Every tiny little action Nora engaged in always, always had outsized consequences. Which is why she liked to minimize her mistake footprint all together. It was simple. No risky decisions equaled no traumatic mistakes. She was the poor kid in those If you Give a Mouse a Cookie books, and she could prove it. Here is what is bound to happen re: making a hot sex tape with your college boyfriend:

1. First, do not make a hot sex tape with your college boyfriend. He will be your boyfriend for three more months. Tops.

   • And if you are incredibly ridiculous and say yes, don’t try to be the super cool girlfriend when he suggests you put it online.
   • Don’t say “Yeah, it’s cool. It’ll be funny.”
   • It won’t be funny. It will only make you infamous in Maryland, Virginia, and DC for an excruciatingly long time.
2. You’ll lose your track scholarship (you loved track more than you loved your boyfriend) because of the morality clause.
3. You’ll get a nickname like Nasty Nora
4. You’ll drop out of college nine credits shy of your degree.
5. And instead of being a hot PE teacher at a progressive artsy elementary school, you’ll be lucky to get a job as a pharmacy tech at a big chain grocery store.

TL;DR. See Point One.

Another tap on the shoulder, this time more insistent.

“Are you Shenora and Maryanne Dash?” A twitchy, round-faced white man held out a thick cream card to her. An estate lawyer. This should be interesting.

“I’m Shenora and this is my mother, Flora. My sister hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Mrs. Dash would like to speak to you in the offices upstairs.”

The plump, brown-skinned woman’s upturned mouth dropped like a stone when she saw Nora walk into the office. She sat at the head of the table like a mafia don. Fur coat, thick gold rings, soft cotton halo of shoe polish black hair. When she spoke, Nora could see that she had teeth long and white as piano keys.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Flora,” the woman hissed at Nora’s mother.

“Excuse me?” Nora asked. Sure, they weren’t married, but what was this—the 1950s?

Mom rolled her shoulders. “It’s not about me. It’s about my girls. They have the right to pay their respects.”

Nora couldn’t seem to stop blinking. “Mother, don’t respond to that. Of course we do.”

Mom didn’t meet her eyes. “Nora, please.”

Nora, please? Why was she allowing this woman to talk to her like this? Mom looked behind her at the door. “Nora, this is Mrs. Dash.”

So what? Why was some auntie allowed to talk to her mother this way? Nora locked arms with her mother and moved to push past the threshold when her mother froze.

“Mrs. Dash is your father’s wife of thirty-five years.”