Seth multitasks. He flips pancakes, attends to a skillet full of an egg scramble with bacon and sausage and scallion.

“You’re a hero,” I tell him.

“Down,” Luca says.

I set him down and he goes running off somewhere, making a motor noise.

“Fun time last night?” Seth asks.

“Sure,” I say, helping myself to a glass of water.

“I’m awake,” Ash mumbles.

Her hair is wet; she wears a bathrobe and slippers that look like penguins. She’s hungover.

“Coffee, water, Advil,” Seth says, pointing to the kitchen table, where those things are all set out. “Sustenance.”

“Thank you, babe,” she says.

She pecks him, then sits at the table. He brings her a plate.

“Rory, coffee? Pancakes? Eggs?”

“I’ll have coffee and eggs, please. Thank you, Doc.”

“I love him,” Ash says between sips of water. “Best husband ever.”

Waking up to breakfast does seem like a pretty good deal. A deal I’ll never get!

“Did you hook up with that guy last night?” Ash whispers over her pancakes. “When you went out to smoke?”

“PG stuff,” I say.

“I thought you were with Ian,” Seth says, setting a plate down in front of me.

“Babe, don’t eavesdrop.”

“We’re not exclusive,” I say, shoveling some eggs into my mouth. “Apparently.”

“Yeesh,” he says, shaking his head. “Poor guy.”

I’m queasy. I push my plate away. “Yeah, poor guy. Must be tough lying to my face about how much he likes me while trying to fuck Mia Russo.”

“Rory,” Ash says.

“Wait. What?” Seth says, literally scratching his head.

“Nothing. I should go,” I say, standing. “Thanks for breakfast. And the ride last night.”

“Rory, don’t go,” Ash says.

I check my jacket. Make sure I have my wallet. Phone. Keys.

I have my keys, but no car.

“Let me drive you at least,” Seth says.

“No, that’s okay. I’m good to walk.”

“It’s far. And freezing. I’ll drive you.”

“Well, lucky for me,” I say, opening the front door, “I’m warm-blooded.”

I don’t know how I didn’t register these decorations last night. Ash’s lawn is covered in inflatables and wire reindeer and angels and wooden elves. There’s a giant menorah and Star of David. There’s an animatronic Santa at the end of the pathway that I’m tempted to punch.

I walk in silence. I didn’t think to bring headphones. But with no music or podcast, I have nothing to listen to but my own thoughts.

Everything I’ve done—confronting my past, forgiving my mother, working through my anger, seeking a cure—was that really for me or was it all for him? At the time it seemed like a werewolf necessity, something I had to do to manage my monstrousness, but maybe I was just filing my teeth for him. For someone who never actually gave a damn about me.

I’m on a busy stretch of road. I pass the strip mall with the nail salon and the Dunkin’ Donuts. I consider coffee but being more awake doesn’t really appeal to me at the moment. What I really want is meat. The grocery store is a little farther down. I keep walking. A few cars honk at me. I must be a sight, in my leather jacket and black stockings and sky-high heels. Walking down the street at . . . what? Nine a.m.? Hard to tell because it’s overcast.