“You’re right. I wasn’t paying attention, I was…” I’d been so focused on trying to stop the glow that I’d filtered everything else out. It was a shitty thing to do, especially now. “I’m sorry. I’ve been on edge, but that’s exactly why I was out late. I was at the warehouse, burning off some energy.” I had to keep my emotions in check, and working out helped. She knew that. “I don’t know why we’re even talking about this right now.”

“We’re too close to leaving for you to mess up,” Mom whispered, even though there was no one around. There wasn’t any surveillance at all in the kitchen, and the bot was so basic, it barely counted as a bot at all.

Mom didn’t even look at me as she flipped over some hash browns. Her cheeks were red, and the circles under her eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them. I knew that was probably at least a little my fault.

“I don’t need to be worrying about where you are or wondering if you’re running around with the Crew playing savior to people who would hate you if they knew who you really are.” Her movements were sharp and choppy as she added cheese to an omelet. “Especially when you’re supposed to be at home, where I can keep an eye on you.”

Was she really saying that I was going to be the one to mess it up? I knew she was tired—we both were—but I didn’t deserve that. “Mom. Seriously?”

When the silence stretched on, I glanced out the back window. Soon we’d be far away from here, but Mom was kind of right. I had to be nice to our customers until then.

“I’ll continue to be polite. Even if he’s a giant skeeve. And—just so you know—I haven’t been going out with the Crew. If you were worried, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to snap at me.”

Mom finally stopped moving and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just…scared.”

“I am, too. Every damned day. But we can’t let that fear take over our lives.”

Mom’s eyes grew watery. “How did you get so smart?”

I shrugged. “Maybe I learned from my mother.”

Mom rolled her eyes at me dramatically. “Sucking up now?” She reached down into a cabinet, pulled out a first-aid kit, and crossed the kitchen. “Let me see it.”

“Don’t worry. It’s fine. Not much worse than a paper cut.” The angle of the corkscrew had been too weird to do any major damage.

“We can’t let it get infected. We can’t risk going to the doctor. Not ever again.”