Footsteps sound, and then she appears on the stairs carrying a basket of laundry, a cross expression on her face. She’s already in yoga pants and her favorite of the thick wool sweaters she knitted herself.

“Did something happen at work?” I can’t fathom why she’s home, or why she looks so scary.

“We had a team meeting all morning, and Kerry let us go early,” Mom says. “So I decided to get a head start on this weekend’s laundry.”

That’s when I notice the sleeve of one of my hoodies dangling from the basket.

I swallow hard. She must have gone in my room.

“I need you to clean your room tonight,” she says, confirming my hypothesis. “I went in there to get your laundry, and I couldn’t even tell what was clean and what was dirty because clothes are scattered everywhere.”

“I can do my own laundry,” I say defensively.

She goes on, undeterred. “I picked up this sweatshirt and found a dirty cereal bowl crusted with old milk from who knows how long ago. And the missing spoon I’ve been looking for! I don’t ask much of you, Samantha —”

“What? You don’t ask much of me?” I say incredulously. Memories of my lunch with Zoe flood back, of trying to explain the parameters and codes that govern my life. “It’s not enough that I help cook dinner? That I waste time I could be spending on homework rinsing and re-rinsing the same vegetables over and over and wiping down the counters four times?”

Emotions cross my mom’s face in rapid succession. Confusion. Hurt. Frustration. Anger.

“Living in this house means following a thousand rules that don’t make sense!” I rant. “What do you even think is going to happen if a dirty bowl sits in my room? News flash: nothing!”

“You need to clean your room,” she says firmly. “While you are under my roof, you live by my rules, and I will not allow you to endanger yourself by living in that disaster zone. It will take five minutes to pick up your clothes, and five more to make sure there aren’t any more dirty dishes in there. This is not a complicated or unreasonable request.”

“My room is mine! You didn’t even have to go in there to get my laundry. I can do it myself — some other night when I don’t have a ton of homework!”

“Samantha, I was only trying to help, and now I need you to do the same. We are a family, and you need to do your part around this house.” Mom’s voice shakes, her movements becoming jerky.