I give her a whole handful of candy because I love her. “Happy Halloween!” I tell her as she bounces off. Her dad gives me a wave.

Back in the kitchen, my mom is chopping cilantro. She says, “What should we make for your birthday dinner? Something Jonah likes.”

“Nothing too complicated,” I say. “You don’t want to wear yourself out when he’s here.” She looks tired to me, which always sets me to worrying. “The play’s next weekend, too,” I remind her.

“Oh, shoot.” She turns to me. “Will you go both nights?”

I nod.

“Hmm. Maybe we can do a birthday lunch on Saturday?”

“Sure, that sounds good.” I think about Jonah being back at home and am overcome with mixed feelings. “Do you think it will be confusing for him?” I ask her. “What if he doesn’t want to go back?”

Her brow furrows as she opens a package of tortillas. “I know. I’m worried about it, too. When we were there, the staff told me that he’s getting much better about variations in his routine — you know, different days, different activities, stuff like that. They suggested we try new things here, too — keep exposing him to changes. It’s harder for him to adapt when he gets set in a routine.”

“That makes sense,” I say. “Although it’s sort of the opposite of everything we’ve done his entire life.”

She nods sadly. “I was just always trying to make things easy, trying to keep things manageable. You know how he is when he expects a certain thing and doesn’t get it. I should have worked harder at a lot of things — using sign more consistently, exposing him to more people and places . . .” She looks guilty and my heart goes out to her. And I feel guilty, too; I worked harder than either of my parents to keep Jonah isolated from the rest of my world.

“You’ve always been amazing with Jonah,” I say. “But we’re learning new things now. It’s okay.”

The doorbell rings, and my mom glances up toward the door. “I’ve got it,” I say. But instead of trick-or-treaters, three familiar grinning faces are stacked in the side windows. Cammie crosses her eyes, sticks out her tongue, and waves.

“Aren’t they a bit old for trick-or-treating?” my mom calls. She gives me a wry grin.

When I open the front door, the three of them yell “Surprise!” Cammie is holding a cake box from Papa Haydn’s, Syd a pizza box, and Erin grocery bags with unknown contents.

“I thought you guys were going to Fearlandia and then that party at Kucharski’s,” I say.

Cammie pushes in. “We decided you need a night of fun. Your life has been a veritable suckfest!” With her hands full, she gives me a kiss and leans in for an armless hug, then parades into the kitchen.