“Wow.” Her words make me realize how sheltered and limited she’s been. “When my mom got her cancer diagnosis, she made me drive everywhere, even when she felt fine. I think she needed to know I’d be okay if, you know . . .” The reality of it hits me fresh, choking me up a little. It occurs to me that my mom’s first thoughts upon learning she had cancer were for her two children, for making sure Jonah and I would be okay if she was gone. I’m overwhelmed at how unselfish and brave and good she is — and I realize, for the thousandth time, how incredibly lucky I am. I try to pull myself together and focus on what’s right in front of me. “Anyway, I’m glad you have Will. He seems really sweet, and I guess his parents must be, too.”

“They are. Good thing, too,” she says wryly. “I might need a place to live after taking the car tonight.”

“You didn’t have permission?” I ask, suddenly worried that I’m an accomplice in whatever rules Sam broke. The last thing I want is to make anything harder for her at home.

“Nope. But how am I supposed to function in the future if she won’t let me drive while I’m still close to home? I see how some of her rules are reasonable, like never eating salad at McDonald’s or closing the toilet lid before you flush so germ spray doesn’t contaminate your toothbrush. Those things make sense. But I don’t want to be an incompetent loser who can’t handle real life once I’m away from her, you know?”

My heart hurts for her. “I think you’re really brave,” I tell her. “I couldn’t defy my parents if my life depended on it.” No detours for me. “But then again, they’re mostly pretty reasonable.”

“Yeah, well . . . Who needs permission when you have keys?” She grins, but I know she must not be having the easiest time. She’s trying so hard to both take care of her mom and take care of herself, and clearly sometimes those two goals are in complete conflict.

“I’m really proud of you for taking the car tonight,” I tell her. “Really fucking proud,” I add.

She smiles at my choice of words. “Thanks. I am, too.”

As if on cue, her phone vibrates, and the brightness in her eyes dims.

“Is she going to survive this?” I ask, my worry increasing. The truth is, I feel bad for both of them.

“She has to,” Sam says. “I’m determined to try to act like a healthy person. Whatever that is. I might need some help figuring it out.”