“Well, I guess the not-swearing part is out the fucking window.” She grins at me.

A squeak of amusement escapes me. I can’t meet her eyes, because everything she says only makes me want to be closer to her. “What do you know about her?” I ask. “Your birth mother? Have you ever thought about looking for her?”

She turns her eyes away. “I think about it all the time. But I wasn’t just given up for adoption in the usual way. I was dropped off at a fire station the day I was born.” She shrugs. “And that’s all I know. I don’t know her name or anything about her. And honestly, I’d be scared to find her, because she probably doesn’t want to be found, after the way she gave me up. It’s like she hated me. Like she just wanted to forget me, and as fast as possible.” She pauses, pulling the covers up like maybe they can protect her. “And anyway, I don’t want to hurt my parents. They’re the best.”

Her words gut me. I wish I knew what to say.

Her next words are spoken softly. “But I wonder what she’s like. I wonder how old she is, and if she still lives in Texas.”

“Texas?”

She nods. “That’s where we lived when I was little. My dad used to teach at UT Austin. So I wonder if she’s still there. And I wonder if I’m anything like her. If I look like her. If she’s musical, or if she likes spicy food, or if she’s afraid of bugs. But mostly, I wonder why she gave me up.”

I hardly know what to say. “For what it’s worth, you don’t seem defective to me,” I finally manage, only stumbling a little over the words.

“Oh — thank you, Sam.” She looks like she might cry.

Desperate for a distraction from the awkwardness I created, I pick up the mechanical pencil again and turn to a blank sheet of paper. Zoe’s face is so close it’s an easy reference, and before I can think about it too hard, I let my hand fly. I draw until every curve and angle comes alive, until the stars I sketch into the night sky behind her hold as much light as the constellations on her bedroom wall.