Mattie’s mom invites us all into the house. The house is small, a lot smaller than mine. Weavings hang on the bright-yellow walls and a large painting above the TV of a mountain landscape reminds me of the photo of Francisco Gómez. Each piece of furniture is a different color, and all flat surfaces are crowded with trinkets—little ceramic cars, painted leopards, stacks of books. My own house is all shades of white and gray—all very minimal. Mom says that when you face the ocean, you don’t want any color to distract. Our house is made to show off to visitors, but Mattie’s house feels like it’s meant for the people who live in it.

In the living room, I choose a dark-red-striped chair. Mattie sits on the turquoise sofa next to her mom. Frank Gómez perches on the edge of a wooden rocking chair. He looks unsteady.

Mostly Mattie does the talking. Frank cuts in sometimes. He apologizes over and over. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish. Mattie’s mom keeps her arm around Mattie the whole time, like she’s afraid she’ll disappear again. She speaks in a stern, teacher-like voice to Mattie about lying to her. About how anything could have happened. About how we could have been in real danger at Northern Madrone College all by our-selves. And then she kisses the top of Mattie’s head. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“Hello.” A tall, thin man in blue basketball shorts walks into the living room. He looks at Frank and at me. And then at Mattie and her mom. “What’s going on here?”

“This is Bob,” Mattie’s mom says. “My husband.” She smiles at him like he invented the sun and the stars. It’s disgusting to see old people in love. “Bob, this is Mattie’s father, Francisco, and this is…” She pauses.

I glare at her. What is she going to say? How will she explain me to her husband? Who am I?

“This is Francisco’s other daughter.” I listen for her to stop there. To not explain anything. But then she adds, “Mattie’s half sister.”

A tingle courses through me from my toes to my cheeks.

So now they explain everything all over again. This time Frank speaks more. He keeps saying he had no idea that we all lived so close. He had no idea that Mattie and her mom were living in California. He thought me and Mom were still in San Francisco and he didn’t know how close the city is to Northern Madrone College. And even if he did, he never would have imagined that the girls would try to find him. He’s so sorry. Mattie’s mom is more relaxed now, offers the adults coffee. She tells Mattie to take me in the kitchen to get zucchini bread. I can tell she’s trying to get rid of us.