“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

“Girls?” Emma’s voice comes from down the hall. For once I’m relieved to hear it.

“We’re in Mason’s room!” Hazel says.

“What are you doing in Mason’s room?” Emma pokes her head around the corner. She’s wearing shorts and an old sweatshirt and holding an envelope. When she sees me a quick smile pulls at her face. “Oh, my.”

Her smile is getting bigger. I can’t stand it. “I guess I needed a makeover. But fancy eye has never really been my thing,” I add. “I’m more into smoky eye.”

I only know the term “smoky eye” from one of my foster sisters, but it does the trick. Emma’s mouth twitches. “Mason, you’re a good sport.”

“What do you mean fancy eye isn’t your thing?” Hazel demands. “Fancy eye is everything. And Mom, his hair is so tangly today. Can you fix it?”

Zoe holds the brush up to her mom, and Emma takes it, tucking it into her pocket. “That’s enough makeover. It’s time for us to go to Salem Willows. Mason, do you want makeup remover?”

I must look confused, because she disappears for a moment, then reappears with bottle of clear liquid and a bunch of cotton pads, then leads me to the bathroom, where we stand side by side in the mirror.

“Apply, then swipe. Like this.” She demonstrates on her own makeup-less eyelids, and I watch as my face transforms back to normal. Standing next to Emma in the bathroom might be the most comfortable I’ve been around her, which isn’t saying much, but still. I can see exactly how much taller I am than her, and the mirror removes the need for direct eye contact.

When I’m done cleaning my face, she glances at my hair for a moment. Zoe was right. It’s terrible today. I reach up self-consciously, feeling for the tangle that always appears above my left ear.

Growing my hair out is fairly new. I decided to do it two years ago after the visits with my mom stopped, and I decided I wanted a physical reminder of her.

When she wasn’t dyeing it, our hair was the exact same color, and she always wore it long, so I decided to do the same. Now every time I look in the mirror I see a hint of her. The problem is the upkeep. I have no idea if this is a normal amount of tangle, and I don’t have anyone to ask, so my typical coping method is to give it a few brushes and then call it good.

I start raking at it, trying to get some of it to lie flat. Emma is still watching me, and I’m blushing now. “I know it’s bad,” I say quickly.

She hesitates briefly. “I was going to say it looks just like Nay Nay’s.”