That evening my sister Jen arrives on my doorstep, chest out, proud. She’s done everything for Sunny at every stage, each intervention and treatment on schedule. She even pulled him from Shrewsbury High because of bullying, though she’s unqualified to homeschool. I’m shocked by how she’s handled his transition, with good cheer and hearty forward momentum. When I was thirteen, bow-legged with a rag of hair, the only person in our family with a Boston accent, Jen convinced her classmates that I was an unsavory male cousin. I still brace for her to call me Leon Jenkins.

Jen pats my shoulder. Her ponytail swings. “Thanks for taking him.”

“Who is it this time?” I whisper.

Confusion flares across her face, quickly snuffed. There isn’t any tryst. Of course not. She’s checking into some motel to await her precious son. Jen thumps into my apartment, avoiding the question as she heads down the hall to the bathroom. Sunny flings his duffle onto the stoop and embraces me. He’s the only person who’s never noticed the failure of my hugs, so he’s the only person I enjoy hugging. I’m forty-seven, frumpy, misunderstood by all as asexual, but still, I’m his cool aunt.

“You’ve grown up so much,” I say.

He runs a palm through his hair. Such a boy gesture. Where did he learn it?

I set out a bowl filled with puffy bears coated in cheese powder, Sunny’s favorite snack, a rare find among the bleak offerings of Trenton grocery stores. Sunny curls on the couch and helps himself.

Jen finishes her water and refills the glass. She pats her thighs, securely pressed into yoga pants. “I’m leaving.”

I haven’t seen Jen without my parents in years. If I keep her an hour, we could get to Eric. We could analyze my crush the way we used to with hers as children, scheming into the night. “I thought we could chat a little.”

Jen scrapes a finger over her phone as though she could draw up a message. “Well. I guess we should talk over Sunny’s stuff, anyway.”

“I’m not a child,” he says, mouth packed with cheese.

“You’re fifteen,” Jen says. “Don’t push this, kiddo.” She hooks him into her arms and squeezes his skinny shoulders. His hair licks up against her sweater. The apartment is so full of life I could dance.