Finally we got our order—a banana split for Dad and me, a strawberry cone for Mom and a butterscotch sundae (with extra nuts) for Nate. We went outside and sat down at a picnic table. Dad sat beside me so we could share easily. I dug into the pineapple side first.

That made me think of Oren and how he didn’t like pineapple. I wondered what he was doing right now. Would his uncle take him out for a family day? Would they go somewhere for ice cream? I sighed and dug into the chocolate side, slicing and scooping up a piece of banana with my spoon.

“You okay, Evie?” Dad asked.

I looked up at him as I realized he was talking to me. “Huh? Yeah.”

“Thinking about Oren?”

I nodded. “Just wondering how his weekend is going.”

“It’s going to be a long process for him, settling in,” Mom said. “His entire life has changed. But at least he has you—I think you’re really helping him.”

“I want to help,” I said. So much.

Dad put his hand on my arm and squeezed. “You are. His life is unimaginably hard right now, and the best thing you can do for him is be there for him. He doesn’t even have siblings to turn to.”

I looked at my brother. He was completely focused on getting the last of his sundae into his mouth. He must have felt me staring at him and glanced up. “What?”

Dad snorted. “Nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” Nate asked, looking at each of us suspiciously.

“Not you,” Mom said. “We were talking about Oren. How he doesn’t even have siblings to help him through this.”

Nate turned his eyes on me. “Aren’t you his new sister? Or are you more like a girlfriend?”

“NO!” I yelled. My face got hot.

“Natan,” Mom scolded. “Don’t tease your sister.”

My brother made a face at me. “But she makes it so easy!”

I was about to say Oren was lucky not to have siblings, but then I realized that even though Nate was a giant pain, I would never want anything bad to happen to him. I would be devastated if anything ever did.

On the way home, Mom was humming to herself as we walked. It struck me as kind of weird that someone who had to deal with dead people all the time could be so happy.

“Hey, Mom?” I said.

She stopped humming and looked at me. “Yeah, hon?”

“Did you always want to be a funeral director?”

She laughed. “Not at all. I went to college for social work. I always thought I’d be a therapist of some sort.”

“Wow,” I said. This was the first time I’d heard that.

She nodded, smiling. “It’s true. I thought maybe I’d work in a hospital.” She shrugged. “Or open a private practice.”

She glanced at Dad, who was up ahead. “And then I met a friend of a friend who was in the funeral business.”