In a way, I’m luckier than she’ll ever be. I know where so many parts of me came from: the sci-fi-loving parts (Dad); the neurotic parts (Mom); the aptitude for mathematics and a tendency toward academic overachieving parts (both). I still haven’t answered Dad’s email, but I have an opportunity that Zoe might never get. I can still see him — if I want to. But I can’t resolve the swirling tide of love and anger that surges every time I think of him, much less begin to explain it. Mom is the one I have to worry about anyway. So are the things I fear I’ve inherited from her.

She sighs. “The thing about not being a regular person — someone who was wanted — is that I’m taking up resources, and I’m not even supposed to be here. So I feel like I have to justify my existence.”

The pain in her voice is hard to bear.

She glances at me. “But my brother — Jonah — he doesn’t have to justify anything. He was wanted. He’s their biological child. They’re all real family. And I’m a drop-in.”

Her life is no fairy tale, but I wish I could make it one for her. All the words of comfort that want to pour forth from me are too much. Zoe and I haven’t known each other very long, and I have no idea why she’s telling me all this, but I do know it would be way over the top for me to say even half of what I feel about how amazing she is. How worthy.

How wanted.

I sit there, stewing in the silence that comes from not being able to dial down my feelings to something reasonable, until finally she says, “Ugh, never mind. I’m just being stupid.”

Cartoon balloons bloom all over my head, filled with words that I can’t figure out if I should say. You can always talk to me. Nothing you say is stupid. I love listening to you. But as it turns out, cartoon balloons are silent. And maybe it’s just as well, because a rogue interloper like The smell of your hair makes me delirious or The way your collarbones look in the moonlight makes my heart race could pop out.

“Anyway, thanks for listening. You know . . . it’s strange having someone in my room. I’ve barely had people over in the past couple of years. It was too hard with Jonah here.”

“I’d come over,” I say.

She glances at me questioningly.

“If Jonah were home. I mean, maybe you wouldn’t want me to, but I would if you did.” I stare at the floor, afraid to look at her.

She hesitates. “He’s not like disabled people you see on TV,” she finally says. “He can’t talk or do basic things for himself.”