“Don’t take that tone with me,” she says. “You know I’m only joking.”

“I know,” I say, even though I’m not quite sure she was joking.

“I’m glad to hear your voice,” she says.

“I miss you,” I say. And it is true.

She sniffs, and then she says, “I miss you, too, little ladybug. I suppose I should just get used to you being gone forever.” A text message notification pops up on my screen as she talks. It’s from the poo emoji. Jack. The preview says, As per our agree—

“Addie?” my mother is saying. “Are you listening to me?”

“Sorry, Mom,” I say, struggling to sit up straight, catching my book and then catching the phone when I drop it. “Just a second, I have a—”

“—trying to tell you—”

“Just a second, Mom,” I say.

“—don’t understand why you have to—”

As per our agreement, I’d like to show you the photo I’ve picked as the backdrop of the invitation card first. I stare at the screen and type back, of course.

My mother is still talking. I tap back to our call.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mom; it was just a text message. About, uh, a test.”

“A message from who?” she says. “From whom,” she corrects herself.

“Oh, just—” I start to say, and another notification pops up, with an attachment.

“Hold on,” I say to my mom.

“Addie!” she says.

Tap on the attachment. Full-screen photo.

Against a glittery, golden light, slightly shadowed: the outline of a back, bent to the side in a graceful curve, shadow of a spine and shoulder blades, soft folds of skin at the bend of the waist. Shadows and light but real skin, touchable and the feeling of movement and a strong, fat body. And it’s my back. It’s my back, looking like art. It is gorgeous, and it’s my back, unretouched and unphotoshopped, and look at that.

“Addie,” my mother says.

“Hi, Mom,” I say. “I’m here.”

“What’s wrong?” she says. “You sound strange! What’s going on, Addie?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “There’s just so much going on. Can I call you later?” I hang up before she answers, and I look at the photo again, try to remember I’m in a public space. I take a deep breath, and then another, looking at this photo.

What do you think?

The message pops up, and I switch over to my texts to see that he’s still typing.

A long moment, then he stops typing, and then he types, and then he stops typing, and I want to shake the phone and make the words come out.

Do you like it?

Approve of it, I mean

More typing, but then it stops again.

Yes, I type back. Should I have added an exclamation point? I send an exclamation point.

!

I will finish the invitation tonight, then.