Still, they insist on calling both Cristina and Mom. Something about Frank being there, something about responsibility and “it’s only right.” I reluctantly give them the numbers. First they call Cristina and tell her that they’ll drop me off later. Then they call Mom. No answer. It’s much later—or is it earlier?—in Tokyo. She’s probably sleeping or having dinner with clients or hunched over her laptop in some hotel room. Mattie’s mom leaves a message about urgently wanting to talk to Mom about me. She says that she’s my friend’s mom. I notice that she doesn’t say that she’s my dad’s ex-wife.

“We’ll try calling her again in a little while. Why don’t you all stay for lunch?” Mattie’s mom says. “Bob, maybe you could grill a couple hot dogs?”

“I don’t eat meat.”

“No problem, Mercedes,” Mattie’s mom says with a smile. “We have some vegetarian hot dogs. And salad.”

Bob leaps into action; Frank stands. The adults politely help one another. The clatter of dishes and the mumbled voices make my toes curl. I flash back to that birthday dinner. The sound of family. Togetherness. Then my mind flashes to Mattie: You don’t even know what a family is.

I glare at the whole commotion. I have to get out of here. I slip away and burst into the blinding afternoon sun. Even from here, I can hear those sounds. The sound of family. I just want to get away. Far away. Away from my half sister. Away from Frank Gómez. Why did I ever think that finding him would change anything? I glance back at the obnoxiously cheery red door of Mattie’s house. I start running.

CHAPTER 43 Mattie

Watching Francisco in the kitchen with my mom and Bob is like watching Buzz Lightyear with Cookie Monster. They’re from different worlds. Different sets of rules. My father, Francisco, is polite: offering, apologizing, staying out of the way. Sometimes he says something in Spanish, and my mom answers him. She speaks enough Spanish to get around on vacation, she always said, but it sounds like she knows more than she admits. Then Bob starts to ask my mom a question and she answers him before he even finishes, like their brains are connected. My mom is a planet that has two moons orbiting around it. First one is closer, then the other. If my father and my stepfather are moons, what am I? I wonder.

“There you are,” Francisco says to me, coming out of the kitchen. “I have been told to relax. Is this where you relax?” He points at the sofa. I nod, and he makes his way there. He pats the spot beside him. “Come, my dear.”