I didn’t tell him about all the canoodling we did when Drew visited Chicago, which he’d done again in the past month. I also didn’t tell him that Drew was looking into moving out there to be closer to me. The plan was for him to transition into training new operatives at the Chicago branch. And the two of us were also working together with Rent for Your ’Rents to expand their operations. A month ago Drew had put me in touch with someone at corporate, as promised, and after a few conference calls, they’d offered us a chance to spearhead an expansion team together. They were excited about my ideas to increase the number of algorithms run, to present multiple options and probable outcomes to potential clients, and to hire company therapists for client counseling or, if all parties were willing, family counseling.

“Have you been playing nice?” I asked my father, wondering how long Drew had been there. I took a seat on the couch beside my dad.

Drew gave me a one-second, wide-eyed look, and I simultaneously wanted to laugh, shield him, and run away.

My father and I had kept in intermittent touch, mainly through email, and mainly about his health—which was obviously huge progress, but our curt two-liners left much to be desired. I was guilty too, but I couldn’t bring myself to write essays back to his minimalist updates.

“I was just asking Drew if he can actually make money with the art thing,” my father said with a shrug.

“Bǎbá,” I chastised. My poor Drew. “What happened to believing I could take care of myself?” Or being less of a jerk?

“Ah, everything is more complicated than I used to think!” my father exclaimed. He was still coming to terms with his illness and apparently other things.

“That’s obviously the goal, to make money from the art,” Drew answered calmly. And kindly. “There are a lot of different ways to do that, and I’m happy to explore a wide range of them, including freelancing, teaching, and doing commercial work to support the more personal projects.”

“And the two of us have something in the works,” I added in an attempt to share more. “It combines our skills.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I registered movement from the kitchen. A little whale-tail-loving mouse scampering about eavesdropping, perhaps?

“What are you working on?” my father asked.

“We’re helping Rent for Your ’Rents make some changes,” Drew said. “I’m using my experience with the company and my art; Chloe is using her economics—”

“Yeah, and one of the ideas I came up with all on my own is to use a mahjong game as a ruse to interrogate people. They said it was the best idea they’ve ever heard in the whole history of the company,” I improvised.

My mother ran into the room. “That’s my idea, not yours!”