I retreat to my room and curl up on my bed. I try to imagine the house without Jonah. I can’t. Everything revolves around Jonah — it has to. If he’s gone, do we even know how to carry on? But the truth is, how we’ll carry on without Jonah is a minor concern compared to how Jonah will carry on without us.

Still, there’s no denying how empty the house will seem. So much time goes into his care — how will we fill it? I won’t even need to be home to help after school, to clean up and help with dinner. As the reality of it sinks in, I realize I could do theater again. Not in time for this show, of course, but the next one. And the spring musical, which is going to be Rent. I was pretty devastated at the idea of not being in the musical my senior year. And yet, somehow, the idea of being able to do it fails to lift my spirits. All I can think of is sending Jonah away. Throwing him away, a little voice in my head says. Nothing feels larger than that. Not even close.

When my phone dings, I reach for it quickly, hoping it might be Sam with more Starworld, which is just what I need. But it’s not Sam. It’s Hunter. Update: Janowski is bringing an espresso machine to the house. You could have a caramel latte in the morning (plus cider donuts courtesy of the Cavanaughs). Come? Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a jalapeño on top?;-)

Ha. My increasing obsession with spicy food has not escaped him. My amusement is short-lived, though, because I have to face telling him I’m not going, and I know how disappointed he’s going to be. But I can’t put it off any longer. I’m really sorry, I write. I can’t go. I tried, but . . . You know how my dad is.

I feel a stab of guilt for the lie.

He writes: I was afraid of that. Maybe he’d have felt differently if you’d let him get to know me.

Trust me, it wouldn’t have mattered! I write. He wouldn’t let me go to an overnighter if it were chaperoned by nuns!

I guess we’ll never know, he writes. Man. That sucks.

Guilt and resentment simmer in equal measure, until it hits me: Saturday is my family’s first Jonah-less day.

How can I leave my parents alone on their first day without Jonah? And how can I have fun and pretend like everything is okay when it’s not? I glance up at the shimmery aquamarine dress hanging in plastic from the top of my closet door, its tags still attached, wishing it were a simple choice to just bag on the dance and return the dress.