The television was on inside, paused by the remote in Mandy’s hand, while Mandy herself was seated on the couch and twisted all the way around to watch me come in. Lucas was standing off to one side, looking suddenly and profoundly uncomfortable.

I squirmed. “What?” I asked. “Am I being evicted?” Drawn by the sound of my voice, Seymour trotted down the hall and twisted around my ankles, chirping and trilling for my attention. For once, it didn’t make me feel any better. My mind was racing, thinking about how much harder it would be to find an apartment that allowed pets—and how I could never leave Seymour behind. Sometimes I thought he was the only good thing about the world, and without him, it would be easy to forget anything about this planet was worth preserving.

Wait. No. That was a bad thought, the kind my therapist called “intrusive,” although apparently most people have intrusive thoughts about self-harm and breaking things, not about eliminating all life on Earth. Or maybe the people who have extinction-level invasive thoughts just don’t like to admit it. Maybe they’re all smarter than I am and know how to keep their mouths shut.

“Does she know?” asked Mandy, attention going to Lucas.

Lucas shook his head.

“Okay. I thought— Okay. We’re going to do this. Stasia, come sit down.”

I went. I sat. Seymour leapt onto my lap, turning around once before curling into a tight knot of black-and-white fur. I began to stroke him automatically, letting the familiar motion soothe me.

“I don’t know what I did, but I’m really sorry,” I said. My voice sounded high and panicky, like I was on the verge of bursting into tears. I probably was. “Please don’t make me move again. I don’t want to move.”

Mandy’s eyes widened. She was still in her work clothes, which just added to the surrealistic quality of the moment. Seeing Mandy on the couch, wearing a dress that looked like it belonged on an elementary school teacher instead of something covered in jellyfish or sugar skulls or the word “fuck” printed over and over again in a cheerful cartoon print was … jarring. It was wrong.

“We’re not kicking you out,” she said, almost offended. She slanted a glance at Lucas, who winced and took an involuntary step back. Not unwise. “I thought Lucas was going to bring you up to speed in the car.”

“I didn’t want to do it twice,” he protested.

“You mean you chickened out and left it for me,” she said sweetly, and turned back to me. She handed me the remote. “I pulled up the report you need to see and paused it for you. Just press Play.”

I looked at her blankly. She gave me an encouraging nod. I turned to the television. I pressed Play.