Zoe: *zooms back to gate* *jiggles the key in the lock until the gate swings open with a great creaking of hinges*

Me: *regards the sign inside the entrance with some alarm*

WELCOME TO THE DOMAIN OF KING LORDERUS DIPSHITTUS III

ALL RULES MUST BE FOLLOWED

ALL SIGNS MUST BE OBEYED

NO MUSIC

NO DANCING

NO ART

NO FUN

EXCEPT BY ORDER OF THE KING

Zoe: *isn’t too sure about this place*

Me: *struggles to read the road sign at the first cobbled intersection with several hundred arrows pointing in different directions*

Zoe: *trots off in the direction of the sign with a painted crown* *prepares to inform the king that the rules of his kingdom suck*

With the first of our three quests completed, we explore the strange kingdom we’ve entered, trading messages back and forth in the stars until the bell rings and the school day is over.

As I walk out into the crisp afternoon, I text Mom to remind her that I’m headed to Will’s to game for a couple hours and that I’ll be having dinner there. I leave out the subtext, which is please fix something or at least order in so I don’t feel guilty about one of my rare nights away from home.

When Will drops me off later, I find Mom in her office with her work laptop open.

“Hi, honey. How was your day?” She jumps up from her chair and hugs me. I wish I could take comfort in it, but her arms feel like a straitjacket.

“Fine,” I say, and wiggle out of her grip.

“Is your homework done?” she asks. “Did you eat dinner?” She searches my face, tucking back a piece of the dark-blond hair that came loose from her hair clip.

“Yeah,” I say. “Will’s dad made pizza. Did you have anything to eat?”

She shakes her head. “No, I had work to do. I’m finishing up our staffing projections for next year. Kerry needs to submit them tomorrow, and she wanted the numbers double-checked. I’ve got to stay on top of things. Prove that I’m VP material.”

I peer over her shoulder at her laptop, where her browser displays a yarn website.

“Definitely looks like you’ve been working hard,” I joke.

“Well, the white elephant gift exchange at work is coming up soon,” she says sheepishly. “I was thinking about crocheting a wine cozy.”

“In puke orange and monkey-poo green?” I ask.

“Well, it is a white elephant . . .” The corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles, and a pang of the deepest love runs through me, immediately followed by the usual accompaniment of darkest sorrow.