I burst into laughter. A little levity was just what was needed. “Thanks,” I say.

“You’re welcome,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Zo? Are you doing okay? How is Jonah doing at the place? How are your parents?”

“I don’t even know,” I tell her. “Like, I literally don’t know if we’re okay. We’re going to see Jonah on Halloween. Maybe after that I’ll have a better answer.”

“Yeah, maybe seeing that he’s okay will help with, you know. . . accepting things, I guess?”

“Maybe,” I say. I honestly can’t imagine feeling okay about how things are.

“Listen, I had an idea I wanted to talk to you about. What if Sister Symphonies does an instrument drive for Little Lambs Village? Nothing delicate — not strings, maybe. But things like recorders and xylophones and maracas?”

My heart warms even as it twinges with sadness. She’s doing what she does: finding a positive spin, finding a way to do something constructive and forward-moving. “That’s really nice, Cam.”

“And then I thought maybe you and I could do a road trip to deliver them all, and then we could also visit Jonah.”

My chest hurts at how good she is, how hard she’s trying to help.

She continues, “We could go, just the two of us, if you didn’t want to involve Syd and Erin in that part. And then after seeing Jonah and letting everyone lavish us with praise over how awesome we are, we can come back, get some vodka with my new fake ID, and party! Because, you know, if we have to listen to everyone trying out the instruments, our nerves are going to be shredded.”

I laugh. I almost feel bad, but it’s true.

“We could start the instrument drive now and deliver things during the holidays.”

“Maybe,” I say. “It’s a great idea.”

“Okay, I’m taking that as agreement,” Cammie says.

My phone vibrates with a message. “Fair enough,” I say to Cammie, opening my messages. It’s Sam. “Okay,” I tell Cammie. “Well, hey, thanks for the talk.”

“There’s one other thing.”

“Yes?” I say, trying not to sound impatient.

“Make it official with Hunter, if it’s over. He doesn’t want to break up with you — we all know he doesn’t. But it’s like he’s just waiting for it, and it’s an agony to watch.”

A heaviness fills my chest as I take in what Cammie’s saying. “No, you’re right,” I say. “I will. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Good girl,” she says.

I ignore the echoes of that phrase I have such mixed feelings about.

When Cammie and I hang up, I push aside thoughts of Hunter for the time being and go straight to Sam’s message.