“It’s a really cool story,” I tell her. “It’s about the longing for home, basically.” I think about Sam’s painting, and how perfectly it calls to mind the main character’s home on Gorxon, which he can’t remember but is clearly imprinted in him somewhere. “This guy, Chris . . . He longs for something, he feels something missing, but he doesn’t know what it is, and he spends his life unconsciously chasing the past he’s been cut off from. And he never quite finds happiness.” Again I have a pang thinking of what I might have brought to the show in the role of his wife, who would move mountains to make the world okay for him. Caring so deeply that the people you love are okay — there are few things I understand better than that.

“Sounds cheerful,” Cammie jokes.

“I think it’s kind of brilliant,” I say.

“Really? Well, I can’t wait to see it,” she says. As she pulls into the parking lot at Ace’s, it occurs to me to wonder if it’s a place that would work for Sam’s mom. Ace’s Famous Burritos. I can see immediately it’s a lost cause: A is odd, and it’s probably a nonstarter anyway because of the apostrophe. I think about telling Sam she should try this place, but then I wonder — does she have friends, besides that tall guy she seems to hang out with? People to go out and have fun with? Maybe making restaurant suggestions would be kind of a jerk thing to do, if she’s trapped in her mother’s world of matching colors and even numbers.

We climb out of the car and duck through the light rain toward the door. “Are you wearing your hair up or down, Zo?” Syd asks me.

I mentally scroll back to the background noise in the car and realize they’ve been talking about Homecoming. “Down,” I say. I don’t have to think about it; I always keep my birthmark covered, except at home, where I sometimes wear a ponytail or twist my hair into a clip to get it out of my face. The mark isn’t giant or unsightly — it’s just a light brown random blob, about the size of a dime — but it’s a mar, an imperfection. It bothers me a lot, and it bothers me that it bothers me. It’s not that I think my birth mother would have kept me if I didn’t have this flaw, but sometimes it’s hard not to be overly critical of every little thing when you don’t know why you were given up.