I could name at least a thousand things I’d rather do, but this is what the three of us—sometimes four—did every single Tuesday. I’d missed only one family dinner since moving out a year ago, and that was when my dad drove Estelle in our family RV to the boot camp graduation of some distant relative, so technically I guess I wasn’t the one who missed it. They still had Tuesday dinner, on their family vacay, while back home Elodie and I shoved our faces with Domino’s pizza straight out of the box.

I didn’t respond to my dad because he knew I’d be there at seven. My “new” mom would be in the bathroom curling her hair while dinner kept warm in the oven. I’d be there on time, like I always was.

It had been at least three minutes since I got lost in my own world, and Elodie’s client was waiting. I sent her a quick text to say he better tip with a smiley-face emoji so she would know I was teasing. I quietly announced myself, pulled back the curtain, and walked into the room. The lights were dimmed but still reflected the hideous shade of purple from the walls; it had always been my least favorite color. The candles had been burning long enough for the air to take on the clean smell of almond. Even after my restless night, the scent had the power to calm me.

He was on the table in the center of the room with the white blanket pulled up to his waist. I rubbed my hands together. My fingertips were too cold to touch someone’s skin, so I walked over to the sink to warm them. I turned on the faucet. Nothing. I had already forgotten Bradley’s warning, and for the last hour, I’d managed without water.

I wrapped my hands around the oil warmer on the edge of the sink. The burner was a little too hot, but it did the trick. The oil would be warm on his skin, and he probably wouldn’t notice that the water wasn’t working. It wasn’t convenient, but it was manageable. I hoped that whoever worked last night’s closing shift had put clean towels in the warmer before they left; I always made sure to do that.

“Any specific areas of concern or tension that you’d like me to focus on?” I asked.

No answer. Had he already fallen asleep?

I waited a few beats before I asked again.

He shook his shaved head in the face cradle and said, “Don’t touch my right leg. Please,” adding the flat “please” as an afterthought.