“What do you mean by that?” asked Dad. He’d mostly just been sitting there, listening, but he was starting to get angry now, wearing out. I could tell. He was rubbing his forehead in a headachy way.

“Honestly? I don’t care about what normal people do anymore,” I said. “I don’t want things to be normal. Not if normal is what we’ve been doing for the last year. Normal is depressing. It’s pretending.”

“Isn’t that a little melodramatic?” said Dad.

I shook my head. “No! Ever since Sam died, it’s like none of us are really here. You guys are so . . . Well, Dad, all you do is stare into your phone all day, every day. And then pretend to play darts and go out to the garage and sit alone there, with your weird painting.”

Dad’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out.

“What painting?” Mom said.

“See!” I said. “Mom, you didn’t even know. Dad’s been painting a mural on the ceiling in the garage for, like, months now! Is that normal?”

“Really?” She turned to Dad. “What’s she talking about? A mural of what?”

But I wasn’t done. “Both of you . . . I’m not blaming you, exactly. I know you’re sad. But it makes things worse for me. Mom looks like . . .” I looked at her. “Like she’s going to break into pieces half the time.”

Mom nodded. And all she said was “It’s been hard.”

“I know it,” I said. “And until Jasper, I just sort of accepted that this was how things were going to be from now on. Hard and sad. But when I met her, it was like I got a do-over. I remembered how to laugh and tell people things. And I realized it’s not okay. The last year has not been okay. I have been so lonely,” I said, and I wasn’t ready to stop talking yet, but a sob snuck out and interrupted me.

“You’re right, Leah,” Dad said quietly. “We have a lot of fixing to do.”

“We’re trying,” Mom added. “We really are. And I think we’re getting better, a little. . . .”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to continue. “Until I met Jasper, I thought I was broken for good. I didn’t seem to be able to talk to anyone anymore, and I thought I wouldn’t ever be happy again, because of Sam. Because it was my fault that he . . .”

“Oh, honey,” said Mom.