Last night.

“So,” Mom says, “how is she?”

“Where’s Guy?” I ask.

Guy is my stepdad. Only took a few dozen losers to find him. He’s smart, kind, successful. A little milquetoast. They live in Charleston.

“He had a work thing,” she says. “He’ll come when the baby is born. Besides, I thought maybe if it was just me, Scarlett might feel more comfortable opening up about the situation.”

“The situation,” I say, scoffing.

“Well . . .”

“Don’t bring it up. She doesn’t want to talk about him. And she’s not into baby stuff, so please don’t bring that up either.”

She hands the cigarette back to me. “It’s just because of Matty. If he were here, everything would be different. Trust me.”

“It’s not just Matty. She doesn’t like being pregnant.”

“It’s because she’s alone,” she says.

I pass the cigarette back.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t blame her. Seems pretty sucky to me. Not to be in control of your own body.”

I blink and see the spread of my rib cage. The deficiency of my skin. I hear it splitting.

“It’s a beautiful experience,” Mom says. “You’ll see. Someday.”

I scoff again. “Sure.”

Despite my best attempt to resist the thought, Ian is there. Does he want kids? Is there a life possible with him, a future?

I doubt it. Because I’m a fucking werewolf.

“Can I have my own cigarette?” I ask.

She offers me the pack, then reaches over and tucks some stray hair behind my ear. “My girl.”

“Proud of me?” I ask sarcastically as I light my cigarette.

“So proud. My smart Ivy League girl. My big-city girl. It’s so good to see you. I miss you, you know? I miss you all the time. Every second of every day.”

“Every second?”

“Yes,” she says. “We never get to spend time together like this. I’ve been really looking forward to this week. And I’m grateful that you came here to be with your sister when she needed you.”

Another flash of memory, this time of shoving a wiggling rat into my gullet.

I close my eyes and rub my temples.

The moon appears, a bright perfect circle in the dark behind my eyelids.

I shudder.

“You okay, baby? You want to go lie down?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Once I finish this cigarette.”

—

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling.

I was attacked. I was bitten by a werewolf. Now I’m a werewolf. Now, according to lore, once a month, every full moon, I will transform into a monster. It will hurt. Every time, it will hurt. And while I’m this monster, under the influence of the moon, I will have no control over what I do. I will lose myself.

And the next day, I will wake up and have to go on. I’ll have to accept the suffering. The regular, involuntary surrender of my body. I have no other choice than to deal with it. What can I do?