually quite reputable,” said Touch.

“Whoa,” my mom said. “This would be next year?”

“Yeah. A gap year, maybe,” said Touchstone. “Instead of heading straight to college. I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Sounds wonderful, Andrew,” my dad said.

“Does it?” I asked.

“Is The Trojan Women the one with Cassandra?” my mom said. “Poor Cassandra. No one ever listened to h—”

“I’ve gotta go,” I said, and I hung up the phone quickly and turned to Touchstone. “You didn’t tell me about clown school.”