“Um.” Oscar peered over at me. I scooped some vegan loaf. “Yesterday? I was playing her piano and I don’t think she was too thrilled about it . . .”

I coughed. He grinned.

“Wait, what?” Alice asked. “You . . . ?”

“Oscar is my student,” Dad said, fighting a smile. “He’s in the Amberley program but living here so we can work more closely.”

“He’s living here?” Alice scooted her chair back like she needed some air. Then her eyes widened even more and she burst out laughing. “Oh my God!” She put her hand to her curly hair. “I thought he was Ruby’s boyfriend!”

A forkful of vegan loaf tumbled off my fork and onto my lap. I scrambled to wet a napkin in my water glass and dab the stain, my cheeks a nuclear wasteland.

“Well, that explains the . . . how did you put it . . . third degree?” Win giggled, holding his stomach.

I looked up. Oscar was watching me, showing absolutely no sign of embarrassment.

“Ruby’s . . . boyfriend?” Dad repeated, as if those two words didn’t belong together in any context.

“I was surprised, but . . .” Alice blanched. “Oh. Jesus. Not because of anything . . .” She waved at Oscar. “Because she’s Ruby.”

Okeydoke. I stood from the table and started upstairs.

“Rooster,” Win groaned. “Don’t get sensitive.”

“Bathroom,” I called back, and la-la-la’ed my way up the stairs until I was in the hall bath with the door locked and the vent on, so I couldn’t hear them laughing anymore.

I sat on the closed toilet lid and stared at my fingernails, avoiding my reflection in the shower glass. Okay. Maybe I hadn’t been the type “boyfriend” went with, but I was in a transformational period. Was it so far-fetched? Nora didn’t think so. Maybe I would go full socialite and bring home a different guy every week, starting with Charlie-whatever at Yale, and see how funny they thought that was.

My eyes dragged themselves upward and there I was, scowling back. Wide-set eyes. Nose, cheekbones, chin.

She looks the part, doesn’t she?

In my head, Mom laughed.

All you have to do is put her on mute.

I covered my eyes with my hands. Counted to three.

Okay. I pressed against the mirror and stood, ready to face the canned laugh track again. Maybe by the time I got downstairs, they’d have gotten it out of their systems. If I sat still enough, quiet, maybe they would forget I was there.

But when I opened the door, Alice was inches away, fingers pressed to her eyes like she’d been crying.

“Al,” I said, touching her shoulder. “Oh no, what’s the matter? I didn’t mean to—”

“Dry lens.” She pushed past me to get to her drawer—still full of her toiletries, deodorant, hairbrush, contact solution. “I’m sorry about that, downstairs.”